Now that I have posted many excerpts from A TIME TO... , in the coming months I want to share my thoughts about why I wrote it. I'll start by saying that it began with a whisper from God. At one time in my life if others said God whispered something to them, I would have raised my eyebrows and thought to myself, "OK, they are wacky."
Since then, I've come to understand that people don't mean (in most cases) God speaks to them with a human voice. He speaks to our spirits, because He is a spiritual being that lives in each of us, whether we know it or not. This gets a little tricky because some people receive spiritual messages and think it is God delivering them. The way to distinguish between God's voice and another's is by analyzing the message. If it promotes love, faith, hope & charity - it's God speaking. Otherwise, don't pay attention to it. This is where I think the terrorists got it wrong on 9/11.
Look for more insights about how/why A TIME TO... was written in the coming weeks and months. I'll also share comments I've received from readers.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Hells Gate Treasure
Excerpt #29 from A TIME TO...
Under the Hells Gate Bridge is a special place for Al and anyone else who knows the story of the sunken gold treasure that rests directly below the span which now carries long freight trains to and from Queens and Manhattan. Ever since Al was told that a fortune in gold went down there with a Dutch ship in the 1600s, he fantasized about recovering it for himself and his family. He just had to figure out a way to get the gold without being killed by the water’s powerful undertow, which claimed the ship, its crew and cargo. Many tried to claim it, but lost their lives instead of finding their fortune. So, when the bridge was built above it, the name, “Hells Gate” came to mind and stuck.
Al is mesmerized by the hundreds of swirling finger-like funnels of water that pull down anything on the surface of the East River as it flows under the Hells Gate.
“So close, yet so far,” Phil says when he arrives and interrupts Al’s reverie.
“What are you talking about?” Al asks.
“The gold… man, you’d think they could take one of those little submarines down there and just attach some cables from a big crane and pull it up.”
“If it were that easy, somebody would have brought it up a long time ago,” Al notes.
“Yeah, you’re right. So close, yet so far,” Phil repeats, more profoundly this time.
“Have you ever wanted something so bad, but something or someone prevented you from getting it, even though it was right there in front of you?” Al wonders.
“I can think of a few things,” Phil says softly.
Al understands Phil to mean he would have had his parent’s marriage survive. Being a rock star was probably another of Phil’s “So close, yet so far” wishes.
Al had one of his own wishes at the top of his mind at the time – dating Helene Colangelo – which he had kept to himself.
“So, you’re not dying?” Al asks to get the conversation back on track.
“No, man, I’m not dying. But I thought I did a few times,” Phil says with a chuckle.
Al stares at Phil with irritation written all over his face.
“You don’t believe me? Well, I guess I wouldn’t believe me either if it didn’t happen. It’s hard to explain. I’m not talking about being dead physically. My body didn’t shut down, but everything else inside me did. Suddenly, I was just a blank page with no past, only a here and now. It was kind of scary and exciting at the same time because everything that was familiar became strange, and I had to learn about everything all around me again, but this time with new eyes.”
Suddenly, this scene from Al’s life froze and Al now says out loud to himself,” What is this? Am I dead now? Is this a dream? What’s happening to me?” No soothing, mysterious voice speaks to him now as it did earlier. The only response is an unsettling silence that lasts about half a minute before the scene unfreezes and resumes where it had paused.
“”I don’t know what you mean? Your body’s dead when your heart and brain stop working. You died some other way?” Al asks incredulously.
“Yeah, you’ve heard of people whose body died and they have an ‘out-of-body-experience’? Well, just the opposite happens to me. My body is functioning, but it has nothing to tell it what it should be doing. That part of me is dead.”
“Very strange... I still don’t get it, but I’ll take your word for it,” Al says as Phil leans over the railing and stares blankly into the East River. “Is that why you … you, ah, eh, keep chan… I mean why you have so many different personnaaal….. why you have lots of interests?” Al asks, wishing he hadn’t.
“You know, it’s kind of funny. The first time it happened, I was in shock. It just kind of paralyzed me for a little while. I didn’t know up from down, or in from out. But then I figured it out,” Phil reveals.
“Figured what out?”
“Figured out that the person I was did die, which was sad, but it was great to move on from all the problems and hurts of the old me. The only problems I had going forward were deciding who I was going to be and what I was going to do as the new me.”
“Sorry, I have enough trouble figuring out who the original, one and only me is. How can you do what you just said without going crazy?” a befuddled Al asks.
“Maybe I am crazy... maybe. But, I’m sure I’d be crazy if things stayed the same, if the old ‘me’ didn’t die... very crazy.”
Al and everyone else who knew Phil and his many selves think he is crazy. Some even call him “The Crazy Chameleon.” But as Al relives this moment in his life, he better understood Phil’s explanation. Like Phil, Al had assumed different roles over the course of his life – child, son, brother, student, friend, enemy, adult, Peace Corps Volunteer, employee, coworker, husband, father. And while it wasn’t quite the same as what Phil experienced, Al at least now could understand him a little better. In this moment of distant reflection, Al sees Phil less a comical, crazy character than a guy who was just trying to cope the best he could with the trials of his life.
“So, when you said, ‘A dead man doesn’t want, need, or care anything about power and glory,’ what exactly did you mean?”
“Haa, ha, ha,” Phil laughs as he throws a stone into the river. “I don’t know. It just came out of my mouth. But you know, each time I change, I get new wants, needs, and cares. And, somehow, after going through the changes, “power” and “glory” become less and less important to me. I’m just interested in finding a comfortable place for me in the world. Hey, power and glory never last. Believe it or not, I’m looking for something in my life that lasts.”
“So, why do you want to be class president? What’s in it for you, if you don’t want power and glory?”
“Simple, I don’t like some of the things going on in our school, and I don’t see or hear anyone else running for president who says they’ll do anything about them. I’d really rather let someone else do it. Who knows, maybe I’ll get something done and discover something about myself that I don’t know.”
“Hey, man, I’m glad you’re not dying,” Al tells him sincerely.
“Yeah, me too,” Phil says matter-of-factly. “Dying inside scared me a lot the first couple times. But physical death really scares me… just too final. Once my body is gone, it’s gone.”
Under the Hells Gate Bridge is a special place for Al and anyone else who knows the story of the sunken gold treasure that rests directly below the span which now carries long freight trains to and from Queens and Manhattan. Ever since Al was told that a fortune in gold went down there with a Dutch ship in the 1600s, he fantasized about recovering it for himself and his family. He just had to figure out a way to get the gold without being killed by the water’s powerful undertow, which claimed the ship, its crew and cargo. Many tried to claim it, but lost their lives instead of finding their fortune. So, when the bridge was built above it, the name, “Hells Gate” came to mind and stuck.
Al is mesmerized by the hundreds of swirling finger-like funnels of water that pull down anything on the surface of the East River as it flows under the Hells Gate.
“So close, yet so far,” Phil says when he arrives and interrupts Al’s reverie.
“What are you talking about?” Al asks.
“The gold… man, you’d think they could take one of those little submarines down there and just attach some cables from a big crane and pull it up.”
“If it were that easy, somebody would have brought it up a long time ago,” Al notes.
“Yeah, you’re right. So close, yet so far,” Phil repeats, more profoundly this time.
“Have you ever wanted something so bad, but something or someone prevented you from getting it, even though it was right there in front of you?” Al wonders.
“I can think of a few things,” Phil says softly.
Al understands Phil to mean he would have had his parent’s marriage survive. Being a rock star was probably another of Phil’s “So close, yet so far” wishes.
Al had one of his own wishes at the top of his mind at the time – dating Helene Colangelo – which he had kept to himself.
“So, you’re not dying?” Al asks to get the conversation back on track.
“No, man, I’m not dying. But I thought I did a few times,” Phil says with a chuckle.
Al stares at Phil with irritation written all over his face.
“You don’t believe me? Well, I guess I wouldn’t believe me either if it didn’t happen. It’s hard to explain. I’m not talking about being dead physically. My body didn’t shut down, but everything else inside me did. Suddenly, I was just a blank page with no past, only a here and now. It was kind of scary and exciting at the same time because everything that was familiar became strange, and I had to learn about everything all around me again, but this time with new eyes.”
Suddenly, this scene from Al’s life froze and Al now says out loud to himself,” What is this? Am I dead now? Is this a dream? What’s happening to me?” No soothing, mysterious voice speaks to him now as it did earlier. The only response is an unsettling silence that lasts about half a minute before the scene unfreezes and resumes where it had paused.
“”I don’t know what you mean? Your body’s dead when your heart and brain stop working. You died some other way?” Al asks incredulously.
“Yeah, you’ve heard of people whose body died and they have an ‘out-of-body-experience’? Well, just the opposite happens to me. My body is functioning, but it has nothing to tell it what it should be doing. That part of me is dead.”
“Very strange... I still don’t get it, but I’ll take your word for it,” Al says as Phil leans over the railing and stares blankly into the East River. “Is that why you … you, ah, eh, keep chan… I mean why you have so many different personnaaal….. why you have lots of interests?” Al asks, wishing he hadn’t.
“You know, it’s kind of funny. The first time it happened, I was in shock. It just kind of paralyzed me for a little while. I didn’t know up from down, or in from out. But then I figured it out,” Phil reveals.
“Figured what out?”
“Figured out that the person I was did die, which was sad, but it was great to move on from all the problems and hurts of the old me. The only problems I had going forward were deciding who I was going to be and what I was going to do as the new me.”
“Sorry, I have enough trouble figuring out who the original, one and only me is. How can you do what you just said without going crazy?” a befuddled Al asks.
“Maybe I am crazy... maybe. But, I’m sure I’d be crazy if things stayed the same, if the old ‘me’ didn’t die... very crazy.”
Al and everyone else who knew Phil and his many selves think he is crazy. Some even call him “The Crazy Chameleon.” But as Al relives this moment in his life, he better understood Phil’s explanation. Like Phil, Al had assumed different roles over the course of his life – child, son, brother, student, friend, enemy, adult, Peace Corps Volunteer, employee, coworker, husband, father. And while it wasn’t quite the same as what Phil experienced, Al at least now could understand him a little better. In this moment of distant reflection, Al sees Phil less a comical, crazy character than a guy who was just trying to cope the best he could with the trials of his life.
“So, when you said, ‘A dead man doesn’t want, need, or care anything about power and glory,’ what exactly did you mean?”
“Haa, ha, ha,” Phil laughs as he throws a stone into the river. “I don’t know. It just came out of my mouth. But you know, each time I change, I get new wants, needs, and cares. And, somehow, after going through the changes, “power” and “glory” become less and less important to me. I’m just interested in finding a comfortable place for me in the world. Hey, power and glory never last. Believe it or not, I’m looking for something in my life that lasts.”
“So, why do you want to be class president? What’s in it for you, if you don’t want power and glory?”
“Simple, I don’t like some of the things going on in our school, and I don’t see or hear anyone else running for president who says they’ll do anything about them. I’d really rather let someone else do it. Who knows, maybe I’ll get something done and discover something about myself that I don’t know.”
“Hey, man, I’m glad you’re not dying,” Al tells him sincerely.
“Yeah, me too,” Phil says matter-of-factly. “Dying inside scared me a lot the first couple times. But physical death really scares me… just too final. Once my body is gone, it’s gone.”
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A Dream... A Cartoon... and God...
Excerpt #9 from A TIME TO...
At St. Peter’s Catholic Church on the lower east side of Manhattan, in the shadows of the World Trade Center’s imposing twin towers, a NYC fire department chaplain contemplates the dream he had the night before.
