It had been raining for days. The sky was grey, the ground soaked.
I was looking out my bedroom window at a water-logged backyard. I had been trapped inside since Saturday, and I was getting anxious. I wanted to get back to my mound project, but nature was not allowing me to. She had other plans, it appeared.
The phone rang. I walked into the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Harry, its Anne. Bad news.”
“Another strikeout?”
“Yup.”
I slumped into a chair at the table. It was our third rejection by an Ohio court. It seemed no one would take the case seriously. Either that or they were all trying to avoid the media circus that would certainly ensue.
“We could try again,” said Anne.
I shook my head. “It would probably be a waste of time.”
There was a pause. Then she said, “You don’t really think we’ll get the case heard, do you?”
I smiled. “No, not really. But that hasn’t stopped me from getting my hopes up. I’m not sure what I thought was going to happen.”
“Well, it’s up to you what we do next. I’m willing to keep going if you are.”
“I know. I’ll think about it today. My gut feeling is that it’s not necessary, and would be a waste of your time. I guess I need to decide where all of this is going.”
“Well, let me know,” Anne said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already accomplished what you set out to do. But if you want to keep going, I’m with you.”
“I know you are. I’ll call you later. It’s time for some rainy day soul searching.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be home this afternoon, and then I’m driving to my mother’s this evening. Leave a message on my cell if you don’t get me.”
“Okay. Thanks for everything, dear.”
“You’re very welcome. Good luck with the soul searching.”
“Right,” I said with a smile. I hung up the phone and sat back down at the kitchen table, mulling over my options. I knew that Anne would be enthusiastic about continuing with the suit, if that’s what I wanted. The problem was, I didn’t know what I wanted. I hadn’t really thought this far ahead.
All along, I had believed that the lawsuit would lead somewhere. And as things first began rolling, it appeared as though it would. But Anne and I had yet to find a court that would hear the case, and if the reaction we had gotten so far was any indication, the case would never be heard.
I realized as I sat there at the kitchen table that the disappointment I was feeling at that moment was not because of the series of rejections but because the momentum and enthusiasm I had felt earlier was now gone. There were less phone calls from reporters, less visits to the website. The initial flurry of attention was dissipating, and the case was being rejected everywhere we went with it.
So it was time to decide the next step. And I had no idea what that next step might be. None. So that was the real source of my frustration. I didn’t know what to do next.
I began thinking back to that day in April when I had decided to sue God. Did I know then where all of this would lead? Of course not. But back then it didn’t matter. I had reached a point where I wasn’t concerned with outcomes, and that had given me the courage to do what I did.
But as I sat there at the kitchen table, I wondered where that courage had gone. I no longer felt it. I no longer felt the enthusiasm, the drive to continue with all of it. And I was beginning to sense a gnawing feeling, deep in the back of my mind, that the entire thing was pointless. And that scared me.
If there was nowhere else to go with the lawsuit, what else was there for me to do? My teaching career was pretty much over. And even if I could get a position somewhere else, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to teach anymore. It didn’t sound the least bit appealing to me. I honestly believed that my teaching days were over.
The more I thought about my circumstances and my future, the more depressed I became. My finances were beginning to dwindle, and the legal fees were mounting. Fortunately, Anne was charging me very little and had indicated I could compensate her down the road when my financial picture improved. But I didn’t want to take advantage of Anne’s generosity, and I also didn’t like the thought of being indebted to her or to anyone else. At least not financially.
The day wore on, and I tried to think about other things. The house needed work. I hadn’t done any cleaning in months. But my thoughts kept returning to my circumstances and the need to decide on a plan of action. But the more I thought, the more frustrated I became. And I wasn’t getting any closer to knowing what to do next.
I needed to do something. Anything. I considered getting out the vacuum, but I wasn’t in the mood for that. I considered rearranging the living room furniture, which usually cheered me up, but that seemed unappealing as well. Then I thought about the mound in the backyard, and I felt a jolt of excitement. Yes, I thought, that will keep my mind off of things for a while.
But it was raining. Raining hard. I walked into my bedroom and looked out the back window. The rain was coming down in sheets. The backyard was covered with huge puddles. And there was my precious mound, covered with weeds and getting drenched under a dreary grey sky. I sat down on the edge of my bed and continued looking out the window. Thinking about my mound project had brought me the only positive energy I had felt all day. I wished it wasn’t raining.
Suddenly, I stood up. Who cares? I thought to myself. Who’s afraid of a little rain?
I walked out to the hall closet and pulled out a hooded windbreaker and a pair of boots, then walked into the living room and put them on. I looked at myself in the mirror in the hallway and smiled. I hadn’t worn those boots for at least five years, and I couldn’t remember if I had ever worn the windbreaker. I hoped it would keep out some of the rain.
