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Word Gems What is a man but
the sum of his thoughts?
-
Personal
Statement #20
my
neighbors: Felix
& Gladys
-
"saying yes to another
person's being"
April 10, 2009
I don't remember the year... maybe 1985.
And I'm not sure exactly why I've come here
today.
I have good memories of all of the old
neighbors; but I am neither moved nor compelled to visit any of them
- only this farm.
And now I find myself driving up the
familiar quarter-mile dusty drive. I hear the crunching of gravel
under the tires. The old farmhouse is just ahead... and the memories
start flooding back to me.
It's been so many years now.
There was a time, for such a long time, it
seemed, when I would come here almost every Sunday. I must
have liked coming here a lot, because those few afternoon hours,
essentially, constituted my only free time of the week.
|
Feliciano, In My Life
"There are places I remember all my
life... I know I'll often stop and think about them..."
|

|
Down On The
Farm
How different my executive life is now, from
that little boy's indentured-servant existence... live in Toronto...
mid-30s... money manager in a blue-glass tower... hundreds of
clients, calling me all the time... expensive tailored suits...
Italian-cut white shirts... personal assistant for me... expensive
hardwood-trim office... public speaking engagements in fancy
hotels... open-ended expense account... published a book...
travel... seen some of the world...

-
My life in Toronto is one that many would
covet... but... I would trade it all... in a heartbeat... less
than a heartbeat... for certain lost good things of my
youth...
And as I continue up the drive, my eye
glances off to the left, half-a-mile away... another farmhouse... my
spirit is still stinging... not used to that kind of disrespect
anymore... a surge of anger...
But I don't want to think about that right
now.
And I am realizing that this old farmhouse,
the one coming up fast now, is very special to me. A long time
ago, my grandfather, Felix's uncle, Pa Marquart (P.S. #18), grew up
here.
And my childhood friends, my cousins, grew
up here; in a sense, I grew up
here... so many Sundays on this farm, so many games and
activities, so many horse rides.
That gravel I hear under the tires reminds
me of those "neighbor kids." I can see them now, at the side of
the road, under the hot summer sun, imbued with a prospector's
intensity of purpose, sifting piles of small rocks, hunting for
colorful translucent agates; and now I can hear them
debating one of the mysteries of the universe: Is it morally permissible to sing a Christmas
carol in July? hey... somebody's gotta worry about these
things, you know.
And as I approach the cottonwoods, again I
can see us, hear us, in discussion ... "a friend of a friend," she
says, "knows Bobby Vee," local Fargo boy. What a great artist,
we all agree.
|
|
- Bobby Vee,
- Talk To Me, Talk To Me
"Talk to me, talk to me, oh, I love the
things you say, Talk to me, talk to me, in your own sweet gentle way, Let me
hear, tell me Dear, tell me you love me so ... tell me
what I want to know... Baby, can't you see, I love you
so" |
Editor's
note: In 1960, while on a shopping trip to Bismarck, my
mother purchased for me a Bobby Vee album. Many of his songs I
continue to enjoy today. This romantic crooner, and one-time
unscheduled stand-in for the ill-fated Buddy Holly, is among
the best of his genre. For me, his greatest efforts are Poetry In Motion, Foolish Tears, Devil Or
Angel, My Girl, Will You Love Me Tomorrow, More Than I Can Say,
Love, Love, Love... but, Talk To Me,
Talk To Me, with its visions of intimate pillow-talk, sublime
violin accents, suggestive sensual cooings of delight, will not be
set aside.
But no children live on this farm anymore.
Not for awhile.
The old farmhouse, just as I remember it, is
only 50 yards ahead. I am passing the cottonwoods, on my right...
and I see myself now.
Memories of Silver
Lining
It is the early 1960s. Felix has purchased a
spirited, roan-colored Shetland. He knows that I've been riding for
awhile, so he asks me if I would help train this pony.

I immediately agree to this proposition. I
mean, what better way to show-off my super-powers to Felix's
girls.
The whole family seems to have gathered for
this festive occasion. I'm on stage now, and mount this tiny
whirlwind. It immediately bolts, charges frenetically ahead,
attempts to send me skyward. Somehow I manage to avoid an
unscheduled ejection. And after a few quick trips, up and
down, alongside the gravel drive, Silver begins to settle down,
begins to accept his domesticated fate.
So, I'm heading back to my friends, waiting
under the cottonwoods. This is where I get paid, and I'm assessing
who's paying what; and, from most, I'm finding a general
appreciation... that's nice... but there are one or two in the crowd
who are offering me something more.
And Felix is walking up to me.
11 year-old boys are generally not that
aware, if you know what I mean. And we don't really remember
conversations too much... just a little too busy for that kinda
thing, you know how it is... but... we never forget how we are made
to feel, at certain moments.
And right now, as if it were happening this
very moment, I can still feel... viscerally feel... from Felix, this
sense of validation, this sense of approval. He is beaming at me...
proud of me... he is proud of me as if
I were his own son... I can feel that... there is no doubt in my mind.
11 year-old boys, dull little creatures that
we are, are oblivious to many things... just ask little girls... and
we're often mistaken; but never mistaken about such matters as those
accosting me that day. And I can still see Felix's face, shining
down upon me.