He struggles to find meaning in it since the situation he found himself in is so out of character. When was the last time he cleaned his living quarters? He has had a housekeeper for as long as he can remember.
But there he was in his dream dusting furniture and vacuuming dirt from the floors. The other strange thing about his dream is that he couldn’t get rid of the dust. In fact, the more he cleaned, the more dust would appear. Finally, it got so bad that he began choking on the dust and that’s when he woke up.
As he sips his coffee, a passage from the book of Genesis comes to mind. “…For you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return.” Maybe that is it, he thinks. The night before, he had discussed death at length with several fire fighters at Ladder Company 6. It isn’t a subject the fire fighters speak of often, even though they each had friends who lost their lives while battling fires. A couple of these fire fighters almost died on the job. Frank is one of them.
“It happened so fast. One second there was a clear path to the door out, the next, nothing but flames between me and it,” Frank told Father Tom with horror in his voice. “I looked all over for another exit… other doors…. other windows. Flames and smoke were everywhere. We’re trained to deal with every situation, but for the life of me, nothing came to mind that would save me. My heart was racing. I was dripping sweat and thought I was about to die….”
“Oh, thank God you didn’t,” Father Tom interrupted. “How did you get out?”
”A strange thing happened. ‘God help me, God help me’ I whispered over, and over. Then all of a sudden, images came to mind of some cartoon I used to watch when I was a kid on Saturday mornings. The next thing I knew, I was running through the flames that blocked my way out, just like the character did in the cartoon. I don’t know how I got out without being burned.”
“That’s a good story. Do you mind if I use it in a homily some time?” asked Father Tom.
“Why? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“…Not at all. God works in mysterious ways,” Father Tom advised.
“I guess so. Sure, you can use it,” Frank confirmed.
“I’ve told you guys this before, but let me say it again,” Father Tom said with a lump in his throat. “You are my heroes. God has truly blessed you so that you can put your life on the line again and again for people you don’t even know – ‘For there is no greater love than to give one’s life for someone else.’”
“Father, can I ask you something?” whispered Steve, another firefighter.
“Certainly…anything,” Father Tom encouraged.
“Does God determine when we all die?” he asked as if he were a child.
After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, Father Tom responds, “Let me first ask you this before I answer your question. Does God determine when we are born?”
“My mother and father had a lot to do with it,” Steve offered.
“Ha, quite right… just as their mothers and fathers had a lot to do with their entrances into this world, and so on to the beginning of life on Earth,” Father Tom continued.
“I don’t get it. Did you answer my question?” Steve asked with a puzzled face.
“No. No. But now I can,” Father Tom said. “You see, God created all life and everything in our physical world. The natural forces that God created continuously reshape this world. You know... the weather, the ocean tides, and earthquakes. So when someone dies in a natural disaster, God did determine to a degree that death. It’s not that God willed that untimely death. He just lets nature take its course.”
“What about death by disease, accidents, murder, war? You know... things that come out of nowhere that take some lives and not others? It seems like God saves some and not others,” Steve explained.
“Wait a minute,” Father Tom interjected. “You’re getting ahead of me. As I was saying, God lets natural disasters, like tornadoes take lives. Why God set up this world to have all kinds of life and health threatening risks is a question only God can answer. I’ll include sickness and disease in this category. Then, there are those other risks that you mention, ‘accidents, murder, and war,’ that have more to do with the human condition. We have some control over these things. I say ‘we’ in that they are tied to human activity and our free will. These wouldn’t be risks if God didn’t make our bodies so fragile and he didn’t let us decide how we use our bodies.
“Again, you’ll have to get the answers about why this is so from God,” Father Tom reiterated. “We just need to understand and accept that this is life. It’s up to each of us how we respond to it. Oh, almost forgot to mention ‘evil’ and how it can influence the choices we make. So for reasons known only to God, we have natural disasters, all kinds of diseases, a body and a mind that bruise easily, and evil at work all around us that is responsible for lots of bad choices, including the taking of another’s life. The good news is that God helps us make choices when we listen to what he whispers to us.”
“So, God doesn’t determine exactly when we will die, he’s just involved in the bigger picture?” Frank asked.
“That’s the way I see it. And, the bigger picture includes our eternal life with God. Life on Earth is like a school where we learn lots of things to grow our spirits. And, upon graduation, we go to one of two places – Heaven or Hell. Not all suffering is bad. For some reason, often it helps us to graduate with honors if we let it.”
Father Tom’s gift from God is his ability to empathize with others, to help ease their sufferings. He listened, really listened to what they had to say about what was troubling them, and how they expressed themselves. That’s why his responses were always so effective in helping others. Father Tom’s gift was realized later in life. It wasn’t apparent in his childhood.
Something happened that shifted his view of the world. That something was very complicated in ways, but very simple in another. Father Tom told anyone who asked about the change in him this way, “I found God and then He found me when I was drawn to the priesthood.”
One thing that didn’t change from his childhood was his tendency to overstate any health concern. He was and is today a full-fledged hypochondriac. Those who know him have fun with it. “Looking a little under the weather Tom,” his fellow priests would say whenever they wanted to engage him in conversation. Father Tom accepted this character trait just as he accepted his prominent nose. It wasn’t one of his better attributes, but that’s who he was. In his later life, he came to see his hypochondria in a more positive light. In those times of concern, he found himself turning to God in prayer, and that he thought to himself is a good thing. Anything that brought him closer to God couldn’t be all bad.
At St. Peter’s Catholic Church on the lower east side of Manhattan, in the shadows of the World Trade Center’s imposing twin towers, a NYC fire department chaplain contemplates the dream he had the night before.
He struggles to find meaning in it since the situation he found himself in is so out of character. When was the last time he cleaned his living quarters? He has had a housekeeper for as long as he can remember.
But there he was in his dream dusting furniture and vacuuming dirt from the floors. The other strange thing about his dream is that he couldn’t get rid of the dust. In fact, the more he cleaned, the more dust would appear. Finally, it got so bad that he began choking on the dust and that’s when he woke up.
As he sips his coffee, a passage from the book of Genesis comes to mind. “…For you are dirt, and to dirt you shall return.” Maybe that is it, he thinks. The night before, he had discussed death at length with several fire fighters at Ladder Company 6. It isn’t a subject the fire fighters speak of often, even though they each had friends who lost their lives while battling fires. A couple of these fire fighters almost died on the job. Frank is one of them.
“It happened so fast. One second there was a clear path to the door out, the next, nothing but flames between me and it,” Frank told Father Tom with horror in his voice. “I looked all over for another exit… other doors…. other windows. Flames and smoke were everywhere. We’re trained to deal with every situation, but for the life of me, nothing came to mind that would save me. My heart was racing. I was dripping sweat and thought I was about to die….”
“Oh, thank God you didn’t,” Father Tom interrupted. “How did you get out?”
”A strange thing happened. ‘God help me, God help me’ I whispered over, and over. Then all of a sudden, images came to mind of some cartoon I used to watch when I was a kid on Saturday mornings. The next thing I knew, I was running through the flames that blocked my way out, just like the character did in the cartoon. I don’t know how I got out without being burned.”
“That’s a good story. Do you mind if I use it in a homily some time?” asked Father Tom.
“Why? Don’t you think it’s weird?”
“…Not at all. God works in mysterious ways,” Father Tom advised.
“I guess so. Sure, you can use it,” Frank confirmed.
“I’ve told you guys this before, but let me say it again,” Father Tom said with a lump in his throat. “You are my heroes. God has truly blessed you so that you can put your life on the line again and again for people you don’t even know – ‘For there is no greater love than to give one’s life for someone else.’”
“Father, can I ask you something?” whispered Steve, another firefighter.
“Certainly…anything,” Father Tom encouraged.
“Does God determine when we all die?” he asked as if he were a child.
After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, Father Tom responds, “Let me first ask you this before I answer your question. Does God determine when we are born?”
“My mother and father had a lot to do with it,” Steve offered.
“Ha, quite right… just as their mothers and fathers had a lot to do with their entrances into this world, and so on to the beginning of life on Earth,” Father Tom continued.
“I don’t get it. Did you answer my question?” Steve asked with a puzzled face.
“No. No. But now I can,” Father Tom said. “You see, God created all life and everything in our physical world. The natural forces that God created continuously reshape this world. You know... the weather, the ocean tides, and earthquakes. So when someone dies in a natural disaster, God did determine to a degree that death. It’s not that God willed that untimely death. He just lets nature take its course.”
“What about death by disease, accidents, murder, war? You know... things that come out of nowhere that take some lives and not others? It seems like God saves some and not others,” Steve explained.
“Wait a minute,” Father Tom interjected. “You’re getting ahead of me. As I was saying, God lets natural disasters, like tornadoes take lives. Why God set up this world to have all kinds of life and health threatening risks is a question only God can answer. I’ll include sickness and disease in this category. Then, there are those other risks that you mention, ‘accidents, murder, and war,’ that have more to do with the human condition. We have some control over these things. I say ‘we’ in that they are tied to human activity and our free will. These wouldn’t be risks if God didn’t make our bodies so fragile and he didn’t let us decide how we use our bodies.
“Again, you’ll have to get the answers about why this is so from God,” Father Tom reiterated. “We just need to understand and accept that this is life. It’s up to each of us how we respond to it. Oh, almost forgot to mention ‘evil’ and how it can influence the choices we make. So for reasons known only to God, we have natural disasters, all kinds of diseases, a body and a mind that bruise easily, and evil at work all around us that is responsible for lots of bad choices, including the taking of another’s life. The good news is that God helps us make choices when we listen to what he whispers to us.”
“So, God doesn’t determine exactly when we will die, he’s just involved in the bigger picture?” Frank asked.
“That’s the way I see it. And, the bigger picture includes our eternal life with God. Life on Earth is like a school where we learn lots of things to grow our spirits. And, upon graduation, we go to one of two places – Heaven or Hell. Not all suffering is bad. For some reason, often it helps us to graduate with honors if we let it.”
Father Tom’s gift from God is his ability to empathize with others, to help ease their sufferings. He listened, really listened to what they had to say about what was troubling them, and how they expressed themselves. That’s why his responses were always so effective in helping others. Father Tom’s gift was realized later in life. It wasn’t apparent in his childhood.
Something happened that shifted his view of the world. That something was very complicated in ways, but very simple in another. Father Tom told anyone who asked about the change in him this way, “I found God and then He found me when I was drawn to the priesthood.”
One thing that didn’t change from his childhood was his tendency to overstate any health concern. He was and is today a full-fledged hypochondriac. Those who know him have fun with it. “Looking a little under the weather Tom,” his fellow priests would say whenever they wanted to engage him in conversation. Father Tom accepted this character trait just as he accepted his prominent nose. It wasn’t one of his better attributes, but that’s who he was. In his later life, he came to see his hypochondria in a more positive light. In those times of concern, he found himself turning to God in prayer, and that he thought to himself is a good thing. Anything that brought him closer to God couldn’t be all bad.
Monday, January 4, 2010
A Lack of Faith
(Al and Tadesse walked half a day in the Ethiopian countryside to get answers to their pressing questions from the wise man of a local village, Tsehye. They didn't know much about him. Tsehye at first pretended he only spoke Amharina, Ethiopia's national language. Once he could trust them, Tsehye spoke in English directly to Al about his lack of faith and shared his wisdom on the subject.)
Excerpt #8 from "A TIME TO..."
“Why? What do you mean? You sound angry,” Tadesse said with surprise.
“Yes. Why are you so angry? Was it something God did?” Tsehye asked in perfect English, with a scholarly British accent.
“What the... You know English?” asked an amazed Al.