When I was ready, I walked back down the hall, through the laundry room, and out the back door. Down a few steps, and I was standing in a four-inch puddle. The boots were sturdy and waterproof, so I knew that at least my feet would stay dry. I walked toward the back of the property and stopped in front of the mound of dirt and weeds. There were small rivers of water running down the sides.
I placed one foot on the side of the mound. It was steep, perhaps forty-five degrees. The treads on my boots were new, however, and I easily walked up the slope without slipping. Soon I stood at the top, looking around at my backyard and at the neighbors’ houses that surrounded it. All was grey and wet and dreary. But standing atop the mound, I felt the weight of the day lift. I felt the depression and frustration slip away, leaving me standing tall atop my mound.
I looked over at the pile of bricks in the corner of the yard. I decided I was ready. I climbed back down the mound and walked over to the bricks. I had already sorted out the best ones, and I picked up four of them and carried them back over to the mound and up the side. When I reached the top I bent down and arranged them in a square in the middle of the very top of the mound. Then I stood up and looked down at my work. Four bricks. They looked good. They felt right. The whole thing felt right.
I soon forgot all about my previous worries – the lawsuit, the dwindling finances, the teaching career. They were all gone from my mind. Just four bricks. But it seemed more important to me than anything else. I had taken the first step. A step toward what, I didn’t know. But it felt important. It felt significant.
And somehow I knew, on that grey rainy day, that my real work had finally begun.
Chapter 16
During that time, I had a neighbor named Robert. Robert was 80 years old, a retired marine. He served in the second World War, Korea and Vietnam, and he loved to tell stories. On summer evenings, Robert and I would sit on my front steps drinking beer while Robert spun tales of combat and strategy and victory and incompetence. I was quite interested in Robert’s stories, though I often got lost in some of the vocabulary and names that Robert freely threw around. But Robert didn’t seem to mind whether I knew exactly what he was talking about or not. He loved to talk.
Soon after we first met, I began referring to him as Bob. And although Robert had never in his life allowed anyone to call him Bob, he let me get away with it. Apparently there was something about me that made it okay.
Robert’s wife had died several years after I moved into the neighborhood, and now Robert lived alone in a house that was far more than he needed. But he had lived in it for 32 years, had raised four children there, and had never considered the possibility of selling it. Robert’s children had all moved out of the area, leaving him with no family around. None, that is, except for me.
I eventually became like a son to Robert. In fact, I was far more interested in Robert’s tales and life than his children were. And soon those evening chats on my front steps became important to him. He would often glance out his living room window after dinner to see if I was outside. And if I was, and I didn’t look too busy, Robert would grab a six-pack and walk across the street. It was a routine that Robert looked forward to each spring when the weather grew warmer, and it was something he lamented when cold weather returned in the fall.
For the past year, Robert’s health had been going downhill. It started with his breathing, and soon after that his arthritis began getting worse. Over the winter, Robert did very little. He spent his days in the living room and his nights in the bedroom, though he did walk around the block once or twice a week.
Other than that, Robert did almost nothing. He had a cleaning service that came every month, which his wife had arranged years ago and which made even more sense now that she was gone. Robert wasn’t about to start cleaning or dusting or vacuuming any time soon. Robert also had groceries brought to his house once a week. This saved him the effort of driving to the grocery store, which had become even more difficult since his arthritis had gotten worse.
Most days, Robert watched TV and read the newspaper or an occasional book. He watched baseball, and sometimes football in the fall, but he had little interest in other sports or activities. He had been a career military man, and once he retired and moved into civilian life he found that there was little in civilian life that interested him. The military had been his professional and social life, and once that was over he struggled to fill his time. And then his wife passed away, and he had even more difficulty keeping himself occupied.
So I became an important source of activity and interaction for Robert. Those evening conversations woke him up, reminded him that he still had something to share, something to give. They allowed him to relive the many interesting adventures he had experienced in his life, and he felt more alive while sitting and talking to me than he did at any other time. He hoped I enjoyed our evenings together as much as he, and of course I did.
Though his children didn’t know it, Robert was rather wealthy. He had saved all his life, had lived frugally, and had received some very good investing advice from his brother-in-law over the years. By the time the stock market made it’s run in the 1980’s and 90’s, Robert was heavily invested in the market and benefited greatly. His assets tripled in eighteen years, and when the end of the century came around and the Y2K fears were being talked about, Robert (against the advice of his brother-in-law) sold all of his stocks, and even his bonds, and moved virtually all of his assets into cash, where they remained ever since.
Robert had saved and accumulated over half a million dollars, and none of his children knew it. They were all successful in their careers and had no need for it. Robert had recently decided that such an inheritance would not be in the best interests of his children. He had seen too many families torn apart by fighting over inheritance, and he was determined not to let that happen to his family. His children had no idea he had so much money, and he made sure it stayed that way.