-
(1960) The ubiquitous horse ride. I
am dressed for the occasion... my Wyatt Earp t-shirt. How young we
were... such tender, open, innocent faces. My cousin Richard
manages this farm today. I am told that his family welcomed into
their lives and adopted a child from the Far East some years ago.
That sounds wonderful to me. And the little tyke with me on the
horse is Debra Marquart, today a professor of English at Iowa
State University and recipient of numerous literary awards. Hey,
doesn't she know that I was supposed to be the writer in the
neighborhood?
-
I have parked my car now, near the front of
the house. As I open the car door, and step out, part of me feels
that I have slipped into another dimension, another time; but, one
so familiar to me... yet... surreal... what has happened?
There's the old orchard at the back of
the house... sand cherries, I think we called them... running
headlong through those groves... playing hide-and-go-seek... hey, you better watch out for those low
branches!
Standing beside my car, I treat myself to a
view of one of my favorite things in life, the rugged openness of
the North Dakota prairie... wish I could ride my horse, Simcan, out
there... wish I could live out there... forgotten how
much I love the expansive vista... seducing me... its
suggestive promise of freedom... especially alluring, now that I
live in a concrete canyon where I never see the horizon.

Editor's note: Look at this
unusually rocky prairie-terrain, a few miles NW of Burnstad. It used
to be my Uncle Wendlin's, now Mom's, rented to Butch Schumacher as
pasture... a lot of memories here for me. In Personal Statement #5, I tell the
story of how, at age 12, I got myself into a dangerous situation
near this field, and Grandpa rescued me. We used to try to cut this
for hay, but the rocks would smash the machinery. At age 17, I
suggested to Uncle Wendlin that we should just fence the whole thing
off and run cattle in it. This old Lion did not encourage
submissions to the suggestion box and summarily dismissed my idea
out of hand. But, when he died, Dad acted according to my plan. I
was proud of myself - the first time my business ideas were taken
seriously. You are wondering why I am telling you all this...
well... it's really for me... this private, desolate, hard-to-get-to
hideaway is such a favorite place of mine. I love walking here. In
the next war, when they want to tell the spies from the true ND
farmboys, all they'll have to do is hold up a picture of such barren
remoteness, and the ones in love with the prairie will irresistibly
begin to swoon... that's how they'll know... sorts 'em out pretty
fast.
Chasing the Golden Calf of
Vanity
And now I'm reminded of something else...
again, I see myself.
Directly in front of the farmhouse, just
down the slope, Dad is helping Felix with his cattle. It is
springtime, 1963. Vaccinating calves... I'm helping... other kids
watching.
Suddenly, one of the calves slips from their
clutches... free at last, it charges away; and I can hear the groans
of frustration. The men are lamenting, "now we're going to have to
get a horse or pickup and go after that thing."
And I am laughing now, because I distinctly
remember all this... and what I did next. And now I madly sprint
after that junior scrap-of-cowhide... tearing after it... but I'm
wondering, if I do catch it, what am I going to do with it? It may
be a calf, but it's still 200 pounds... hey, I've actually managed
to catch up to it... just barely, as it's still running... and I
lunge for the whiplashing tail... got it!... and now it's
pulling me like a water-skier!
It's still careening along, but
I'm severely cramping it's style. Dad and Felix suddenly realize
that this might be a real solution and come running over - and
all together now, like a football team, we pile on this little
steamroller.
That was a lotta fun, actually - and
the prospect for more showing-off was never lost upon me, either
- but, here's what I really remember about that incident. Dad
didn't say much, but I remember Felix... and I can still feel the
warmth of his affection, his approval... his kind words... he was proud of me... I can still feel the affirmation of my person... and I am
standing a little taller now after this affection.
-
-
The Frozen
Lake:
-
"time is the fire in which we all
burn"
Everything on this farm looks so familiar to
me... so familiar... even these weathered concrete steps.
I make my way to the top... stop
momentarily... absent-mindedly peer off into the distance... gazing
into the past.
The lake...
just down the way... several "neighbor kids"... ice-skating... the
wind... so cold... whipping across the icy glass... 10 or 20
below... too cold to be out here... must have really wanted to do
this... my young cousin... all bundled up against the freezing
gale... my juvenile theatricalism... racing, dramatic stops,
flying shards of ice, trying to impress... she's not that way...
authentic... skating in measured strides... not encouraging my
exhibitionism... chilled now... scarf covering her mouth, can
see only her eyes.
My Sunday-Afternoon
Mom
I'm at the porch door now; then, the main
door.
Gladys is there to greet me. I call her
my "Sunday-afternoon
Mom." She's always been so sweet and warm to me, as she is
now. I can tell she is happy to see me... she always seems happy to
see me.
Editor's note: Michelangelo's
Florentine Prisoners is one of my
favorite sculptures, a depiction of men tearing themselves out of
rock - a visual metaphor of Self-Determinism, the glory and sacred
dignity of simply being human. I, the Great Humanist, have to love
this stuff... but... let's get real. I became the man tearing
himself out of rock, just as soon as my mother helped me to do so.