“Yes, I know English. I picked it up at Oxford University,” said Tsehye with a grin. “Please tell me why you have a problem with my wisdom. It also sounds like you have a problem with God.”
Al and Tadesse looked dumbfounded at each other. “God? What God?” Al responded after Tsehye’s surprise wore off and his question registered.
“”OK. I see. You are one of those,” Tsehye said.
“One of what?” Al shot back.
“One of those people who turns their back on God when some tragedy or painful experience happens to them,” Tsehye said as he sipped his coffee.
“Who are you?” Al asked sternly.
“I’m a wise old man. Probably too wise for my own good,” Tsehye replied lightheartedly.
“”Why did you lie about your English? You were a student at Oxford, but you’re living like a poor peasant in the middle of nowhere. Something is not right. No more lies. Explain yourself,” Al demanded.
“Yes. Don’t treat us like fools,” Tadesse added.
“You came to me. I’ve shared my thoughts with you. Treating you like fools?” Tsehye repeated with a hint of irritation. “I lied about my English to protect myself. I had to be sure you were not a threat. You said yourself, ‘Change is in the air... big change.’ You must know there are government agents everywhere, ready to arrest anyone who would like to see change.
“I was poor... my family couldn’t afford to send me to school... But I was able to get an education by working odd jobs at a Christian mission. I did everything from making charcoal to washing clothes. In return, they paid me money, that I gave to my parents. They let me live with them, and they schooled me. I was a very good student, they told me. So good, that they helped me get a scholarship at a prep school in Addis Ababa. By the time I graduated, I was the top student there. I became somewhat of a celebrity because of my humble family history. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was in England, attending Oxford. A rich businessman paid for it,” Tsehye said while shaking his head as if his story was hard for even him to believe.
“I never met him. He never contacted me. Several years after I graduated and returned to Addis, I heard that he had died. A part of me wished that I would have had the opportunity to thank him, and a part of me wished that I had the chance to curse him. You see, I was a misfit... a man without a culture. I preferred Western music, art, literature, clothes, food and even English. It was what I had come to know best. My goals, my success all told me that Western culture was superior. Nobody came out and said that, but it was implied. Nobody ridiculed Ethiopian culture, it just didn’t matter. So, when I returned to Ethiopia to live after graduation, I couldn’t relate to most Ethiopians. And they treated me like the foreigngee I had become,” Tsehye said as he closed his eyes and turned away. The pain in his voice explained the tear that he wiped from his cheek. “Excuse me. I don’t know why I told you this. It is the first time I spoke these words to anyone but myself.”
“You talk about ‘faith’ and ‘God’ like you know them well,” Al said haltingly, as if walking on thin ice. “How has your faith and God helped you? Look at what you’ve become.”
“Ah, yes, by the grace of God, look at me now,” Tsehye said proudly. “I’ll finish my story another time. Now, I want to hear yours... the reason why you came to see me today,” Tsehye said gently and with great compassion.
“Tell me... this God that you talk about... Is he good?” Al asked.
“Of course... the ultimate good,” Tsehye replied.
“Is he all powerful? Can he do anything... even miraculous things?” Al continued.
“He can and does move mountains, heals the sick and raises the dead,” Tsehye said. “If that’s what you mean.”
“OK. Then why does he let things happen that leave innocent people dead or behind bars for the rest of their lives? I’ll tell you why. Either he chooses not to act, to prevent these things from happening, which makes him less than good. It makes him cruel and indifferent, like someone standing by and doing nothing when he sees a child about to be hit by a car but doesn’t push that child out of the way even though he was standing right next to him,” Al said with bitterness.
“Or, he doesn’t exist. I think he doesn’t exist because how could an all-powerful God exist and just not save innocent people from untimely deaths, or injustices that they have to live with for their entire lives,” Al added as he slapped the rock they sat around.
“What can I say? It sounds like you have already made up your mind... but maybe not, since you’ve come all this way to talk about it,” Tsehye said. “How long have you felt this way?”
Al looked at Tadesse then into Tsehye’s eyes and said, “Ever since a friend of mine killed someone to protect me. It was a big mistake. The guy he killed was just playing around with me. My friend is now spending the rest of his life in prison to pay for his mistake, and the guy who was playing around is dead. Two lives lost because of me....,” Al confessed. “And, because there is no God.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tsehye told Al.
“Sorry about what?” Al blasted.
“Sorry you have suffered so much. I know there is a God,” Tsehye replied. “Blaming yourself for those things is wrong.... and just because you say there is no God doesn’t make it so.”
“How... How can you say all this? How do you know?” Al countered.
“First of all, you’re not responsible for what others do. God is not even responsible for what people do. Only we are responsible. God has given us the freedom to do as we please. For some this is a blessing, but for others, it is a curse because they make bad choices. To make matters worse, some of those who do terrible things don’t accept responsibility. Some even say ‘God’ told them to do it,” Tsehye lamented.
“Yeah, crazy people... only crazy people hear God talking,” Al interrupted. “God never said anything to me.”
“Ha, ha, ha... Are you sure?” Tsehye asked. “Maybe you’re not listening. Maybe he’s speaking a language you don’t know.”
“Yeah, maybe... Hell, you’re speaking English and I don’t know what you’re saying. So, I guess anything is possible,” Al offered.
“OK. Let me try to say it another way. God doesn’t speak to us with words, except those in the Bible. He speaks to us through our souls, our spirits... that part of us that is not of this world. It’s only when we engage our spirits that we can hear God. After all, he is not of this world. He just created it. To say there is no God, when we have Bibles and houses of worship all around the world, makes no sense. It makes a lot of sense to say God has spoken to the writers and the builders, and those who have revered their divine creations. Do you really think this is all just a collective fantasy?” Tsehye asked.
“Yes...wishful thinking for a God who takes care of those who pray to Him. It hasn’t worked for me,” Al said defiantly.
“Ah, so you did believe at one time,” Tsehye responded.
“I told you... If He exists, and I doubt it, He’s turned his back on me, and lots of others. Just look at the news everyday. Look at the poor, starving people in your country. So, I’ve turned my back on Him. I treat Him as if he doesn’t exist. It doesn’t make any difference to me if he exists or not. Either way, I’m living my life without Him,” Al declared.
“Are you sure?” Tsehye asked Al again. “Your bitterness speaks loudly. It tells me your soul is in pain. Listen to your soul tell you there is a God... a mysterious God who doesn’t seem to care about you and others in this world. You wouldn’t be so angry if you didn’t believe. God is alive and well in your anger. Can you hear your spirit talking to you?”
“No. I don’t hear anything,” Al said with a hint of confusion and a trace of disappointment.
“Then, I can’t help you, not now. You’re not ready,” Tsehye told Al.
Excerpt #8 from "A TIME TO..."
“Why? What do you mean? You sound angry,” Tadesse said with surprise.
“Yes. Why are you so angry? Was it something God did?” Tsehye asked in perfect English, with a scholarly British accent.
“What the... You know English?” asked an amazed Al.
“Yes, I know English. I picked it up at Oxford University,” said Tsehye with a grin. “Please tell me why you have a problem with my wisdom. It also sounds like you have a problem with God.”
Al and Tadesse looked dumbfounded at each other. “God? What God?” Al responded after Tsehye’s surprise wore off and his question registered.
“”OK. I see. You are one of those,” Tsehye said.
“One of what?” Al shot back.
“One of those people who turns their back on God when some tragedy or painful experience happens to them,” Tsehye said as he sipped his coffee.
“Who are you?” Al asked sternly.
“I’m a wise old man. Probably too wise for my own good,” Tsehye replied lightheartedly.
“”Why did you lie about your English? You were a student at Oxford, but you’re living like a poor peasant in the middle of nowhere. Something is not right. No more lies. Explain yourself,” Al demanded.
“Yes. Don’t treat us like fools,” Tadesse added.
“You came to me. I’ve shared my thoughts with you. Treating you like fools?” Tsehye repeated with a hint of irritation. “I lied about my English to protect myself. I had to be sure you were not a threat. You said yourself, ‘Change is in the air... big change.’ You must know there are government agents everywhere, ready to arrest anyone who would like to see change.
“I was poor... my family couldn’t afford to send me to school... But I was able to get an education by working odd jobs at a Christian mission. I did everything from making charcoal to washing clothes. In return, they paid me money, that I gave to my parents. They let me live with them, and they schooled me. I was a very good student, they told me. So good, that they helped me get a scholarship at a prep school in Addis Ababa. By the time I graduated, I was the top student there. I became somewhat of a celebrity because of my humble family history. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was in England, attending Oxford. A rich businessman paid for it,” Tsehye said while shaking his head as if his story was hard for even him to believe.
“I never met him. He never contacted me. Several years after I graduated and returned to Addis, I heard that he had died. A part of me wished that I would have had the opportunity to thank him, and a part of me wished that I had the chance to curse him. You see, I was a misfit... a man without a culture. I preferred Western music, art, literature, clothes, food and even English. It was what I had come to know best. My goals, my success all told me that Western culture was superior. Nobody came out and said that, but it was implied. Nobody ridiculed Ethiopian culture, it just didn’t matter. So, when I returned to Ethiopia to live after graduation, I couldn’t relate to most Ethiopians. And they treated me like the foreigngee I had become,” Tsehye said as he closed his eyes and turned away. The pain in his voice explained the tear that he wiped from his cheek. “Excuse me. I don’t know why I told you this. It is the first time I spoke these words to anyone but myself.”
“You talk about ‘faith’ and ‘God’ like you know them well,” Al said haltingly, as if walking on thin ice. “How has your faith and God helped you? Look at what you’ve become.”
“Ah, yes, by the grace of God, look at me now,” Tsehye said proudly. “I’ll finish my story another time. Now, I want to hear yours... the reason why you came to see me today,” Tsehye said gently and with great compassion.
“Tell me... this God that you talk about... Is he good?” Al asked.
“Of course... the ultimate good,” Tsehye replied.
“Is he all powerful? Can he do anything... even miraculous things?” Al continued.
“He can and does move mountains, heals the sick and raises the dead,” Tsehye said. “If that’s what you mean.”
“OK. Then why does he let things happen that leave innocent people dead or behind bars for the rest of their lives? I’ll tell you why. Either he chooses not to act, to prevent these things from happening, which makes him less than good. It makes him cruel and indifferent, like someone standing by and doing nothing when he sees a child about to be hit by a car but doesn’t push that child out of the way even though he was standing right next to him,” Al said with bitterness.
“Or, he doesn’t exist. I think he doesn’t exist because how could an all-powerful God exist and just not save innocent people from untimely deaths, or injustices that they have to live with for their entire lives,” Al added as he slapped the rock they sat around.
“What can I say? It sounds like you have already made up your mind... but maybe not, since you’ve come all this way to talk about it,” Tsehye said. “How long have you felt this way?”
Al looked at Tadesse then into Tsehye’s eyes and said, “Ever since a friend of mine killed someone to protect me. It was a big mistake. The guy he killed was just playing around with me. My friend is now spending the rest of his life in prison to pay for his mistake, and the guy who was playing around is dead. Two lives lost because of me....,” Al confessed. “And, because there is no God.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tsehye told Al.
“Sorry about what?” Al blasted.
“Sorry you have suffered so much. I know there is a God,” Tsehye replied. “Blaming yourself for those things is wrong.... and just because you say there is no God doesn’t make it so.”
“How... How can you say all this? How do you know?” Al countered.
“First of all, you’re not responsible for what others do. God is not even responsible for what people do. Only we are responsible. God has given us the freedom to do as we please. For some this is a blessing, but for others, it is a curse because they make bad choices. To make matters worse, some of those who do terrible things don’t accept responsibility. Some even say ‘God’ told them to do it,” Tsehye lamented.