One rainy afternoon, Robert was sitting in his living room watching TV, as he always did. Out the window, he noticed a figure moving outside in the rain across the street. He stood up with a struggle and walked over to the window. He could see a hooded figure at the back corner of the property across the street. It was my house, and Robert could see that the hooded figure was me.
“Now, what the heck is that boy doing out there in the rain?” Robert said to himself. He couldn’t imagine what could be so important that I needed to be outside in the pouring rain.
Robert sat back down in his chair, but he continued to watch me out the window. It was far away, and Robert’s vision wasn’t what it used to be, but it looked to him as though I was carrying something. I disappeared behind the house, and then several minutes later I returned to the back corner of the yard and picked up something else.
Robert’s curiosity grew and grew. Finally, he could stand it no more and he stood up and walked into the hallway to fetch his raincoat. He looked in the bottom of the hall closet for appropriate shoes, but there were none. Didn’t he have a pair of galoshes somewhere? He couldn’t remember.
He walked back into his bedroom and looked in the closet. No galoshes. But there was a box in which he found an old pair of boots from his days in the marines.
“Haven’t worn these in ten years,” he said as he pulled them out of the box. “Not since I stopped marching in the parade.”
Robert carried his boots out into the living room and sat down in his chair. He looked closely at the boots. They were well-worn, but otherwise in good shape. He was anxious to put them on. He kicked off his slippers and placed his right foot in the right boot. It felt a bit tight. The leather was hard, but he knew it would soon soften. He laced up the boot, then did the same with the left one. When he was finished, he stood up and took a few steps. It felt strange to be wearing those boots again, but it also gave him a thrill.
He walked up and down the hallway, working the boots in. Then he put on his raincoat, grabbed an umbrella from the hall closet, and walked to the front door. It was raining, though not as hard as it had been earlier. He opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was warm and humid and smelled like summer rain. He closed the front door behind him, put up his umbrella, and walked down his front steps and across the street to my house. He walked up the walkway, then around the right side of the house.
When he reached the back of the house he stopped and surveyed the yard. It was full of puddles, with patches of grass here and there. It had been raining for days, and had poured heavily all morning. The yard was a marsh.
Robert spotted me, standing atop the large mound of dirt at the back of the yard. I didn’t see him at first, so Robert stood at the back corner of the house and watched. I had a brick in my hand and was pushing it down into the mud at the top of the mound. Robert could see that there were other bricks on the top of the mound, forming a flat platform on which I was standing.
When I had placed the brick in the appropriate position, I walked back down the side of the mound and over toward several piles of bricks in the back corner of the yard. As I walked I noticed Robert standing there in his raincoat and boots. I smiled.
“Hey there, old man!” I yelled above the sound of the rain landing in puddles.
Robert waved. I walked toward him and said, “Are you here to help?”
“Help with what? What on earth are you doing?” he asked, a confused expression on his face.
“I’m building my mountain!” I said with a smile. Robert looked confused. “Come on,” I said, “Let’s go inside. I need to dry off.”
The two of us walked up the back steps and through the door into the laundry room.
Robert watched as I began taking off my wet jacket and boots. “This ought to be good,” Robert said. “Tell me, what’s so important that you need to be out there on the rainiest day of the year?”
I was thrilled by the question. “Well, Bob, some things are so important that they can’t wait for a sunny day. And this is one of those things.”
“What is? Putting bricks on a pile of dirt?”
“Actually, its a pile of mud. But all the more reason to cover it with bricks.”
I finished taking off my wet gear, and Robert took off his own raincoat and boots. Then the two of us walked out of the laundry room and down the hall to the living room. I continued on to the kitchen. “Something to drink, Bob?”
“I could use a hot cup of coffee,” Robert answered.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed, and I began washing out the coffee pot.
“So tell me,” Robert said as he sat down at the kitchen table,“what are you doing out there?”
“Well,” I said smiling, “I had an idea about that mound out there. I’ve got loads of bricks from the old house, and I’ve got lots of free time right now. So I’ve decided to cover the mound with bricks. It’s my favorite place to sit and watch the sunset, so I figured, why not build a platform up there to sit on? That’s where the idea started, and it grew from there.”
Robert thought about it and nodded. “Are you gonna have enough bricks?” he asked.
“Not sure. If I cover all four sides with bricks, probably not. But I’ve got a lot of good ones out front in the walkway. I can always use those if I have to. Or I could buy some. But I have enough to get started. I decided to work from the top down, shaping it as I go."
Robert thought about it. “Well, I’d love to help, but I don’t know what I could do,” he said.
“You don’t need to do anything. Maybe just some moral support. I’m sure it will take me months to finish it. You can provide the entertainment.”