And, here in Gladys'
kitchen, I am reminded of certain accomplished others who also tore
themselves out of rock... just as soon as this Good Lady made
available and handed to them a hammer and chisel. As a young
child I was unaware of a human-development dynamic in play, not only
in my extended family, but, indeed, within my own neighborhood. So
many of my cousins became top students, valedictorians and
salutatorians. Ho-hum, I thought then... it almost seemed normal and
so-what-else-is-new; and today, beyond those good grades, as I
mentally survey the now-grown children of the old neighborhood -
Gladys' and Betty's families (P.S. #10) - I also see a statistically
disproportionate level of noteworthy life-achievement. Last autumn
when I visited with Gladys I was joking with her about this
neighborhood phenomenon, as I asked: "So, what was in the water?"
She smiled. But I know the answer, why many of the kids here did ok.
It was these ND
Lionesses. We, who grew up under their watchful tutelage, did
not spring from autonomic spontaneous generation; did not
immediately tear ourselves from rock... not right away... I will
speak for myself here and trust that my cousins will confirm. As a
little kid I was made to believe, via encouraging words from my
mother, that my small achievements, in first and second grade,
afforded me the status of Very Bright Boy. My penmanship, she would
always say, was the most beautiful in the world; my reading ability,
she would tell me, was second to none. And, when I would visit Aunt
Mag (P.S. #10), she, too, would laugh and fuss over my school
work, and tell me that I was such a smart little boy; and I felt the
same effusive approval from Mom's other sisters, Janice, Dena, and
Caroline. And when I would visit, on Sunday afternoons, this
farmhouse - this house of childrens' academic projects - Gladys,
with her warmth and acceptance of me, would only add to my sense of
growing self-worth and competence. And it occurs to me now that,
among many of these Great Women, there was an unwritten code, a kind
of Conspiracy for Childhood Development, by which they lived, as
they interacted, not only with their own children, but with "the
cousins" and "the neighbor kids," as well. And, especially in the
early years, in this warm summer rain, this fertile ND soil, of
their encouragement and positive energy, we all, most of us, sent
down deep roots, grew tall and sturdy, and found ourselves -
sometimes, even in spite of ourselves - filled with hopeful visions
of future accomplishment... we began to believe in
ourselves... began to believe that we might yet tear
ourselves out of the rock of mediocrity, to build a good life and to
be of service... Why? because we were told that we could, and were
given permission to do so... by these Great Women. Today, many years
after the fact, when I go "home," I enjoy visiting with some of
these mothers of mine. They are always so happy to see me. I finally
understand why. As a financial advisor I have learned that clients
want to know how their investments are doing. [smile]
The first thing I notice... it's so quiet in here... how unlike that
long-ago time when kids were running around everywhere.
Gladys, as she likes to do, comments on
those "good old days" - a way of life that once seemed to
be as permanent and unchanging as the prairie-pasture itself. How
quickly it all passed away... passed away overnight! She
is missing it. I miss it, too.
I look around the old farm kitchen. It's
about the same, really. The old table in the middle of the room. To
the left, in the corner, the door to the second floor. Upstairs, the
scene of games and much intense comic-book reading... where I
discovered Superman, such an interest
then. "Hey, you can
read Betty and Veronica, I'll
read Jor-el's Robot in Superman Annual #5."
And now I have this vision of all of
us in front of the house. I'm holding a Superboy comic book; but, suddenly, my
pony with-an-attitude, Sunset, takes a nice neat chomp, a
near-perfect cookie-cutter circle, out of the corner of my mag.
Hey! you, I wanted that comic!
(1946) This confident young man is Felix.
Everybody knows Felix. Those intelligent eyes offer warning to all
comers regarding his famous sense of humor - I mean famous.
Felix packed a wit like a Saturday Night Special, and with similar
effect. If you tried to get funny with him, his deadpan sass-and-ass
comic-power would waltz you around the floor a few times, and work
you over. And the next morning, people would be buzzing, "Did you
hear what Felix said last night?" But this man's legacy, for me, is
much different.
(1946) This cute new girl in town is Gladys.
Felix liked her immediately, wisely took absolutely no chances, and
did his best to monopolize her time. They would be married three
years later.
(1974) celebrating their 25th
anniversary
-
Tabled Old
Business:
-
Walk Like An
Egyptian
So many flashbacks. 1960...
there's 4th-grader Colleen at the kitchen table. This clever little
girl is mystifying me with the other-worldly pronouncement that
she has requested information from the Egyptian embassy; and, of all
things, I am now reviewing photos of President Nasser;
thinking, "wow, it's summertime, and you're doing schoolwork, all on
your own!"
Independently-directed research would later
become a big part of my life; but, a concept first introduced
to me... right here! ... at this very
table, in this farmhouse kitchen.
And now I'm laughing again. Off to the side
is the entrance to the living room. I see myself in 1959. Another
very cold day. I have walked the dirt path connecting our two farms;
but, what's this? I've never seen this before! I know the village
weekly Homestead, but what's the
Minneapolis Tribune? Well, the wonders
just keep coming in this house! Wait! there's more! a comic section!
[joy] Hey, can I take a turn and read,
too? And I'm on the couch now, in the far left corner of the
living room, intently enjoying all this, so much.