“Yeah, crazy people... only crazy people hear God talking,” Al interrupted. “God never said anything to me.”
“Ha, ha, ha... Are you sure?” Tsehye asked. “Maybe you’re not listening. Maybe he’s speaking a language you don’t know.”
“Yeah, maybe... Hell, you’re speaking English and I don’t know what you’re saying. So, I guess anything is possible,” Al offered.
“OK. Let me try to say it another way. God doesn’t speak to us with words, except those in the Bible. He speaks to us through our souls, our spirits... that part of us that is not of this world. It’s only when we engage our spirits that we can hear God. After all, he is not of this world. He just created it. To say there is no God, when we have Bibles and houses of worship all around the world, makes no sense. It makes a lot of sense to say God has spoken to the writers and the builders, and those who have revered their divine creations. Do you really think this is all just a collective fantasy?” Tsehye asked.
“Yes...wishful thinking for a God who takes care of those who pray to Him. It hasn’t worked for me,” Al said defiantly.
“Ah, so you did believe at one time,” Tsehye responded.
“I told you... If He exists, and I doubt it, He’s turned his back on me, and lots of others. Just look at the news everyday. Look at the poor, starving people in your country. So, I’ve turned my back on Him. I treat Him as if he doesn’t exist. It doesn’t make any difference to me if he exists or not. Either way, I’m living my life without Him,” Al declared.
“Are you sure?” Tsehye asked Al again. “Your bitterness speaks loudly. It tells me your soul is in pain. Listen to your soul tell you there is a God... a mysterious God who doesn’t seem to care about you and others in this world. You wouldn’t be so angry if you didn’t believe. God is alive and well in your anger. Can you hear your spirit talking to you?”
“No. I don’t hear anything,” Al said with a hint of confusion and a trace of disappointment.
“Then, I can’t help you, not now. You’re not ready,” Tsehye told Al.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Aiding the Enemy
(When an old foe returns and wants to resume a relationship where it left off, we can engage or redefine the relationship. When Al faced this circumstance, he did both because his conscience gave him no other choice.)
Excerpt #7 from "A TIME TO..."
“Always so brave when you’re with a crowd,” Al said, looking eye to eye with Billy.
“I don’t need anybody else to take you. The only reason I didn’t do it when we were kids was my dad. And, since he ain’t around anymore, guess what?” Billy said as he handed his bat to the tall Apostle, and motioned for his two buddies to give him and Al some room.
Al took a boxing stance facing Billy, and repeated to himself his Disciple mantra, “Be tough, brave, intelligent and loyal.”
“I never liked you. You always rubbed me the wrong way,” Billy seethed.
“That’s your problem,” Al shot back. “I always minded my own business, but you.... you weren’t happy unless you were making my life miserable.”
Billy swung his fist hard at Al’s face, but missed when Al moved to the side and deflected it with his open hand.
“You didn’t always mind your own business, Daniel Boone.... Always bragging about coming from Kentucky, like you were somebody special,” Billy corrected Al, as he swung again, hitting Al in the stomach this time.
Al backed up to catch his breath. “I only talked about Kentucky when people asked me about it. Special...? Me...? Confused! Lonely! Freak!....was more like it,” Al barked as all those hurtful memories rekindled a fire in him.
Before Billy could respond, Al lunged at him, landing two blows... one to Billy’s side and the other to his nose, which started to bleed.
A startled Billy backed up a few steps and wiped the blood, which had trickled down into his mouth with his hand. Billy, now enraged, pointed at Al with his blood-soaked finger and said, “Now.... now you learn a lesson you won’t forget, Daniel.”
“Get him Billy! Yeah!” urged his fellow Apostles.
“Go away! Take that stuff somewhere else!” shouted an elderly woman from her third-floor apartment window overlooking the fight scene from across the street.
“What was that Grandma? I can’t hear you!” laughed the tall one.
“You’ll hear the police when they come!” she shouted even louder.
Billy swung his fist wildly at Al a couple times, but didn’t connect.
“Come on! You can do better than that,” mocked Al.
“Shut up and fight,” Billy demanded, before grabbing Al’s arms and wrestling him to the ground. As they rolled around on the sidewalk, they exchanged punches. Billy’s bloody nose smeared blood on both their clothes. It was a bright red on Al’s white tee shirt, brown on his tan jacket, and a darker shade of burgundy on Billy’s sweater.
“How do you like that?” Billy scowled after landing a solid punch on Al’s right ear that dazed Al for a couple seconds.
“Here’s some mor, mor, mor....” Billy stammered as his eyes rolled up into his head and his body began shaking wildly. He let go of Al. His body looked like a fish’s that had been pulled from the water and tossed on land.
“What the hell is wrong with you Billy?” the lanky Apostle asked incredulously.
Just then the sound of a police siren started growing louder as it approached them from a block away.
“Come on! We gotta get outta here,” screamed the tall Apostle, as he began running down the street in the opposite direction.
“What about Billy?” the other Apostle asked with concern.
“What about him? He’s either possessed or really sick. Nothing we can do,” the tall one said as he continued running. The lanky Apostle shrugged and followed his buddy down the street.
Al watched Billy flop around for a few seconds before he knew he had to do something quick or else Billy was going to hurt himself seriously. If he continued to hit his head against the sidewalk and roll over onto the broken wine bottle that was now just a foot away, he could even kill himself.
He remembered seeing his cousin flop around like that on the carpeted floor of his home during a visit. His aunt and uncle wrapped him in a blanket so he wouldn’t bang into things in the room. Since Al didn’t have a blanket, or anything to wrap Billy in, Al got down on his knees behind Billy’s head, and lifted him from his armpits while wrapping his arms around Billy’s chest. He held on as tight as he could. The force of Billy’s convulsions knocked Al off his knees and onto his backside. Now he could more securely cradle Billy between his knees while holding onto his chest with his arms.
Billy’s face and head were bloodied, bruised and scrapped when the police car pulled up to the curb, along side Billy and Al.
“Break it up!” commanded the officer who popped out of the passenger seat of the cruiser.
“It’s not what you think. We’re not fighting now,” said a breathless, blood-stained Al.
“Officer...Officer! Two of the young hoodlums are getting away!” shouted the woman, who had called the police, from her third-floor window.
Ignoring the woman, the officer responded to Al, “Is that right? What then?”
“He’s sick! Look at his eyes!”
“Officer... Officer! Can’t you hear me? Don’t let them get away!” the woman pleaded.
“Lady, please...first things first!”
Billy continued to twist and turn as if jolts of electricity pulsed intermittently through his body, and Al hung on despite Billy’s head butting his head several times.
“Is he on drugs?” asked the policeman who had been driving, as he exited the car.
“No. One second he was fine, the next he started shaking like crazy and his eyes... his eyes went blank.”
“Sounds like an Epileptic seizure. We’ve got some padding in the car,” the driver said as he rushed to get it from the trunk.
“I think he’s dead! His body stopped shaking. It’s not moving at all,” Al said to them.
The first officer checked Billy’s pulse before saying, “No. His seizure is over. It just took a lot out of him.”
Billy, still cradled between Al’s knees, with his back propped up against Al’s chest, moaned as if he had just begun feeling the effects of what had just happened to him.
“You must have gotten me good,” Billy said to Al, while he opened and closed his eyes, and regained his consciousness.
“No. You... you had a seizure,” Al told Billy.
“What?” said a puzzled and exhausted Billy.
“Yeah. Your friend probably saved your life,” said the first policeman.
“Friend? Where are my friends?”
“Right next to you,” said the second policeman.
“You... you helped me?” Billy said in amazement.
“Yeah,” Al replied matter-of-factly.
“Why?” a dazed Billy wondered.
“Somebody had to keep you from killing yourself, and I was the only one around,” Al replied.
“Where are my Apostle brothers?” a surprised Billy asked.
“I’m guessing they’re at least five blocks away by now. They took off just before the cops got here,” Al told Billy.
“Officer! Officer! You let them get away,” the woman shouted from her window across the street.
“Lady, you’re right. We’ll get ‘em next time,” said the first policeman.
“Why.... why didn’t you run too?” Billy asked Al.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t. I thought about it. I guess I didn’t think I could have lived with myself if I left you like that,” Al replied uncomfortably.
“Here,” said the second officer as he handed Billy a handkerchief. “Wipe the blood from your nose and face.”
Billy took it and slowly wiped off his blood.
“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Billy said somberly before covering his eyes with the blood-stained handkerchief and hanging his head. “I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” he repeated as he began sobbing.
“You don’t know that, but it doesn’t matter,” Al said as he got up off the ground. “We aren’t friends, but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies,” Al said as he walked away. After taking a few steps, Al stopped, turned around to Billy and said, “Maybe you’ll return the favor some time,” before he continued on his way to Sal’s Place.
Excerpt #7 from "A TIME TO..."
“Always so brave when you’re with a crowd,” Al said, looking eye to eye with Billy.
“I don’t need anybody else to take you. The only reason I didn’t do it when we were kids was my dad. And, since he ain’t around anymore, guess what?” Billy said as he handed his bat to the tall Apostle, and motioned for his two buddies to give him and Al some room.
Al took a boxing stance facing Billy, and repeated to himself his Disciple mantra, “Be tough, brave, intelligent and loyal.”
“I never liked you. You always rubbed me the wrong way,” Billy seethed.
“That’s your problem,” Al shot back. “I always minded my own business, but you.... you weren’t happy unless you were making my life miserable.”
Billy swung his fist hard at Al’s face, but missed when Al moved to the side and deflected it with his open hand.
“You didn’t always mind your own business, Daniel Boone.... Always bragging about coming from Kentucky, like you were somebody special,” Billy corrected Al, as he swung again, hitting Al in the stomach this time.
Al backed up to catch his breath. “I only talked about Kentucky when people asked me about it. Special...? Me...? Confused! Lonely! Freak!....was more like it,” Al barked as all those hurtful memories rekindled a fire in him.
Before Billy could respond, Al lunged at him, landing two blows... one to Billy’s side and the other to his nose, which started to bleed.
A startled Billy backed up a few steps and wiped the blood, which had trickled down into his mouth with his hand. Billy, now enraged, pointed at Al with his blood-soaked finger and said, “Now.... now you learn a lesson you won’t forget, Daniel.”
“Get him Billy! Yeah!” urged his fellow Apostles.
“Go away! Take that stuff somewhere else!” shouted an elderly woman from her third-floor apartment window overlooking the fight scene from across the street.
“What was that Grandma? I can’t hear you!” laughed the tall one.
“You’ll hear the police when they come!” she shouted even louder.
Billy swung his fist wildly at Al a couple times, but didn’t connect.
“Come on! You can do better than that,” mocked Al.
“Shut up and fight,” Billy demanded, before grabbing Al’s arms and wrestling him to the ground. As they rolled around on the sidewalk, they exchanged punches. Billy’s bloody nose smeared blood on both their clothes. It was a bright red on Al’s white tee shirt, brown on his tan jacket, and a darker shade of burgundy on Billy’s sweater.
“How do you like that?” Billy scowled after landing a solid punch on Al’s right ear that dazed Al for a couple seconds.
“Here’s some mor, mor, mor....” Billy stammered as his eyes rolled up into his head and his body began shaking wildly. He let go of Al. His body looked like a fish’s that had been pulled from the water and tossed on land.
“What the hell is wrong with you Billy?” the lanky Apostle asked incredulously.
Just then the sound of a police siren started growing louder as it approached them from a block away.
“Come on! We gotta get outta here,” screamed the tall Apostle, as he began running down the street in the opposite direction.