Robert smiled. “And the beer.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I’ll do the rest. I want the top to be big enough to put a few chairs up there. And maybe a pole of some sort. I haven’t thought that far ahead, though. I’ll be happy just to have the top platform and a set of steps at this point. Then I can get you up there.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “I’m anxious to check out the view.”
I poured us each a cup of coffee, then brought my sketches of the mound over to the table and placed them in front of Robert.
“This is what I came up with so far. I thought the first few steps would be deeper, then some shallow steps, and then a few more deep ones at the top. So the slope would start off gradually, then get steep, then gradual again before leveling off at the top.”
Robert studied the sketches. “I like it,” he said nodding. “Its different.”
“I agree,” I said.
“But,” said Robert, “that doesn’t explain why you picked today to start working on it.”
I looked at Robert for a moment. “To be honest, Bob, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. The lawsuit doesn’t appear to be going anywhere at this point, and as you know I’m not working right now. I sort of hit bottom this morning, and working on this project was the only thing I could think of to lift my spirits. Which it definitely did, because I feel great now. A little wet and chilled, perhaps, but otherwise wonderful. Right now, I feel the best I’ve felt in days. All because I just spent two hours out in the rain carrying bricks. How about that?”
“Yes, how about that,” Robert replied laughing. “It sounds pretty weird to me, but what do I know? I just sit on my can all day watching TV. But I can see that you’re in a very good mood, so obviously you’re doing something right.”
“Oh, I feel great. I’m probably done for the day, but I can’t wait to get back out there tomorrow. I’m just about finished with the top, and then I think I’ll do a staircase going down the south side, toward the bricks. If all goes well, I’ll have you up there tomorrow night and we’ll toast our first sunset on top. If this rain ever stops, that is.”
“You’ve got a deal,” replied Robert, and then the two of us spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the project and about other things. Robert and I could talk for hours, about pretty much anything. There were rarely any pauses, or disagreements. Robert loved to talk, and I loved to listen.
Eventually, Robert went home. I spent a relaxing evening reading and watching television. I was in a very good mood, and even when my thoughts turned to the other circumstances of my life my good mood remained. I noticed that I was able to think about the very things that had made me feel depressed earlier that day, only now they didn’t affect me the same way. I saw them as simply interesting (though challenging) aspects of this stage of my life.
I no longer had any idea where my life was headed, but that was okay. I knew intuitively that it would all work out, and that eventually I would look back at this time of my life as being important, productive, and valuable.
I decided that I would do my best to remember that state of mind, and the next time I felt depressed or angry or frustrated I would try to return to it. I didn’t know whether or not I would be able to, but I decided that I would try.
I felt so positive, so appreciative of my life that evening that I knew I had stumbled upon or arrived at something important. Something that had to do with choosing my state of mind, rather than allowing my mood to be dictated by my circumstances or my runaway thoughts.
I didn’t yet know it, but I had arrived at a significant realization. One that I would forget and remember many times in the years to come. The initiation of my mound project was closely and symbolically tied to that realization. I was beginning to build something stable, something lasting, something of true value to me.
There in my backyard, on a typical street in a typical town, I had begun a journey toward an existence and a state of awareness that was decidedly untypical in the world in which I was living. I was embarking upon a journey toward a state of being that I was unfamiliar with and unaware of. One that would gradually grow more familiar to me.
And eventually, in the years to come, I would feel the need, the desire, and the obligation to assist others in discovering that state of being for themselves.
Soon after we first met, I began referring to him as Bob. And although Robert had never in his life allowed anyone to call him Bob, he let me get away with it. Apparently there was something about me that made it okay.
Robert’s wife had died several years after I moved into the neighborhood, and now Robert lived alone in a house that was far more than he needed. But he had lived in it for 32 years, had raised four children there, and had never considered the possibility of selling it. Robert’s children had all moved out of the area, leaving him with no family around. None, that is, except for me.
I eventually became like a son to Robert. In fact, I was far more interested in Robert’s tales and life than his children were. And soon those evening chats on my front steps became important to him. He would often glance out his living room window after dinner to see if I was outside. And if I was, and I didn’t look too busy, Robert would grab a six-pack and walk across the street. It was a routine that Robert looked forward to each spring when the weather grew warmer, and it was something he lamented when cold weather returned in the fall.
For the past year, Robert’s health had been going downhill. It started with his breathing, and soon after that his arthritis began getting worse. Over the winter, Robert did very little. He spent his days in the living room and his nights in the bedroom, though he did walk around the block once or twice a week.
Other than that, Robert did almost nothing. He had a cleaning service that came every month, which his wife had arranged years ago and which made even more sense now that she was gone. Robert wasn’t about to start cleaning or dusting or vacuuming any time soon. Robert also had groceries brought to his house once a week. This saved him the effort of driving to the grocery store, which had become even more difficult since his arthritis had gotten worse.