The Two
Farmhouses
I am chatting with Gladys... difficult for
me, as ND Lions (P.S. #8) do not chat; but, she makes it
easy, so easy to talk with her, she's so nice. Felix
has yet to appear, but I am now bothered by a thought... begins to
weigh on me... exactly why did I come
here today? because... even though Gladys is her usual gracious and
warm self, suddenly I am doubting myself... just generally wary, I
guess... the difficult reception earlier today... in that other
farmhouse. My spirit has not recovered. Maybe, I should really be
leaving for Toronto now, nothing here for me, anymore.
And while Gladys is asking me if I'd like
anything, I am further distracted by another thought. Been so long
since I've seen Felix. He probably won't even remember me. This will
be awkward. I'll have to remind him who I am. Tell him my name.
Mentally preparing myself for that. Expecting too-polite greetings,
perfunctory salutations, a verbal form-letter... have your secretary
sign it.

Editor's note: Felix owned one
these red beauties, a '59 Chevy, with a white hardtop. I always
remember the fins. Funny, the things we remember. It is 1963... late
May... what a glorious morning! I luxuriate, even now, in the
sweetness of the fragrant air... the world itself seems
perfumed with the new ND spring! But I am rushing to finish
feeding the cattle. And now I see that red Chevy threatening,
pulling out of Felix's yard, on its way to pick us up for school.
They will be here in mere minutes, and I'm not ready at all! Those
car rides with the "neighbor kids," as I think about it now, make me
laugh... 4 or 5 of them... 4 or 5 of us... plus driver... all
squashed into this car... all of which gave new meaning to the
concept of close friendship; and, because of such tight
juxtapositioning, squabbles, turf-wars, in the
backseat, were inevitable. A famous one, now rising in my
consciousness. I am being accused, by a fellow young scholar, of a
certain impropriety. A certain indiscreet action, not gone
unnoticed. Loudly accused. Everyone is now quite well informed. No
courtesy of a private reprimand for me. [smile]
And now Felix presents himself in the
kitchen.
All of this happened a long time ago. I
don't remember what was said; can't remember the words; but I will
never forget what happened next... to me.
And as Felix greets me, I today have this
mental picture of him with open arms to me. I don't know if he
actually did that, or if I'm manufacturing that image; but what I am
sure of is the outpouring of affection from this man ... his fervent
spirit... so open to me... welcoming... warm and effusive... so
happy... to see me.
And as I now access my feelings of that
moment, I sense my own awkwardness. I don't know how to take this! I
am somewhat overwhelmed by his unguarded expression of affection.
The little-boy-within is mistaken about many
things; but never mistaken about such matters. Felix's visage
- indeed, his entire person - transmits a warm vibrational
energy, singular in character, created for and directed to... me... alone... He welcomes me as a father would a long-absent
son! I could never be mistaken about this, having not received this only hours before.
The heart-energy I received from Felix that
day was a most rare orchid; different in kind, not
merely degree, from usual greetings. And my spirit,
strangely, would register this seemingly innocuous non-event as
one of major significance in my life. Strange...
-
Dr. John Welwood, Journey of the Heart:
“Whenever our heart opens to another person, we experience a
moment of unconditional love… its nature is quite simple and
ordinary: opening and responding to another person’s being without
reservation. We often glimpse this quality of love most vividly …
when we are least under the influence of conditioned, habitual
patterns of perception. At such times, something vast inside us
connects with something vast in another. The other person’s sheer existence
awakens us to the ordinary magic of life… When we are loved in
this way, we feel acknowledged, seen, nourished, held… [we]
rejoice in another person’s very existence… It is saying yes to another’s
being…”
More than 20 years have passed since
that welcoming in the old farm kitchen; and 13 years since
Felix's passing.
But it has been only recently that I have
begun to process what happened... to me... during that brief
exchange of salutations. A third-party observer might accuse me of
exaggerating the effect of a few kind words from an old neighbor;
but I think not. I know what happened to me, and I know how I felt.
Experiences such as these, in my life - in
everyone's, I believe - are so unusual;
occasions when I detected, within my deepest self,
that someone loved me. I mean,
really loved me...
exuded unalloyed joy... unmixed delight... simply to be in my
presence. One can never be mistaken
about a thing like that! How incredibly rare! how wonderful! an
ecstasy! I recall receiving this kind of affirmation, this
outpouring of approval, only a very few times - this one,
a pleasant form from Felix; and from my grandmothers; and one other
time, a most pure, potent version, a long time ago (P.S.
#26).
Philosophers speak of three kinds of love:
godly-love, friendship-love, and romantic-love. But the love to
which I refer here might almost warrant a fourth categorization.
-
saying yes to another
person's being
This "new" kind of love, a high-incendiary
plasma-fueled version, is love without conditions; love
unmixed; love as irrational exuberance; an unguarded and
uncalculated validation of another's very
person; a cosmic acceptance; a delight and rejoicing
in another; a sense of exultation, simply to be
in another's presence; just saying yes to another person's being - not
for any particular attribute or quality; but, just because.