“What about Billy?” the other Apostle asked with concern.
“What about him? He’s either possessed or really sick. Nothing we can do,” the tall one said as he continued running. The lanky Apostle shrugged and followed his buddy down the street.
Al watched Billy flop around for a few seconds before he knew he had to do something quick or else Billy was going to hurt himself seriously. If he continued to hit his head against the sidewalk and roll over onto the broken wine bottle that was now just a foot away, he could even kill himself.
He remembered seeing his cousin flop around like that on the carpeted floor of his home during a visit. His aunt and uncle wrapped him in a blanket so he wouldn’t bang into things in the room. Since Al didn’t have a blanket, or anything to wrap Billy in, Al got down on his knees behind Billy’s head, and lifted him from his armpits while wrapping his arms around Billy’s chest. He held on as tight as he could. The force of Billy’s convulsions knocked Al off his knees and onto his backside. Now he could more securely cradle Billy between his knees while holding onto his chest with his arms.
Billy’s face and head were bloodied, bruised and scrapped when the police car pulled up to the curb, along side Billy and Al.
“Break it up!” commanded the officer who popped out of the passenger seat of the cruiser.
“It’s not what you think. We’re not fighting now,” said a breathless, blood-stained Al.
“Officer...Officer! Two of the young hoodlums are getting away!” shouted the woman, who had called the police, from her third-floor window.
Ignoring the woman, the officer responded to Al, “Is that right? What then?”
“He’s sick! Look at his eyes!”
“Officer... Officer! Can’t you hear me? Don’t let them get away!” the woman pleaded.
“Lady, please...first things first!”
Billy continued to twist and turn as if jolts of electricity pulsed intermittently through his body, and Al hung on despite Billy’s head butting his head several times.
“Is he on drugs?” asked the policeman who had been driving, as he exited the car.
“No. One second he was fine, the next he started shaking like crazy and his eyes... his eyes went blank.”
“Sounds like an Epileptic seizure. We’ve got some padding in the car,” the driver said as he rushed to get it from the trunk.
“I think he’s dead! His body stopped shaking. It’s not moving at all,” Al said to them.
The first officer checked Billy’s pulse before saying, “No. His seizure is over. It just took a lot out of him.”
Billy, still cradled between Al’s knees, with his back propped up against Al’s chest, moaned as if he had just begun feeling the effects of what had just happened to him.
“You must have gotten me good,” Billy said to Al, while he opened and closed his eyes, and regained his consciousness.
“No. You... you had a seizure,” Al told Billy.
“What?” said a puzzled and exhausted Billy.
“Yeah. Your friend probably saved your life,” said the first policeman.
“Friend? Where are my friends?”
“Right next to you,” said the second policeman.
“You... you helped me?” Billy said in amazement.
“Yeah,” Al replied matter-of-factly.
“Why?” a dazed Billy wondered.
“Somebody had to keep you from killing yourself, and I was the only one around,” Al replied.
“Where are my Apostle brothers?” a surprised Billy asked.
“I’m guessing they’re at least five blocks away by now. They took off just before the cops got here,” Al told Billy.
“Officer! Officer! You let them get away,” the woman shouted from her window across the street.
“Lady, you’re right. We’ll get ‘em next time,” said the first policeman.
“Why.... why didn’t you run too?” Billy asked Al.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t. I thought about it. I guess I didn’t think I could have lived with myself if I left you like that,” Al replied uncomfortably.
“Here,” said the second officer as he handed Billy a handkerchief. “Wipe the blood from your nose and face.”
Billy took it and slowly wiped off his blood.
“I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” Billy said somberly before covering his eyes with the blood-stained handkerchief and hanging his head. “I wouldn’t have done the same for you,” he repeated as he began sobbing.
“You don’t know that, but it doesn’t matter,” Al said as he got up off the ground. “We aren’t friends, but that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies,” Al said as he walked away. After taking a few steps, Al stopped, turned around to Billy and said, “Maybe you’ll return the favor some time,” before he continued on his way to Sal’s Place.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
God's Voice of Love
(People have heard God speak to them for thousands of years. When it was one of the great prophets relaying His words, we accept it and even rejoice. But when someone we know, a neighbor or family member, tells us about what God told them, we are at least a little skeptical. And, nobody would have been more skeptical than Al. That's why Al reacted as he did when God spoke to him.)
Excerpt #6 from "A TIME TO..."
“Are you religious?” Al replied.
“I go to church when I can. I believe in God. Is that what you mean?” Paul wondered.
“Angels? Do you believe in angels too?” Al pressed.
“Sure. Aren’t they part of the God package?” Paul said rhetorically.
“What would you say if I told you somebody thinks I’m an angel?” Al asked Paul.
“You got a new girl friend?” Paul replied with a smile.
“Al rolled his eyes and chuckled, “No. I’m serious. A young girl at the shelter thinks I’m an angel God sent and she’s convinced her mother that I’m an angel too,” Al confided.
“But you don’t have wings? So, how did they mistake you for an angel?” Paul teased.
Al retold Paul the story about his visit with Almaz’s family, Berhanu’s subsequent conversation with them, and the doctor’s prognosis.
“So, do you have any miracles up your sleeve?” Paul asked Al.
“A miracle...? Yeah, that’s what they expect from me. Do you have any ideas?” Al prompted.
“Hmm... Well there’s parting the Red Sea, and it’s not too far from here. Or, there’s turning water into wine and feeding thousands by multiplying a couple loaves and pieces of fish. I’d mention raising someone from the dead, but let’s stick to something more doable,” Paul teased more.
“Funny. Ha, ha. Maybe I’d better forget about a miracle,” Al concluded.
“No. Don’t do that. You just need to be creative. Find out what it would take for Amaz’s father to regain his will to live, then you’ll have the miracle you’ll need to perform,” Paul suggested.
“I’m back to square one. I need to talk with Berhanu,” Al realized.
The next morning Al arrived early at the shelter and pulled Berhanu aside to talk as soon as he saw him. “Does Almaz’s father think I’m an angel?” Al asked Berhanu.
“No. He thinks his wife and daughter are crazy,” Berhanu told Al.
“What would he do if I told him I am an angel?” Al supposed.
“He’d think you are crazy,” Berhanu said confidently.
“What if I proved I’m an angel?” Al wondered.
“Now, I think you are crazy,” Berhanu admitted.
“Let me explain. The doctor told me that Almaz’s father will die unless something happens to end his depression. The pneumonia will kill him. Didn’t you tell me that faith in God is all that keeps the poor like him alive? Well, the depression has apparently stolen his faith. So, unless his faith is restored, he will die. I want to be his angel and do something miraculous so he will live for his sake and for his family’s. But, I need your help,” Al explained.
“What changed your mind? You weren’t going to tell them you are an angel,” Berhanu inquired.
“Almaz. I saw something in her face the other day. I don’t want her to become bitter, like someone I know. And, I can’t just stand by and watch her father die if there is something I can do to prevent it,” Al told him.
“OK. How can I help?” Berhanu offered.
“The doctor told me they have no home to return to. I don’t know what he meant. Can you find out if they are homeless now and anything else that may be causing the depression? You already told me about his son. I want to prove to him that I’m an angel by doing something miraculous,” a committed Al told him.
“But you are not an angel. You can’t make miracles happen,” Berhanu reminded Al.
“Yes and no. Just because I’m not an angel doesn’t mean I can’t perform a small miracle. I’m hoping that will be enough,” Al replied.
"OK. I’ll talk with them today and let you know what I learn,” Berhanu confirmed.
“Thanks,” Al said as he tapped Berhanu’s shoulder.
A miracle... Al needed a miracle. Why not? Why not one more in the string of miracles that were taking place that year, 1974, in Ethiopia? Wasn’t it a miracle that Peace Corps Volunteers eradicated Smallpox from the world that summer in a remote Ethiopian village? Wasn’t it a miracle that the remains of a three-million-year-old human ancestor were discovered not far from Dessie, providing clues to the origin of human life, and wasn’t it a miracle that the days of Ethiopia’s ancient feudal system were about to end? While Al had no idea now what would be needed to make this peasant farmer whole again after everything he had been through, somehow he knew that the answer lived deep inside himself in a place he avoided ever since Tommy killed Billy.
When Berhanu sat down with him later that day to report what he had learned, Al listened carefully for anything that would tell him what to do. He just hoped that it wouldn’t require a journey he wasn’t prepared to take.
“His name is Serranen... Almaz’s father,” Berhanu reported to Al. “The land he had farmed was owned by a prince. Serranen’s family worked that land for many generations for the same royal family. The prince had decided to sell his land to another royal family because he needed the money to continue living his privileged life. Harvests had been bad in recent years and then this draught put him in debt. The new land owner had his own farmers, so he told Serranen to leave. But where could he go when all he knew was farming and he didn’t know anyone with land who could put him to work?
“He and his family were walking for two days, looking for work, when some thieves took the few things they owned, including all their food. In the fight, Serranen broke his foot. The next day, their son wandered off into the wilderness to find food for his family. He returned a few hours later with a sack of berries. He had eaten his full before filling the sack for his family. But, by the time he returned, he had become very sick. His mother rushed to him when she saw him struggling to walk and breath. Within a few hours, he was dead. They buried him in a field of wild flowers not far from the road they were traveling. The berries were apparently poisonous, so they went hungry for two days, until an empty lorrie returning to the Dessie shelter stopped to pick them up. They were amazed when it dropped them off at the shelter,” Berhanu related.
"Almaz and her mother’s prayers were answered. Serranen didn’t pray. He was too angry by that time to talk with God as a result of what had happened to his son, with his job and the thieves. Almaz believes that you, being an angel, had heard her prayer and sent the truck to save them. It didn’t take much to convince her mother that you are an angel," Berhanu concluded.”
As Berhanu told the sad story, Al closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, ‘no’ after hearing about each hardship, and nodded ‘yes’ when he heard about the impact they had on Serranen.
“I can’t do this. How can I help him when I feel the same way about God? I don’t blame Serranen for feeling as he does,” Al told Berhanu remorsefully.
“So he will die, leaving Almaz without a father and Abebech without a husband? Can’t you just pretend as you said before and give them a small miracle?” Berhanu pleaded.
“I can’t give him back his son or his job. Those are the only miracles that matter to him now,” Al said softly.
“He just needs to know that in spite of everything, God is with him and loves him,” Berhanu whispered.
“How? I’m not a magician. The last time I tried to be one, when I was a kid, my tricks backfired on me. ‘God is with him and loves him? ...after everything that’s happened to him?” Al said sarcastically.
Just then, this scene from Al’s life froze and the mysterious voice that he had heard earlier in his life said, “Isn’t it time that you stopped blaming God for what happened to Billy and Tommy?”
“It’s you again. What’s happening to me? Where am I? Who are you? What do you want from me?” Al demanded.
No answers came. The voice just repeated its same question. After a long pause, Al finally said, “Why?”
Then for the first time ever, the voice responded to Al. “God didn’t hit Billy with the bottle. God didn’t put the gun in Billy’s hand. God didn’t create the animosity between the Apostles and the Disciples. God didn’t convict Tommy,” the voice said with kindness.
“And, God didn’t do anything to prevent these things either,” Al snapped back. “God has given humans laws to follow and the freedom to do as they please,” the voice replied compassionately.
“It’s not that simple,” Al protested.
“Yes, it is,” declared the voice.
“No!” Al screamed.
“And, isn’t it time that you stopped blaming yourself for what happened?” the voice added. “If I didn’t help Bookie fix the game, Billy would still be alive and Tommy would be free,” Al declared.
“You made a mistake. Learn from it and move on. God forgives mistakes ... so should you,” the voice responded.