Most days, Robert watched TV and read the newspaper or an occasional book. He watched baseball, and sometimes football in the fall, but he had little interest in other sports or activities. He had been a career military man, and once he retired and moved into civilian life he found that there was little in civilian life that interested him. The military had been his professional and social life, and once that was over he struggled to fill his time. And then his wife passed away, and he had even more difficulty keeping himself occupied.
So I became an important source of activity and interaction for Robert. Those evening conversations woke him up, reminded him that he still had something to share, something to give. They allowed him to relive the many interesting adventures he had experienced in his life, and he felt more alive while sitting and talking to me than he did at any other time. He hoped I enjoyed our evenings together as much as he, and of course I did.
Though his children didn’t know it, Robert was rather wealthy. He had saved all his life, had lived frugally, and had received some very good investing advice from his brother-in-law over the years. By the time the stock market made it’s run in the 1980’s and 90’s, Robert was heavily invested in the market and benefited greatly. His assets tripled in eighteen years, and when the end of the century came around and the Y2K fears were being talked about, Robert (against the advice of his brother-in-law) sold all of his stocks, and even his bonds, and moved virtually all of his assets into cash, where they remained ever since.
Robert had saved and accumulated over half a million dollars, and none of his children knew it. They were all successful in their careers and had no need for it. Robert had recently decided that such an inheritance would not be in the best interests of his children. He had seen too many families torn apart by fighting over inheritance, and he was determined not to let that happen to his family. His children had no idea he had so much money, and he made sure it stayed that way.
One rainy afternoon, Robert was sitting in his living room watching TV, as he always did. Out the window, he noticed a figure moving outside in the rain across the street. He stood up with a struggle and walked over to the window. He could see a hooded figure at the back corner of the property across the street. It was my house, and Robert could see that the hooded figure was me.
“Now, what the heck is that boy doing out there in the rain?” Robert said to himself. He couldn’t imagine what could be so important that I needed to be outside in the pouring rain.
Robert sat back down in his chair, but he continued to watch me out the window. It was far away, and Robert’s vision wasn’t what it used to be, but it looked to him as though I was carrying something. I disappeared behind the house, and then several minutes later I returned to the back corner of the yard and picked up something else.
Robert’s curiosity grew and grew. Finally, he could stand it no more and he stood up and walked into the hallway to fetch his raincoat. He looked in the bottom of the hall closet for appropriate shoes, but there were none. Didn’t he have a pair of galoshes somewhere? He couldn’t remember.
He walked back into his bedroom and looked in the closet. No galoshes. But there was a box in which he found an old pair of boots from his days in the marines.
“Haven’t worn these in ten years,” he said as he pulled them out of the box. “Not since I stopped marching in the parade.”
Robert carried his boots out into the living room and sat down in his chair. He looked closely at the boots. They were well-worn, but otherwise in good shape. He was anxious to put them on. He kicked off his slippers and placed his right foot in the right boot. It felt a bit tight. The leather was hard, but he knew it would soon soften. He laced up the boot, then did the same with the left one. When he was finished, he stood up and took a few steps. It felt strange to be wearing those boots again, but it also gave him a thrill.
He walked up and down the hallway, working the boots in. Then he put on his raincoat, grabbed an umbrella from the hall closet, and walked to the front door. It was raining, though not as hard as it had been earlier. He opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The air was warm and humid and smelled like summer rain. He closed the front door behind him, put up his umbrella, and walked down his front steps and across the street to my house. He walked up the walkway, then around the right side of the house.
When he reached the back of the house he stopped and surveyed the yard. It was full of puddles, with patches of grass here and there. It had been raining for days, and had poured heavily all morning. The yard was a marsh.
Robert spotted me, standing atop the large mound of dirt at the back of the yard. I didn’t see him at first, so Robert stood at the back corner of the house and watched. I had a brick in my hand and was pushing it down into the mud at the top of the mound. Robert could see that there were other bricks on the top of the mound, forming a flat platform on which I was standing.
When I had placed the brick in the appropriate position, I walked back down the side of the mound and over toward several piles of bricks in the back corner of the yard. As I walked I noticed Robert standing there in his raincoat and boots. I smiled.
“Hey there, old man!” I yelled above the sound of the rain landing in puddles.
Robert waved. I walked toward him and said, “Are you here to help?”
“Help with what? What on earth are you doing?” he asked, a confused expression on his face.
“I’m building my mountain!” I said with a smile. Robert looked confused. “Come on,” I said, “Let’s go inside. I need to dry off.”
The two of us walked up the back steps and through the door into the laundry room.
Robert watched as I began taking off my wet jacket and boots. “This ought to be good,” Robert said. “Tell me, what’s so important that you need to be out there on the rainiest day of the year?”
I was thrilled by the question. “Well, Bob, some things are so important that they can’t wait for a sunny day. And this is one of those things.”