I daresay that some people have never
experienced this kind of interaction; as such, these encounters
are so memorable, so transformational - because, just
for a brief moment, we are offered a doorway to another
dimension, a momentary glimpse of what life could be like... in a
World of Love... maybe, I suspect, what life will be like in the Next World...
and all of this becomes the meaning of Life itself, the memories of
which will be the only enduring artifacts to survive our trip to
this world.
Editor's note: Sometimes, on warm
summer evenings, the conditions, apparently, just right, I could
actually hear ordinary conversational voices on your farm... the
stark openness of the prairie... nothing to stop the sound waves,
gossamer-like, floating over to our farm. But this particular summer
evening was no halcyon day of youth. In a short time, I would be
leaving, about to embark upon a long journey, would go far away
- driven out, actually. Dad told me that he didn't want me
talking to my brothers and sisters. Dad, on his deathbed, 35 years
later - I can see him now, reaching up to me, sorrowful,
tears - would seek my forgiveness concerning dark things
of that dark time. I well remember this evening. Many things going
through my head and heart. I would miss my horse, Simcan. What a
beautiful animal ... the sense of freedom that it offered. But what
I really remember about that evening... I was so angry... so angry! You can see it on my face. No
longer that beaming little sonny-boy... I am sneering, daring anyone
to cross me. My anger was not Dad's fault, it's how I chose to
react. But this rage in my heart would plunge me into a kind of
spiritual darkness, for many years... blinding me... separating
me... from the good person that I was... severing me from
something else, most important in my life... can't remember what, or
who, it is... my rage has suffocated it... almost within
reach... not quite apprehended... to exceed my mental grasp for
some years to come... I am so blinded ... so isolated and alone...
so terribly cut off... from myself.
We never really know how we affect others in
the daily course of our lives. Over the years, while studying the
many AfterLife testimonies, I have discounted certain statements as
hyperbole; such as, our smallest gestures of human kindness
toward another - a smile, a word of encouragement, a listening
ear - can often become more efficacious for good than some of our
more dramatic efforts at altruism.
But I think I'm starting to understand.
I'm sure that Felix had no idea that his
small manifestation of authentic human interaction would have such a
meaningful impact on me. He may have sensed some of the inner
turmoil that I was working my way through. I have this theory that
the more psychologically put-together one is; the more open-hearted
and unguarded one is; the more one will be able to sense, in others,
a lack of the same.
It has only been quite recently that I have
finally begun to understand the mechanics of the pathology that
afflicted me in those days - and, why kindly people in my life, such
as Felix, and their positive energy, would be such a healing
balm for me.
-
Clinical psychologist, John Welwood, Perfect Love, Imperfect
Relationships: "Dissociation is our mind's way
of saying no to and turning away
from our pain, our sensitivity, our need for love, our grief and
anger about not getting enough of it, and from our body as well,
where these feelings reside. This is one of the most basic and
effective strategies in the child's repertoire. Yet it also has a
major downside: It
constricts or shuts off access to two main areas of our body:
the vital center in the belly - the source of desire-energy, eros,
vital power, and instinctual knowing - and the heart center -
where we respond to love and feel things most deeply. In
saying no to the pain of unlove, we
block the pathways through which love flows in the body and thus
deprive ourselves of the very nutrient that would allow our whole
life to flourish. And so we wind up severing our connection to
life itself... a disconnection from the loving openness that is
our very nature."
Editor's note, March 19, 2009:
- a few minutes before midnight - I have been editing
the final draft of this essay. And that final statement of
Welwood catches my eye: "the loving openness
that is our very nature." I suddenly recall, many years
ago, in my theological studies, the words of St. John, "God is Light."
John wrote this within the context of certain self-exalted
gurus claiming to have special knowledge about God, the kind
obtainable only from them. When John says that "God is Light," he means something different
from "God has Light." To say that
"God is Light" is to say that it is God's very nature to be open and
self-revealing. In other words, you don't need a guru,
someone who claims to have a 'red phone' to God, a
pious-sounding Churchman, to tell you the most important things
about Divinity. This is why John goes on to say: "the anointing you
received from him remains in you, and you
do not need anyone to teach you" (I John 2:27). In
essence, he is telling us that anything truly important and worth
possessing - things like Wisdom, Understanding, Peace, Faith, Hope
- are utterly incommunicable in terms of simply receiving them
from any human guru. The "anointing" - your own soul, your own
willing heart, in communion with God - is all that you need to
learn the highest of mysteries. Because it is God's very nature - God as
Light - to want us to have such spiritual knowledge. And,
we, made in God's own image, will also seek to be open, seek to
reveal, seek to be unguarded and to disclose. And when we are not
open and guileless like this, we can know that we have somehow
short-circuited and blocked our essential natures... the Light of our own
souls... with our fears... our anger... our
unlove.
I discovered Welwood's comments after I
wrote the above photo caption - he seems to be speaking
directly to me.
When Felix conferred upon me status of persona grata, treated me like a son, in
the kitchen that day, something long dormant within me began to
stir. I was not healed immediately, no instant make-over. It would
be some years still before I would even process what had happened.
But the vestigial memory of the kindly affection from Felix
that day - and, indeed, his warmth in previous years;
plus, the goodness of others -began to awaken me to what I had
allowed to happen in the deepest part of myself... how I had strayed
from my essential nature.