“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Please tell me how,” Al pleaded.
“Ahhh. Now we are getting somewhere. You can’t do anything to help Billy or Tommy. They are in God’s hands, but you can do something to help Serranen and his family. It will do wonders for your soul.” the voice counseled.
“”I’ll try, but I’ll need help. Do you have a suggestion?” an exhausted Al asked.
“Listen to your heart,” the voice said just before the scene with Berhanu resumed where it had stopped.
“Yes, God and his love are with Serranen, even now,” Berhanu told Al. “Suffering is part of our lives here. Serranen knows this, but he needs a reminder to understand that God hasn’t abandoned him.”
Al looked thoughtfully at Berhanu in silence for a few seconds and then recalled Tsehye’s earlier words to him, “Your bitterness speaks loudly... It tells me your soul is in pain. Listen to your soul tell you there is a God... a mysterious God who doesn’t always seem to care about you and others in this world.” Al then covered his eyes with his hands, bowed his head, and wiped a tear from his eyes.
“What is it?” Berhanu asked. “Was it something I said?”
“Yes, and something an old wise man told me a few months ago,” Al said as he regained his composure. “I will do everything I can to help Serranen live,” Al said just as an idea came to mind. Tsehye is a landowner. “Perhaps Serranen could work for him,” Al thought.
“What will you do?” Berhanu asked compassionately. “I will try to be in spirit the angel Almaz thinks God sent to save them. I hope to show Serranen that God is with him to help restore his faith and his health. And, I hope to move on with my life and not be held back anymore by a mistake I had made years ago,” Al whispered.
Excerpt #6 from "A TIME TO..."
“Are you religious?” Al replied.
“I go to church when I can. I believe in God. Is that what you mean?” Paul wondered.
“Angels? Do you believe in angels too?” Al pressed.
“Sure. Aren’t they part of the God package?” Paul said rhetorically.
“What would you say if I told you somebody thinks I’m an angel?” Al asked Paul.
“You got a new girl friend?” Paul replied with a smile.
“Al rolled his eyes and chuckled, “No. I’m serious. A young girl at the shelter thinks I’m an angel God sent and she’s convinced her mother that I’m an angel too,” Al confided.
“But you don’t have wings? So, how did they mistake you for an angel?” Paul teased.
Al retold Paul the story about his visit with Almaz’s family, Berhanu’s subsequent conversation with them, and the doctor’s prognosis.
“So, do you have any miracles up your sleeve?” Paul asked Al.
“A miracle...? Yeah, that’s what they expect from me. Do you have any ideas?” Al prompted.
“Hmm... Well there’s parting the Red Sea, and it’s not too far from here. Or, there’s turning water into wine and feeding thousands by multiplying a couple loaves and pieces of fish. I’d mention raising someone from the dead, but let’s stick to something more doable,” Paul teased more.
“Funny. Ha, ha. Maybe I’d better forget about a miracle,” Al concluded.
“No. Don’t do that. You just need to be creative. Find out what it would take for Amaz’s father to regain his will to live, then you’ll have the miracle you’ll need to perform,” Paul suggested.
“I’m back to square one. I need to talk with Berhanu,” Al realized.
The next morning Al arrived early at the shelter and pulled Berhanu aside to talk as soon as he saw him. “Does Almaz’s father think I’m an angel?” Al asked Berhanu.
“No. He thinks his wife and daughter are crazy,” Berhanu told Al.
“What would he do if I told him I am an angel?” Al supposed.
“He’d think you are crazy,” Berhanu said confidently.
“What if I proved I’m an angel?” Al wondered.
“Now, I think you are crazy,” Berhanu admitted.
“Let me explain. The doctor told me that Almaz’s father will die unless something happens to end his depression. The pneumonia will kill him. Didn’t you tell me that faith in God is all that keeps the poor like him alive? Well, the depression has apparently stolen his faith. So, unless his faith is restored, he will die. I want to be his angel and do something miraculous so he will live for his sake and for his family’s. But, I need your help,” Al explained.
“What changed your mind? You weren’t going to tell them you are an angel,” Berhanu inquired.
“Almaz. I saw something in her face the other day. I don’t want her to become bitter, like someone I know. And, I can’t just stand by and watch her father die if there is something I can do to prevent it,” Al told him.
“OK. How can I help?” Berhanu offered.
“The doctor told me they have no home to return to. I don’t know what he meant. Can you find out if they are homeless now and anything else that may be causing the depression? You already told me about his son. I want to prove to him that I’m an angel by doing something miraculous,” a committed Al told him.
“But you are not an angel. You can’t make miracles happen,” Berhanu reminded Al.
“Yes and no. Just because I’m not an angel doesn’t mean I can’t perform a small miracle. I’m hoping that will be enough,” Al replied.
"OK. I’ll talk with them today and let you know what I learn,” Berhanu confirmed.
“Thanks,” Al said as he tapped Berhanu’s shoulder.
A miracle... Al needed a miracle. Why not? Why not one more in the string of miracles that were taking place that year, 1974, in Ethiopia? Wasn’t it a miracle that Peace Corps Volunteers eradicated Smallpox from the world that summer in a remote Ethiopian village? Wasn’t it a miracle that the remains of a three-million-year-old human ancestor were discovered not far from Dessie, providing clues to the origin of human life, and wasn’t it a miracle that the days of Ethiopia’s ancient feudal system were about to end? While Al had no idea now what would be needed to make this peasant farmer whole again after everything he had been through, somehow he knew that the answer lived deep inside himself in a place he avoided ever since Tommy killed Billy.
When Berhanu sat down with him later that day to report what he had learned, Al listened carefully for anything that would tell him what to do. He just hoped that it wouldn’t require a journey he wasn’t prepared to take.
“His name is Serranen... Almaz’s father,” Berhanu reported to Al. “The land he had farmed was owned by a prince. Serranen’s family worked that land for many generations for the same royal family. The prince had decided to sell his land to another royal family because he needed the money to continue living his privileged life. Harvests had been bad in recent years and then this draught put him in debt. The new land owner had his own farmers, so he told Serranen to leave. But where could he go when all he knew was farming and he didn’t know anyone with land who could put him to work?
“He and his family were walking for two days, looking for work, when some thieves took the few things they owned, including all their food. In the fight, Serranen broke his foot. The next day, their son wandered off into the wilderness to find food for his family. He returned a few hours later with a sack of berries. He had eaten his full before filling the sack for his family. But, by the time he returned, he had become very sick. His mother rushed to him when she saw him struggling to walk and breath. Within a few hours, he was dead. They buried him in a field of wild flowers not far from the road they were traveling. The berries were apparently poisonous, so they went hungry for two days, until an empty lorrie returning to the Dessie shelter stopped to pick them up. They were amazed when it dropped them off at the shelter,” Berhanu related.
"Almaz and her mother’s prayers were answered. Serranen didn’t pray. He was too angry by that time to talk with God as a result of what had happened to his son, with his job and the thieves. Almaz believes that you, being an angel, had heard her prayer and sent the truck to save them. It didn’t take much to convince her mother that you are an angel," Berhanu concluded.”
As Berhanu told the sad story, Al closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, ‘no’ after hearing about each hardship, and nodded ‘yes’ when he heard about the impact they had on Serranen.
“I can’t do this. How can I help him when I feel the same way about God? I don’t blame Serranen for feeling as he does,” Al told Berhanu remorsefully.
“So he will die, leaving Almaz without a father and Abebech without a husband? Can’t you just pretend as you said before and give them a small miracle?” Berhanu pleaded.
“I can’t give him back his son or his job. Those are the only miracles that matter to him now,” Al said softly.
“He just needs to know that in spite of everything, God is with him and loves him,” Berhanu whispered.
“How? I’m not a magician. The last time I tried to be one, when I was a kid, my tricks backfired on me. ‘God is with him and loves him? ...after everything that’s happened to him?” Al said sarcastically.
Just then, this scene from Al’s life froze and the mysterious voice that he had heard earlier in his life said, “Isn’t it time that you stopped blaming God for what happened to Billy and Tommy?”
“It’s you again. What’s happening to me? Where am I? Who are you? What do you want from me?” Al demanded.
No answers came. The voice just repeated its same question. After a long pause, Al finally said, “Why?”
Then for the first time ever, the voice responded to Al. “God didn’t hit Billy with the bottle. God didn’t put the gun in Billy’s hand. God didn’t create the animosity between the Apostles and the Disciples. God didn’t convict Tommy,” the voice said with kindness.
“And, God didn’t do anything to prevent these things either,” Al snapped back. “God has given humans laws to follow and the freedom to do as they please,” the voice replied compassionately.
“It’s not that simple,” Al protested.
“Yes, it is,” declared the voice.
“No!” Al screamed.
“And, isn’t it time that you stopped blaming yourself for what happened?” the voice added. “If I didn’t help Bookie fix the game, Billy would still be alive and Tommy would be free,” Al declared.
“You made a mistake. Learn from it and move on. God forgives mistakes ... so should you,” the voice responded.
“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. Please tell me how,” Al pleaded.
“Ahhh. Now we are getting somewhere. You can’t do anything to help Billy or Tommy. They are in God’s hands, but you can do something to help Serranen and his family. It will do wonders for your soul.” the voice counseled.
“”I’ll try, but I’ll need help. Do you have a suggestion?” an exhausted Al asked.
“Listen to your heart,” the voice said just before the scene with Berhanu resumed where it had stopped.
“Yes, God and his love are with Serranen, even now,” Berhanu told Al. “Suffering is part of our lives here. Serranen knows this, but he needs a reminder to understand that God hasn’t abandoned him.”
Al looked thoughtfully at Berhanu in silence for a few seconds and then recalled Tsehye’s earlier words to him, “Your bitterness speaks loudly... It tells me your soul is in pain. Listen to your soul tell you there is a God... a mysterious God who doesn’t always seem to care about you and others in this world.” Al then covered his eyes with his hands, bowed his head, and wiped a tear from his eyes.
“What is it?” Berhanu asked. “Was it something I said?”
“Yes, and something an old wise man told me a few months ago,” Al said as he regained his composure. “I will do everything I can to help Serranen live,” Al said just as an idea came to mind. Tsehye is a landowner. “Perhaps Serranen could work for him,” Al thought.
“What will you do?” Berhanu asked compassionately. “I will try to be in spirit the angel Almaz thinks God sent to save them. I hope to show Serranen that God is with him to help restore his faith and his health. And, I hope to move on with my life and not be held back anymore by a mistake I had made years ago,” Al whispered.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Psychic
Sometimes we find answers to difficult questions that pop up in our lives by looking at the world a little differently. And, some people are better at doing this than others, as Manny learned while he worked on a feature story for his TV station's news department.
Excerpt #5 from "A TIME TO..."
Manny began his interview with a simple throwaway question just to get Janice comfortable and talking, “What does it mean to be a psychic?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha.... oh, I’m sor... ha, ha, ha,” Janice laughed uncontrollably for half a minute.
Manny and his camera operator turned to look at each other with puzzled expressions.
“You...you don’t understand. I know what you meant. You want me to tell you how I can see the future, talk to the dead and know where to find hidden treasure. But, for some reason I took your question literally and it struck me funny because being a psychic means spending many of my waking hours in a dream state...living with one foot in the physical world, bound by the laws of physics, and another foot in a world where space, time and things have no intrinsic meaning...a world where images and sounds are produced from activities in the physical world. So, it’s really a funny experience,” Janice explained. “...In a strange, rewarding, scary, mysterious way.”