“What is? Putting bricks on a pile of dirt?”
“Actually, its a pile of mud. But all the more reason to cover it with bricks.”
I finished taking off my wet gear, and Robert took off his own raincoat and boots. Then the two of us walked out of the laundry room and down the hall to the living room. I continued on to the kitchen. “Something to drink, Bob?”
“I could use a hot cup of coffee,” Robert answered.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed, and I began washing out the coffee pot.
“So tell me,” Robert said as he sat down at the kitchen table,“what are you doing out there?”
“Well,” I said smiling, “I had an idea about that mound out there. I’ve got loads of bricks from the old house, and I’ve got lots of free time right now. So I’ve decided to cover the mound with bricks. It’s my favorite place to sit and watch the sunset, so I figured, why not build a platform up there to sit on? That’s where the idea started, and it grew from there.”
Robert thought about it and nodded. “Are you gonna have enough bricks?” he asked.
“Not sure. If I cover all four sides with bricks, probably not. But I’ve got a lot of good ones out front in the walkway. I can always use those if I have to. Or I could buy some. But I have enough to get started. I decided to work from the top down, shaping it as I go."
Robert thought about it. “Well, I’d love to help, but I don’t know what I could do,” he said.
“You don’t need to do anything. Maybe just some moral support. I’m sure it will take me months to finish it. You can provide the entertainment.”
Robert smiled. “And the beer.”
“Exactly,” I said. “I’ll do the rest. I want the top to be big enough to put a few chairs up there. And maybe a pole of some sort. I haven’t thought that far ahead, though. I’ll be happy just to have the top platform and a set of steps at this point. Then I can get you up there.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “I’m anxious to check out the view.”
I poured us each a cup of coffee, then brought my sketches of the mound over to the table and placed them in front of Robert.
“This is what I came up with so far. I thought the first few steps would be deeper, then some shallow steps, and then a few more deep ones at the top. So the slope would start off gradually, then get steep, then gradual again before leveling off at the top.”
Robert studied the sketches. “I like it,” he said nodding. “Its different.”
“I agree,” I said.
“But,” said Robert, “that doesn’t explain why you picked today to start working on it.”
I looked at Robert for a moment. “To be honest, Bob, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. The lawsuit doesn’t appear to be going anywhere at this point, and as you know I’m not working right now. I sort of hit bottom this morning, and working on this project was the only thing I could think of to lift my spirits. Which it definitely did, because I feel great now. A little wet and chilled, perhaps, but otherwise wonderful. Right now, I feel the best I’ve felt in days. All because I just spent two hours out in the rain carrying bricks. How about that?”
“Yes, how about that,” Robert replied laughing. “It sounds pretty weird to me, but what do I know? I just sit on my can all day watching TV. But I can see that you’re in a very good mood, so obviously you’re doing something right.”
“Oh, I feel great. I’m probably done for the day, but I can’t wait to get back out there tomorrow. I’m just about finished with the top, and then I think I’ll do a staircase going down the south side, toward the bricks. If all goes well, I’ll have you up there tomorrow night and we’ll toast our first sunset on top. If this rain ever stops, that is.”
“You’ve got a deal,” replied Robert, and then the two of us spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the project and about other things. Robert and I could talk for hours, about pretty much anything. There were rarely any pauses, or disagreements. Robert loved to talk, and I loved to listen.
Eventually, Robert went home. I spent a relaxing evening reading and watching television. I was in a very good mood, and even when my thoughts turned to the other circumstances of my life my good mood remained. I noticed that I was able to think about the very things that had made me feel depressed earlier that day, only now they didn’t affect me the same way. I saw them as simply interesting (though challenging) aspects of this stage of my life.
I no longer had any idea where my life was headed, but that was okay. I knew intuitively that it would all work out, and that eventually I would look back at this time of my life as being important, productive, and valuable.
I decided that I would do my best to remember that state of mind, and the next time I felt depressed or angry or frustrated I would try to return to it. I didn’t know whether or not I would be able to, but I decided that I would try.
I felt so positive, so appreciative of my life that evening that I knew I had stumbled upon or arrived at something important. Something that had to do with choosing my state of mind, rather than allowing my mood to be dictated by my circumstances or my runaway thoughts.
I didn’t yet know it, but I had arrived at a significant realization. One that I would forget and remember many times in the years to come. The initiation of my mound project was closely and symbolically tied to that realization. I was beginning to build something stable, something lasting, something of true value to me.
There in my backyard, on a typical street in a typical town, I had begun a journey toward an existence and a state of awareness that was decidedly untypical in the world in which I was living. I was embarking upon a journey toward a state of being that I was unfamiliar with and unaware of. One that would gradually grow more familiar to me.
And eventually, in the years to come, I would feel the need, the desire, and the obligation to assist others in discovering that state of being for themselves.