My recovery, having begun over 10 years ago,
continues to this day. And, more and more, I see many things now...
things that I did... and did not do... all of which instruct me, as
I endeavor to make the most of these lessons during my remaining
time here.
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Dr.
Newton is a counseling psychologist who helped pioneer a
method of hypnotically regressing clients to a point between
lives; in other words, he helped patients access hidden
memories about their lives on the Other Side. His books
represent a distillation of 7000 interviews and 30 years of
work. Allow me to summarize the essence: It
doesn't matter whether one is an atheist, an agnostic, a
Catholic, Protestant, or whatever - under hypnosis, all speak
of and describe the same place! the same general process
regarding spirit life! Newton remarks: "People even use
the same words and graphic
descriptions ... when discussing the [Other Side]."
See this youtube interview of
Newton. |
I am thinking of a story told by Dr. Newton.
One of his clients was suffering from depression. She had been
tempted by thoughts of suicide, so troubled and burdened was she in
her chronic loneliness. Newton, early in his career, an atheist at
that point, had not yet developed his regression techniques.
Frustrated with his attempts to help this girl find the origins
of her malady, he simply stated, "Go to the source of this
problem." Immediately, under hypnosis, she saw, in vision, members
of her soul-group, seven or eight of them, and she began to weep
deeply, so moved was she at their presence, these loving kindred
souls, whose affection she was so desperately missing.
From the AfterLife research we learn that
groups of souls, ones who love each other in a special way, often
come to this world at the same time, as if to make a difficult
journey more palatable. There are cases, it has been discovered,
where large numbers of soul-persons, even comprising most of a small
town, have journeyed through time and space together. Read of this
amazing story in Marge Reider's Mission to
Millboro.
I have one more brief snapshot-in-time of
Felix, one that speaks of his true nature. In 1983 Felix and I
served as pallbearers at the funeral of my grandmother, Ma Marquart
(P.S. #18).
While riding in the hearse, on our way to
the cemetery, Felix suddenly speaks to the rest of us: "I wish we had a better reason to
get together - why do we have to wait until somebody dies in order
to see each other?"
And Felix offers these words with a certain
passionate intensity... and I can
tell that he really means what he's saying. His frank and
heartfelt pronouncement shakes me, his words so unlike the
plastic-banana interactions of my normal work day.
|

|
-
Beach
Boys,
-
All This Is
That
"Dusk time, the shadows fall, Into the
timeless time of all...Golden auras glow around you,
Omnipresent love surrounds you, Wisdom warming as the sun, You and I are truly
one" |
Editor's note: These lyrics speak
of the mystery of universal love, universal connectedness. I have
learned that all advanced souls speak of little else - their desire
to see all peoples come together in harmonious concord. The poetry
here is highly suggestive, subjective; some of it, not easily
deciphered. But McLeish taught us that "a poem should not mean but be," a principle pushed very hard in All This Is That. I am surprised at how
much I like these simple but utterly beautiful words: "Dusk time, the shadows fall, Into the timeless
time of all"
I don't remember the other fellows of our
group - only Felix. I had not been thinking such magnanimous and
out-going thoughts as those on his mind; but, with Felix's warm
gesture of friendship, I could feel my spirit being stretched out of
its usual egocentric posture; stretched, now, for the
possible inclusion of others. It is truly amazing... one
person, with just a few words, can set in motion, thoughts that
might eventually soften the petrified heart.
All of this - these brief, but intense,
seemingly unnoteworthy, interactions with Felix - all these
seem so remarkable now. I am approaching age 60, which, in itself,
seems very strange. Superman under the red sun. But I am starting to
see, as my life begins to wind down, that when I leave this world, I
will be travelling light. I think I'll leave on horseback... not too
much in my saddlebag... just a few memories... among these will be
the times when I either offered, or received, authentic love and
affection... being-to-being, soul-to-soul,
genuine interaction.
Editor's note: Leaving on horseback is not quite as
far-fetched as it might sound. Dr. Newton's research reveals that
there are designated persons on the Other Side who look after the
"soul fragments" of our beloved earthly pets; and, at times, these
creatures, as we enter the Next World, will be among our "receiving
party." Simcan was my noble Arabian-Palomino, an incredibly powerful
horse, and how exhilarating to ride this spirited animal! How I wish
I had him today. Memories of Simcan lead me to thoughts of
Summerland, discussions of which were reported to you in Personal Statement #7. I recently added
further testimony there about that Realm, the findings of Sir Oliver
Lodge, knighted British physicist, one the great scientists of
history, who lost his son Raymond in WWI, and, thereafter, in order
to contact his son, devoted himself to researching the AfterLife.
Allow me to share a few personal plans regarding Summerland. I offer
these because, just maybe, some of you might also have some
unfulfilled dreams when you depart this world.
If I choose it to be so, Simcan will be
with me in Summerland, that place designed to resolve unfinished
business. Summerland is an idealized earth, much of it a replica of
this world. This means, if I so desire, I can live on that same
piece of ground, a representation thereof, where Grandma
and Grandpa Becker had their farm. I sense that I need to do this
for awhile.