This scene from Al’s life then paused, and as it did, Al wondered if the flashbacks of his life that began with him as a seven-year-old and continued on to this Manny interview with Janice were a type of psychic experience. Her description of what psychics experienced reminded Al of what he felt now as the images of his life filled his consciousness, without regard to space and time. But he was no psychic, so the images cascading before him had to be something else. With that thought, hanging like a rain cloud about to burst, the scene with Manny and Janice resumed.
“Yes, tell me about your psychic powers and what you’ve done with them,” Manny said to get the interview back on track.
“Some people can forecast the weather by interpreting nature’s signals, others do it by measuring indicators with scientific instruments. I forecast events, retrieve past events, solve mysteries and speak with the dead by tuning in to the spirit world. We are all spiritual beings, but only a few can live in that extra dimensional world while they are still living in this one. Most people intuitively know there’s more to life than just this physical world. Religions are testaments to that. But actually living in the spiritual world, experiencing its unfamiliar dimensions, is something else. Don’t ask me how I do it because I don’t know. You’d get the same answer from great artists and athletes, if asked how they can perform as they do.”
“You said you tune into the spirit world, but you can’t say how?” Manny said to confirm what he had just heard from Janice.
“I focus my thoughts on a person, place, event or thing – then somehow I ‘see’ images and hear conversations in my mind that relate to them. I don’t know where they come from or how I can do this. It mystifies even me. It’s like I’m dreaming,”
“What is the most memorable psychic experience you’ve had?”
“The one that was more amazing than all the others? The one that almost left me stranded in the spirit world? The one in which I sat down for dinner with all my ancestors and we talked about how their views of the physical world have changed since they left it?”
“Yes, tell me about that one,” Manny said with more skepticism than anticipation.
“A few years ago, I was having a rough period in my life. I was very sad...depressed really. Nothing was going right. Everything I did, the choices I made, turned out to be the wrong ones, adding to my problems. Ironic, I know...a psychic making wrong choices. At the same time my parents passed away within months of each other...one from a freak accident, the other from a broken heart. To make matters worse, people who I thought were my friends, really weren’t. So to set the record straight psychics, at least this one, doesn’t ‘see’ everything. People and situations can and do fool me. But my psychic abilities rescued me from myself.”
“I was sitting in my home, holding a family heirloom, a brass goblet, that has been passed down from generation to generation for about five hundred years. As I ran my fingers along its side from top to bottom a vision of a dinner party at on old English inn not only appeared in my mind, as other visions have done before and since. But, this time I was actually in my vision. It was as if I were transported to mid-evil England. Then, it really got strange. My mother and father greeted me and began introducing me to everyone else at the long table that seated at least one hundred.”
“There were grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins – going back before America was even discovered...before the ‘Old World’ knew it was old. Everyone was dressed in the clothes they wore when they were living in the physical world, so it was like viewing five hundred years of fashion. But the years didn’t separate them socially. They all knew everything about life on earth before and after their physical deaths. When the family’s patriarch, the one who began the tradition of passing the goblet, spoke to me, he seemed to know everything about my life, including my current troubles.”
“‘Your parents haven’t stopped talking about you since they arrived. All of us here, your family, have witnessed your recent trials and wanted to do something to support you,’ he told me.”
“’’Your father and I suggested that we all get together like this to create a lot of energy in one place so that you could use your psychic power to connect with us,’ my mother interrupted.”
“’We all whispered in your ear at the same time to pick up the goblet so you could visit us,’ my father added.”
“’’This...this...this is...amazing. I’m actually here with you...on the other side,’ I told them. ‘Heaven...? We’re in Heaven?’ I went on.”
“’Ha, ha, ha, haahh...Almost,’ Richard, the family patriarch replied. ‘Actually, we’re in Heaven’s waiting room. We’ve come out to meet you here. The waiting room itself takes the form of places on earth where we’ve lived and it can change in an instant to another place depending on the occasion. Right now we’re enjoying the inn I had owned. Notice that everyone is drinking from goblets like the one in your hand.’ Then he added that, ‘The goblet in your hand is the one I passed to my eldest child, when I died, as a reminder to enjoy life on earth because it is so short. All of us here now also know that it is filled with hardships and suffering like those you’re experiencing. You should spend some time now with each of us, to talk about our lives to get some perspective. I think you’ll feel a lot better,’ he added.”
“So, that’s what I did, and he was right. The pain I had felt after losing my parents disappeared because I saw them so happy in their new life. They weren’t really gone. They just moved to a new place, a better place, where they were healthy and very happy...so being sad about their deaths made no sense anymore. Sure, I missed them but how could I feel bad when they had moved to the most cherished address in the universe...a place more magical than Disneyworld?”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a dream...that you weren’t really asleep, imagining all this?” Manny asked.
“You know, that’s an interesting question because more than one of my family members at this dinner party told me that when they looked back on their physical lives on earth, they thought those lives were dreams. Their eternal lives, and everything that came with them, as amazing as they would have seemed to them before, were now more real and more meaningful than what they experienced as physical beings.”
“No, I wasn’t dreaming. While back there my mother told me about a note she had left me, tucked in the pages of her Bible. After I returned to this world from my family visit on the other side, I found the note, just as she told me. In the note, she said that she would do her best to connect with my psychic powers from the other side, that I should have a drink from the family goblet for her, and that she would always love me,” Janice told Manny as she wiped away a tear from her eye.
“You told me you were ‘almost stranded’ in the spirit world.’ How did you return to this world?” Manny asked.
“I was having such a good time; I didn’t want to leave them and their world. I didn’t want to return to the physical world and all my problems. As a result, I couldn’t focus and use my psychic powers to return. I was stuck between the two worlds and didn’t know what to do about it. Then Richard told me that my time would come soon enough, that I had been given special gifts to share with others who could benefit from them in the physical world, and that once I fulfilled my purpose here, I would then be able to rejoin them forever.”
Excerpt #5 from "A TIME TO..."
Manny began his interview with a simple throwaway question just to get Janice comfortable and talking, “What does it mean to be a psychic?”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha.... oh, I’m sor... ha, ha, ha,” Janice laughed uncontrollably for half a minute.
Manny and his camera operator turned to look at each other with puzzled expressions.
“You...you don’t understand. I know what you meant. You want me to tell you how I can see the future, talk to the dead and know where to find hidden treasure. But, for some reason I took your question literally and it struck me funny because being a psychic means spending many of my waking hours in a dream state...living with one foot in the physical world, bound by the laws of physics, and another foot in a world where space, time and things have no intrinsic meaning...a world where images and sounds are produced from activities in the physical world. So, it’s really a funny experience,” Janice explained. “...In a strange, rewarding, scary, mysterious way.”
This scene from Al’s life then paused, and as it did, Al wondered if the flashbacks of his life that began with him as a seven-year-old and continued on to this Manny interview with Janice were a type of psychic experience. Her description of what psychics experienced reminded Al of what he felt now as the images of his life filled his consciousness, without regard to space and time. But he was no psychic, so the images cascading before him had to be something else. With that thought, hanging like a rain cloud about to burst, the scene with Manny and Janice resumed.
“Yes, tell me about your psychic powers and what you’ve done with them,” Manny said to get the interview back on track.
“Some people can forecast the weather by interpreting nature’s signals, others do it by measuring indicators with scientific instruments. I forecast events, retrieve past events, solve mysteries and speak with the dead by tuning in to the spirit world. We are all spiritual beings, but only a few can live in that extra dimensional world while they are still living in this one. Most people intuitively know there’s more to life than just this physical world. Religions are testaments to that. But actually living in the spiritual world, experiencing its unfamiliar dimensions, is something else. Don’t ask me how I do it because I don’t know. You’d get the same answer from great artists and athletes, if asked how they can perform as they do.”
“You said you tune into the spirit world, but you can’t say how?” Manny said to confirm what he had just heard from Janice.
“I focus my thoughts on a person, place, event or thing – then somehow I ‘see’ images and hear conversations in my mind that relate to them. I don’t know where they come from or how I can do this. It mystifies even me. It’s like I’m dreaming,”
“What is the most memorable psychic experience you’ve had?”
“The one that was more amazing than all the others? The one that almost left me stranded in the spirit world? The one in which I sat down for dinner with all my ancestors and we talked about how their views of the physical world have changed since they left it?”
“Yes, tell me about that one,” Manny said with more skepticism than anticipation.
“A few years ago, I was having a rough period in my life. I was very sad...depressed really. Nothing was going right. Everything I did, the choices I made, turned out to be the wrong ones, adding to my problems. Ironic, I know...a psychic making wrong choices. At the same time my parents passed away within months of each other...one from a freak accident, the other from a broken heart. To make matters worse, people who I thought were my friends, really weren’t. So to set the record straight psychics, at least this one, doesn’t ‘see’ everything. People and situations can and do fool me. But my psychic abilities rescued me from myself.”
“I was sitting in my home, holding a family heirloom, a brass goblet, that has been passed down from generation to generation for about five hundred years. As I ran my fingers along its side from top to bottom a vision of a dinner party at on old English inn not only appeared in my mind, as other visions have done before and since. But, this time I was actually in my vision. It was as if I were transported to mid-evil England. Then, it really got strange. My mother and father greeted me and began introducing me to everyone else at the long table that seated at least one hundred.”
“There were grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins – going back before America was even discovered...before the ‘Old World’ knew it was old. Everyone was dressed in the clothes they wore when they were living in the physical world, so it was like viewing five hundred years of fashion. But the years didn’t separate them socially. They all knew everything about life on earth before and after their physical deaths. When the family’s patriarch, the one who began the tradition of passing the goblet, spoke to me, he seemed to know everything about my life, including my current troubles.”
“‘Your parents haven’t stopped talking about you since they arrived. All of us here, your family, have witnessed your recent trials and wanted to do something to support you,’ he told me.”
“’’Your father and I suggested that we all get together like this to create a lot of energy in one place so that you could use your psychic power to connect with us,’ my mother interrupted.”
“’We all whispered in your ear at the same time to pick up the goblet so you could visit us,’ my father added.”
“’’This...this...this is...amazing. I’m actually here with you...on the other side,’ I told them. ‘Heaven...? We’re in Heaven?’ I went on.”
“’Ha, ha, ha, haahh...Almost,’ Richard, the family patriarch replied. ‘Actually, we’re in Heaven’s waiting room. We’ve come out to meet you here. The waiting room itself takes the form of places on earth where we’ve lived and it can change in an instant to another place depending on the occasion. Right now we’re enjoying the inn I had owned. Notice that everyone is drinking from goblets like the one in your hand.’ Then he added that, ‘The goblet in your hand is the one I passed to my eldest child, when I died, as a reminder to enjoy life on earth because it is so short. All of us here now also know that it is filled with hardships and suffering like those you’re experiencing. You should spend some time now with each of us, to talk about our lives to get some perspective. I think you’ll feel a lot better,’ he added.”
“So, that’s what I did, and he was right. The pain I had felt after losing my parents disappeared because I saw them so happy in their new life. They weren’t really gone. They just moved to a new place, a better place, where they were healthy and very happy...so being sad about their deaths made no sense anymore. Sure, I missed them but how could I feel bad when they had moved to the most cherished address in the universe...a place more magical than Disneyworld?”
“Are you sure it wasn’t a dream...that you weren’t really asleep, imagining all this?” Manny asked.
“You know, that’s an interesting question because more than one of my family members at this dinner party told me that when they looked back on their physical lives on earth, they thought those lives were dreams. Their eternal lives, and everything that came with them, as amazing as they would have seemed to them before, were now more real and more meaningful than what they experienced as physical beings.”