Part III: Paul
Chapter 17
Hi.
I’m Paul.
“Paul who?” you ask, eyebrows raised.
“And what is Paul doing in Harry’s story?”
Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing in Harry’s story: I’m here because without me, you never would have heard of Harry. I’m the reason you know about him in the first place.
If it wasn’t for me, those crazy ideas of his would never have “echoed around the world,” as I used to say. Sure, Harry was the one with all the ideas. He’s a brilliant spiritual genius, and all that. But I’m the one who brought those ideas to the world. Harry couldn’t do it. That wasn’t his job, his role in all of this. Harry is more of a one-on-one guy. But if his message was ever going to be heard by more than a handful of people, he needed someone who could take that message and run with it, spread it around. He needed someone who could mold his ideas and his story into something solid, something eternal. And, as it happened, that someone was me.
I first met Harry in a smelly little bar in Ohio called Murphy’s. (no offense Tina, but you have to admit the air in that place was nasty!) I remember thinking, when I first glanced over at him, that Harry was someone who probably didn’t have a whole lot to say, that it was a waste of time to strike up a conversation with him. But I was a bit jumpy after my first day at my new job, and I felt like talking to someone. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Harry was the only other person in the bar.
Well, except for Tina. Tina was the barmaid at Murphy’s in the afternoon, and although she was usually plenty talkative, she was at that moment leaning down and dipping pint glasses in and out of hot water while talking on the phone she held between her ear and shoulder.
So that left only Harry, down at the very end of the bar where it reached the wall. I wondered why he had chosen that particular stool until I saw the video poker machine on the bar in front of him. He was tap-tap-tapping away, immersed in whatever game he had chosen to waste his money on. He didn’t look up as I sat down three seats to the left of him.
“My name’s Paul,” I said, looking his way. “I’m new in town.” Harry looked over at me, his right index finger paused in front of the screen. I hoped my attempt to break the ice was well received.
Harry smiled. “Welcome,” he said, nodding once. Then he turned back to his game.
“Thanks,” I said with relief. He seemed friendly enough. “I just started working at GE around the corner,” I said. “Tough first day.”
Harry kept on tap-tap-tapping. “And why’s that?” he asked, not bothering to turn toward me this time.
“Why did I start working at GE today, or why was it a tough first day?” I asked with a smile.
Harry nodded, grinning. “Indeed.”
That answer was, I later learned, typical of Harry. He loved short answers, short comments, ones that could be interpreted in more than one way, which he always seemed to find amusing for some reason.
“Well,” I said, “my day consisted of spending the morning in human resources and the afternoon being introduced to, oh, I’d say 50 or 60 people, none of whom I’ll be able to identify tomorrow. Unless they’re still wearing the same clothes.”
Harry laughed. “That would be even more confusing in and of itself.”
“True,” I laughed, my first real laugh all day. “Good point.”
It had been a really crappy day, not exactly what I had hoped for when I moved there from Syracuse the week before. Driving to Murphy’s after work, I had pondered whether or not it was a mistake to take the job. It never did feel quite right. At least not the position. My new boss didn’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzies, either. But I had been living at home for six months after graduating from college (electrical engineering), and GE’s offer was the best one I had received. Actually, it was the only one I had received. As well as the one I was least interested in.
But I needed to move out of my parents’ house, needed to start working. And Ohio sounded like an interesting place to start, even if it was only temporary. But I didn’t feel all that excited about it after having just spent my first day there. The atmosphere seemed stale to me, and most of the people I met seemed stiff and uncomfortable. I hadn’t met a single person that I clicked with right away, which kind of bummed me out.
Perhaps there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air – maybe the air filtration system wasn’t working right. Or maybe the managers had managed to “manage” the personality right out of everyone. Who knows. But whatever it was, the place was too quiet, too still. I prefer motion, energy, some liveliness, an occasional burst of laughter or someone yelling at their computer for locking up again. Something.
Unfortunately, I was stuck there for at least two months - I had paid ahead two months rent. But don’t get me wrong, I had no reason to believe the job would be all that bad. It was just a tough first day, that was all.
And it was that tough first day that brought me to Murphy’s, which is where I met Harry for the first time.
And the second time.
And the third time…
Hi.
I’m Paul.
“Paul who?” you ask, eyebrows raised.
“And what is Paul doing in Harry’s story?”
Well, I’ll tell you what I’m doing in Harry’s story: I’m here because without me, you never would have heard of Harry. I’m the reason you know about him in the first place.
If it wasn’t for me, those crazy ideas of his would never have “echoed around the world,” as I used to say. Sure, Harry was the one with all the ideas. He’s a brilliant spiritual genius, and all that. But I’m the one who brought those ideas to the world. Harry couldn’t do it. That wasn’t his job, his role in all of this. Harry is more of a one-on-one guy. But if his message was ever going to be heard by more than a handful of people, he needed someone who could take that message and run with it, spread it around. He needed someone who could mold his ideas and his story into something solid, something eternal. And, as it happened, that someone was me.