In fact, I have a number of unresolved
issues, holes in my heart, that require tending to. In a larger
sense, I am just where I need to be this moment, in terms of lessons
to be learned; however, in another sense, my early-teen life
was violently jerked apart by consuming questions at the time...
but... done with those things... so
done... did what I hadda do... paid too much, price was high... got
my damn answers... hope I'm satisfied now...
compelled to seek the natural unfoldment of my soul, my "normal
life," the one I would have lived, had I not derailed myself...
would have had a small farm, lots of animals... might have
been a high school physics and math teacher... hey, Mrs.
Leier will be surprised! [smile]
|

|
- Paul
Revere & The Raiders,
- Hungry
"There's a custom-tailored world that I
wanna own someday, with a special place, up high, where we can
stay, alone, you and me, Girl, I'm
gonna have it all someday, if you'll just hang on to my hand"
|
I can work as a teacher in Summerland,
as there are so many millions of little children who, as a
result of natural causes or abortion, enter that world every
year - and they attend schools there... want to raise some
of those kiddos, too, as my own... ride horses with them...
ice-skate with them… sit by a fireplace, discuss ideas with them...
walk in a pasture with them... play Batman-and-Robin with them, I am
the Joker, and they race to ambush and pile on me… enjoy
Christmas mornings with them... a backyard pool for them... dance
with them, sing love songs to them, Come Go
With Me…
|
Beach
Boys, Come Go With
Me
I love love you, Darling Come and go with me Come home with me Baby, I'm to see I need you, Darling Come and go with me Come come come come Come into my heart Tell me, Darling We will never part I need you, Darling Come and go with me... |

|
Editor's note: What a great
time this song is! It defies disinterest, will beat you up, force
you into engagement... so suggestive of carefree,
on-the-wild-side, summer love and fun... Original
Soundtrack
Dogs, cats, rabbits, chickens, angus
cattle for them... a barn to play in for them… study the glorious
night-sky with them... a fruit orchard for them… piano and painting
lessons for them... and, amidst a well-rehearsed chorus of mock
groans, I shall have told them still one more ND joke… and we will
live together, and love each other, in a spacious ranch
house...
...filled with fine furniture, artifacts
of world history, science projects, quiet corners wherein to read or
converse, so many bookcases... music and artwork, some of it created
by them... some by myself, another unexpressed part of my soul...
this, all of this, and more... is what
Summerland is for!
Well... what
a forgetful-jones! I seem to be omitting a certain most salient
detail here. But you will have your own private definitions of
happiness to be explored... as long as you want to... or need to...
until those holes in your heart begin to heal... until the terror of
loss, suffered in this world, begins to subside in your spirit...
until you're ready to ask the question, what's next?
-
Joni
Mitchell, Both Side, Now:
"Moons and Junes and ferris wheels, the dizzy dancing way you
feel, as ev'ry fairy tale comes
real..."
Addendum, February 18,
2009:
I finished
writing this pericope of Simcan and Summerland a few days ago. My
old horse... and the future... have been on my mind. This evening,
David (PS #7) invited me to his church discussion group - which
turned into a remarkable encounter. Several psychic mediums were in
attendance. Most of you, having learned what you presently know
about religion from Institutional Ecclesia, have not heard what the early
New Testament Church was like. Have a look at what the Apostle Paul
describes in I Corinthians 14, which I suggest you read in a modern
translation in order to catch the flow. Paul says that this small
church-in-the-home was rich in what we today would call psychic
abilities: see chapter 12: 9: "a word of wisdom"; "a word of
knowledge"; "a gift of prophecy"; but the Corinthian congregation
was immature, egocentric, and would use these gifts to "show off" to
each other, for which hubris Paul corrected them; nevertheless, a
church service in Corinth would involve various ones in the group
offering to others messages from the Spirit World (14:
26).
And that's
what I experienced tonight with this group, but without the
immaturity. (A street person wandered in, wreaking of urine and
alcohol, but he was not offered a literal bum's rush; instead, given
a meal and included in group prayer.) Fifteen of us sat with chairs
positioned in a circle. Michael said he was receiving something for
me, sees this image of me... I am sitting on a horse...
thinking, quite pensively, about something... Michael
says he doesn't know what it means. I tell him what it means. Said
that I had just finished my writing of Simcan, thinking about the
practical details of Summerland, and so this metaphor-image is a
very good symbol of what had been going through my head in the last
few days. Another medium, Carol, said that I was given this as
evidence of the reality of the Next World, an image that would be
meaningful only to me, encouragement from the Spirit World... to
strengthen my faith... she smiled and said that my horse is there
for me, waiting, ready to be with me again. This makes me laugh,
reminds me of Gene Autry kissing Champ - but Simcan and I are only
good friends. [smile]
Special note, August 22, 2009: I
have to smile as I write this. Michael seems to have a
special connection with Simcan. Today he informed me that he
received a kind of message from my old horse, indicating that
he anticipated my return... and I was left with the impression that
Simcan, on some level, had sensed that I, as a teen, was going
through a difficult emotional time... well, maybe I will kiss him
after all!

Michael adds
that my Guides, those in Spirit who look after me, "love me" very
much, that they "delight" in me ... wow!