“No, I wasn’t dreaming. While back there my mother told me about a note she had left me, tucked in the pages of her Bible. After I returned to this world from my family visit on the other side, I found the note, just as she told me. In the note, she said that she would do her best to connect with my psychic powers from the other side, that I should have a drink from the family goblet for her, and that she would always love me,” Janice told Manny as she wiped away a tear from her eye.
“You told me you were ‘almost stranded’ in the spirit world.’ How did you return to this world?” Manny asked.
“I was having such a good time; I didn’t want to leave them and their world. I didn’t want to return to the physical world and all my problems. As a result, I couldn’t focus and use my psychic powers to return. I was stuck between the two worlds and didn’t know what to do about it. Then Richard told me that my time would come soon enough, that I had been given special gifts to share with others who could benefit from them in the physical world, and that once I fulfilled my purpose here, I would then be able to rejoin them forever.”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Bag Lady
We all make choices everyday in life. Some have more consequences than others. When the consequences turn bad, we would like to press the "Re-do" button, which isn't always possible. That's when living can become a real challenge, as one woman discovered.
Excerpt #4 from "A TIME TO..."
Lower Manhattan, home of Wall Street, the World Trade Center and Battery Park, was bathed in the sunlight of a dawning day. As thousands of workers rushed to their offices in the area, a bag lady slowly rose to a sitting position on the train station bench beneath the World Trade Center where she spent the night. As she wiped the sleep from her eyes, the Statue of Liberty glistened from the warming sun’s rays on nearby Hudson Bay. Soon, the bag lady would be out on the street again to bask in the warmth that departed, like all the workers, at nightfall.
Anyone who looked at this woman felt something – compassion, contempt, resentment, fear, and more – depending on their own emotional states. She unwittingly was a catalyst of emotions for everyone who saw her. Sometimes she benefited from this phenomenon and other times she was victimized by it.
She was always amazed when people responded to her so differently, even though she did nothing different, and this day was no exception from her last thirty or so nights and mornings in this station, on this bench.
“Please take this,” said the well-dressed business woman who was about her own age as she gently placed a five dollar bill in the bag lady’s hand that rested on her lap. As the bag lady looked up to thank the kindness, the woman had already disappeared in a wave of business people in a hurry to get to their jobs.
“Ah, this will be a good day,” the bag lady said to herself as she carefully placed the bill in a pocket of her tattered, stained, over-sized coat.
“Crash” went the rusted toy wagon she used to transport two shopping bags full of her worldly possessions. Sprawled all over the floor in front of her were clothes, a few kitchen utensils, some treasured photos of her previous life and an angry young office worker who wasn’t looking where he was going before tripping over the bag lady’s wagon.
“Hey, are you trying to kill me or something? I ought to have you arrested, you bum,” he seethed as he got up off the floor, dusted himself off, and kicked the two shopping bags.
“Tim, good one. I’d give you a 5.5 on your landing. Want to try for a 6.0,” chuckled one of the two co-workers he was with as they continued on their way.
“Maybe this won’t be a good day,” the bag lady mumbled to herself as she gathered up her stuff. Her photos, the most recent of which was five years old, were bundled together in one stack by a rubber band. As she held it in her hand, she closed her eyes and wondered how she sank so low. In spite of everything that had happened to her, she fought daily not to give in to the temptation to see herself as a victim, and as a result she remained, for the most part, the same person she had been before. Things just happened. People responded. She made choices, and here she was. It was as simple as that. If she could do it all over again, she would do things differently.
But, now, she found herself trapped in a life she hated, searching for answers that would lead her out of this hole she helped herself dig. To ease her pain and her frustration, she drank, giving her temporary relief. Unfortunately, her drinking made things worse because it blurred her thinking and interrupted her sense of purpose to reclaim her lost life, or maybe start a new, better one.
Her drinking began innocently, like taking an aspirin for a headache. But, because she took responsibility for what had happened back then and because just one drink lost its soothing effect, one drink lead to another, slowly transforming her into just another nameless street person. In her lucid moments, like now when she tightly held onto the photos of her previous life, she knew that she had to stop drinking. In the past, just when she thought she resolved to do that, a new wave of blame, guilt and circumstances knocked her down. So, she turned to alcohol as her lifeline.
As she looked at the photo on top of her collection and placed herself in a happier time, she finally realized that she couldn’t get from here to there on her own. And, she wept as she gathered up the rest of her belongings while on her knees.
“Are you hurt? Can I help you?” asked a passerby who stopped and leaned over to help the bag lady.
“Hurt? Yes. Can you help me pick up the pieces of my life?” she replied as if she were talking to herself while wiping away the tears.
“I was thinking more about picking you up from the floor,” said Al as he offered her a hand.
The bag lady waved off his hand, saying, “I’m OK. I’m just packing up my stuff. Some guy tripped over my wagon.”
“Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place the face,” Al said.
The bag lady looked up and recognized Al from her previous life and quickly turned away. She didn’t want him to make the connection. She had gone out of her way to find places that were far from her former life.
“I doubt it mister,” she said with a hint of fear.
Al’s curiosity increased as he heard her distinctive voice again – a voice he had associated with unhappy times many years ago. He squatted down next to her and looked at her face to face, studying her features. His memory bank worked hard at matching the raspy voice, the puffy, weathered face and sad, sunken eyes with someone he knew in his life, but he couldn’t place her, and he didn’t want to make the situation any worse for the bag lady by staring at her any longer, so Al stood up and walked away.
But after taking a dozen steps, Al turned back and caught up with the bag lady, who had quickly gathered her things and was walking as fast as she could in the opposite direction. “Valerie? Is it you?” Al asked incredulously.
“No.” she said quietly as she continued walking away.
“That’s the last thing you said to me at the office when you walked away from me the last time I saw you. I’ll never forget that day, and how you look from the back as you walked away. It is you, but it can’t be!”
The bag lady opened her teary eyes slowly and looked into Al’s inquisitive eyes with fear and humiliation. “Yes, Al. It’s me, Valerie,” she said with remorse.
“I don’t believe it. What happened to you?” Al shook his head in disbelief and said, “I’d like to talk with you to find out but can’t now. Please call me, he said sincerely as he handed her his business card and ten dollars.
How ironic she thought to herself. Just when she was ready to accept help from someone, the someone offering help was Al.
“I will,” she said softly. “Thank you, Al.”
“Please call me today. I’m leaving the country tomorrow for a week,” he said as he turned and hurried off to work.
Excerpt #4 from "A TIME TO..."
Lower Manhattan, home of Wall Street, the World Trade Center and Battery Park, was bathed in the sunlight of a dawning day. As thousands of workers rushed to their offices in the area, a bag lady slowly rose to a sitting position on the train station bench beneath the World Trade Center where she spent the night. As she wiped the sleep from her eyes, the Statue of Liberty glistened from the warming sun’s rays on nearby Hudson Bay. Soon, the bag lady would be out on the street again to bask in the warmth that departed, like all the workers, at nightfall.
Anyone who looked at this woman felt something – compassion, contempt, resentment, fear, and more – depending on their own emotional states. She unwittingly was a catalyst of emotions for everyone who saw her. Sometimes she benefited from this phenomenon and other times she was victimized by it.
She was always amazed when people responded to her so differently, even though she did nothing different, and this day was no exception from her last thirty or so nights and mornings in this station, on this bench.
“Please take this,” said the well-dressed business woman who was about her own age as she gently placed a five dollar bill in the bag lady’s hand that rested on her lap. As the bag lady looked up to thank the kindness, the woman had already disappeared in a wave of business people in a hurry to get to their jobs.
“Ah, this will be a good day,” the bag lady said to herself as she carefully placed the bill in a pocket of her tattered, stained, over-sized coat.
“Crash” went the rusted toy wagon she used to transport two shopping bags full of her worldly possessions. Sprawled all over the floor in front of her were clothes, a few kitchen utensils, some treasured photos of her previous life and an angry young office worker who wasn’t looking where he was going before tripping over the bag lady’s wagon.
“Hey, are you trying to kill me or something? I ought to have you arrested, you bum,” he seethed as he got up off the floor, dusted himself off, and kicked the two shopping bags.
“Tim, good one. I’d give you a 5.5 on your landing. Want to try for a 6.0,” chuckled one of the two co-workers he was with as they continued on their way.
“Maybe this won’t be a good day,” the bag lady mumbled to herself as she gathered up her stuff. Her photos, the most recent of which was five years old, were bundled together in one stack by a rubber band. As she held it in her hand, she closed her eyes and wondered how she sank so low. In spite of everything that had happened to her, she fought daily not to give in to the temptation to see herself as a victim, and as a result she remained, for the most part, the same person she had been before. Things just happened. People responded. She made choices, and here she was. It was as simple as that. If she could do it all over again, she would do things differently.
But, now, she found herself trapped in a life she hated, searching for answers that would lead her out of this hole she helped herself dig. To ease her pain and her frustration, she drank, giving her temporary relief. Unfortunately, her drinking made things worse because it blurred her thinking and interrupted her sense of purpose to reclaim her lost life, or maybe start a new, better one.
Her drinking began innocently, like taking an aspirin for a headache. But, because she took responsibility for what had happened back then and because just one drink lost its soothing effect, one drink lead to another, slowly transforming her into just another nameless street person. In her lucid moments, like now when she tightly held onto the photos of her previous life, she knew that she had to stop drinking. In the past, just when she thought she resolved to do that, a new wave of blame, guilt and circumstances knocked her down. So, she turned to alcohol as her lifeline.
As she looked at the photo on top of her collection and placed herself in a happier time, she finally realized that she couldn’t get from here to there on her own. And, she wept as she gathered up the rest of her belongings while on her knees.
“Are you hurt? Can I help you?” asked a passerby who stopped and leaned over to help the bag lady.
“Hurt? Yes. Can you help me pick up the pieces of my life?” she replied as if she were talking to herself while wiping away the tears.
“I was thinking more about picking you up from the floor,” said Al as he offered her a hand.
The bag lady waved off his hand, saying, “I’m OK. I’m just packing up my stuff. Some guy tripped over my wagon.”
“Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place the face,” Al said.
The bag lady looked up and recognized Al from her previous life and quickly turned away. She didn’t want him to make the connection. She had gone out of her way to find places that were far from her former life.
“I doubt it mister,” she said with a hint of fear.
Al’s curiosity increased as he heard her distinctive voice again – a voice he had associated with unhappy times many years ago. He squatted down next to her and looked at her face to face, studying her features. His memory bank worked hard at matching the raspy voice, the puffy, weathered face and sad, sunken eyes with someone he knew in his life, but he couldn’t place her, and he didn’t want to make the situation any worse for the bag lady by staring at her any longer, so Al stood up and walked away.
But after taking a dozen steps, Al turned back and caught up with the bag lady, who had quickly gathered her things and was walking as fast as she could in the opposite direction. “Valerie? Is it you?” Al asked incredulously.
“No.” she said quietly as she continued walking away.
“That’s the last thing you said to me at the office when you walked away from me the last time I saw you. I’ll never forget that day, and how you look from the back as you walked away. It is you, but it can’t be!”
The bag lady opened her teary eyes slowly and looked into Al’s inquisitive eyes with fear and humiliation. “Yes, Al. It’s me, Valerie,” she said with remorse.
“I don’t believe it. What happened to you?” Al shook his head in disbelief and said, “I’d like to talk with you to find out but can’t now. Please call me, he said sincerely as he handed her his business card and ten dollars.
How ironic she thought to herself. Just when she was ready to accept help from someone, the someone offering help was Al.
“I will,” she said softly. “Thank you, Al.”
“Please call me today. I’m leaving the country tomorrow for a week,” he said as he turned and hurried off to work.
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