... They know about my writing and what I'm doing! And it
occurs to me tonight, if we had more church activities like this,
Doc Goodman (P.S. #12) and I might be persuaded to put down our
newspapers. Carol offers one more thing, says that she, in vision,
saw around my head a swirl of question
marks; that this is my nature, to analyze, to seek for
understanding. I had never met these people before, but they
immediately sensed the true essence of my person.
I have been
thinking about this incident. My Spirit Guides sent this message to
validate my thoughts regarding Summerland. It will be as I want it
to be. I will have that ranch house, those kids, that work, Simcan…
and some other things... and I will have all of it as long as I need
or want it... until I'm ready for what comes next.
But some of
you labor under fears of the AfterLife… that you will be judged…
maybe harshly. You have severe reservations regarding such
evaluation. Allow me to encourage you to know that no one judges you
on the Other Side… you, only, judge yourself. Now, that’s not
necessarily as easy as it sounds, as we can be too hard on
ourselves. Ironically, far from condemning us, our Guides often will
defend us, from these self-inflictions, will tell us not to be so
hard on ourselves!
Some of you,
again, suffering under mistaken views of the AfterLife,
fatalistically, might be tempted to ask, “How do I know that I will
be allowed to have in Summerland the
life that I’ve described?” The word allow has no meaning here, as there is no
one to stop anyone from having whatever kind of good life that one
wants to have… the only question is… what do you want to do? … what is meaningful to you? … what do you need to do? All of this
confusion stems from our own lack of understanding regarding the
sacred dignity of each person… our own person... and the privileges
afforded as ones created in the image of God!
Summerland is
not far away; at most, only a short span of years... even, the
proverbial heartbeat away. A few days ago, John Bitz, my father's
old friend and relative, called to see how I was doing. He told
me that my former brother-in-law, Duane, had suddenly died of a
heart attack. He was only 60. I remember Duane, a high school music
teacher, in those early years... remember him laughing. In the 1970s
the word "humongous" had just been coined, and he liked playing with
this word. And I remember laughing at him about this.
We in this world often labor under the illusion
that our present lives are cut from granite and cannot be moved.
Yes, we are confident. And then we
drop dead.
In a short
while, for all of us, the Real World will begin, and the present
one, with all of the temporary roles that we play on this
Stage, will seem as but a distant memory and hazy
dream.

Reunion
Often, when I hear the word "reunion," the
cynic in me pipes up and suggests that you cannot have a re-union if you were never united in the
first place. Yes, you're right, I am very impolite. But... I think,
when I see Felix again, it will be a
reunion.
I was too chaotic and unformed, too
distracted, too immature... to appreciate, or really know, my
friend and neighbor Felix, during those old days.
But now, it is finally evident to me... he always knew who I was.
And,
after so long a time, I realize something else.
One
day, I will have a friend, waiting to greet me, when
I shall visit him... visit him, once again.
Yes, I can see, even now... that radiant
visage, those twinkling and intelligent eyes, offering
threat of dangerous humor; but most of all, those open and
outstretched arms... for me.
But
this time... this time... I shall reflect, and return to
him, some of that radiance, once invested in me; and this time,
along with some humor of my own, I shall do my share of the reaching
out... for him.
-
"... into the timeless time of all"

Jor-el really needed to get out more, don't you
think?
-
Update: May 28, 2009: I
had not seen my friend Norma (P.S. #25) for nearly five months,
but I have just returned from visiting with her - a most
remarkable encounter! Not only did I receive a message from Father
John Kuhn (P.S. #23), but one from Felix, as well! The vast
majority of missives from the Other Side find their purpose in confirmation - those of that World
desire to give us evidence that they still exist, that their World
is real, and that they are still involved in our lives. And it was
in this spirit, it is clear to me, that Felix offered a
short, but cryptic, communique. Norma says to me: "I hear the name Felix coming through for you - [she
pauses, questioningly] - did he have a sense of
humor? did he like pranks? that's what I'm
getting!" I now begin to smile as few descriptives
could be more appropriate for my old neighbor, The Consummate
Prankster, who, probably more than anyone else in our farming
community, was known for just that! - but that old "threat of
dangerous humor" was just beginning! Norma goes on: "He's showing me something. I'm
seeing a picture of a barn and a hayloft." And now I'm
starting to laugh. Dear readers, think of the game Charades wherein one offers a clue - a
gesture, a word, some simple indication of something else, all of
which must be executed in a very short period of time -
messages from the Other Side are often restricted by such limiting
parameters, given the restrictions of time, the narrowly defined
abilities of the medium (Norma), the difficulties of
inter-dimensional concourse. But, even so, my old neighbor,
in his own humorous way, in a way that would be meaningful only to me, has just referenced an
embarrassing moment in my young adolescent life. He is referring
to an incident concerning a barn dance held on his farm, a
long time ago. Norma jabs me: "You're turning red!" And I am now
laughing about this! And Felix lets me know that he knows! I didn't tell Norma the
details, nor will I confess my sins here, either - but Felix,
in that old characteristic prankster-way of his, confirms both his
World, and our friendship, in a manner that only I would recognize! [smile]
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