I first met Harry in a smelly little bar in Ohio called Murphy’s. (no offense Tina, but you have to admit the air in that place was nasty!) I remember thinking, when I first glanced over at him, that Harry was someone who probably didn’t have a whole lot to say, that it was a waste of time to strike up a conversation with him. But I was a bit jumpy after my first day at my new job, and I felt like talking to someone. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Harry was the only other person in the bar.
Well, except for Tina. Tina was the barmaid at Murphy’s in the afternoon, and although she was usually plenty talkative, she was at that moment leaning down and dipping pint glasses in and out of hot water while talking on the phone she held between her ear and shoulder.
So that left only Harry, down at the very end of the bar where it reached the wall. I wondered why he had chosen that particular stool until I saw the video poker machine on the bar in front of him. He was tap-tap-tapping away, immersed in whatever game he had chosen to waste his money on. He didn’t look up as I sat down three seats to the left of him.
“My name’s Paul,” I said, looking his way. “I’m new in town.” Harry looked over at me, his right index finger paused in front of the screen. I hoped my attempt to break the ice was well received.
Harry smiled. “Welcome,” he said, nodding once. Then he turned back to his game.
“Thanks,” I said with relief. He seemed friendly enough. “I just started working at GE around the corner,” I said. “Tough first day.”
Harry kept on tap-tap-tapping. “And why’s that?” he asked, not bothering to turn toward me this time.
“Why did I start working at GE today, or why was it a tough first day?” I asked with a smile.
Harry nodded, grinning. “Indeed.”
That answer was, I later learned, typical of Harry. He loved short answers, short comments, ones that could be interpreted in more than one way, which he always seemed to find amusing for some reason.
“Well,” I said, “my day consisted of spending the morning in human resources and the afternoon being introduced to, oh, I’d say 50 or 60 people, none of whom I’ll be able to identify tomorrow. Unless they’re still wearing the same clothes.”
Harry laughed. “That would be even more confusing in and of itself.”
“True,” I laughed, my first real laugh all day. “Good point.”
It had been a really crappy day, not exactly what I had hoped for when I moved there from Syracuse the week before. Driving to Murphy’s after work, I had pondered whether or not it was a mistake to take the job. It never did feel quite right. At least not the position. My new boss didn’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzies, either. But I had been living at home for six months after graduating from college (electrical engineering), and GE’s offer was the best one I had received. Actually, it was the only one I had received. As well as the one I was least interested in.
But I needed to move out of my parents’ house, needed to start working. And Ohio sounded like an interesting place to start, even if it was only temporary. But I didn’t feel all that excited about it after having just spent my first day there. The atmosphere seemed stale to me, and most of the people I met seemed stiff and uncomfortable. I hadn’t met a single person that I clicked with right away, which kind of bummed me out.
Perhaps there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air – maybe the air filtration system wasn’t working right. Or maybe the managers had managed to “manage” the personality right out of everyone. Who knows. But whatever it was, the place was too quiet, too still. I prefer motion, energy, some liveliness, an occasional burst of laughter or someone yelling at their computer for locking up again. Something.
Unfortunately, I was stuck there for at least two months - I had paid ahead two months rent. But don’t get me wrong, I had no reason to believe the job would be all that bad. It was just a tough first day, that was all.
And it was that tough first day that brought me to Murphy’s, which is where I met Harry for the first time.
And the second time.
And the third time…
Chapter 18
“So what do you do, Harry?” I asked him the next time I saw him, once again at Murphy’s. It was a Sunday evening, several weeks later.
“A number of things,” he answered evasively, smiling as usual. Harry smiled a lot.
“Such as?” I prodded.
“Oh, whatever the moment calls for, I suppose.”
Harry was reading when I came in this time. Our previous meeting had been a fluke - he’s not a video poker junkie. Every other time I found him at Murphy’s, he was reading. Rarely talking. Except to me.
I wondered if perhaps he would prefer to keep reading whatever it was he was reading, so I just offered a quiet laugh, nodded, and let it go at that. Much to my surprise, however, Harry continued.
“I used to teach,” he said.
“Really? Teach what?” I asked.
“Science. Eighth grade,” he said.
“Ah, science! My favorite subject,” I said, glad that we had a common interest.
“Well, I said I used to,” Harry continued. “I don’t anymore.”
I wondered why not, but I didn’t want to ask. “So what now?”
Harry shrugged. “As odd as it may sound, I don’t really know.”
I laughed. “Doesn’t sound odd to me. I’m sitting here talking to you because I took a job that I didn’t really want, in a town I’d never even heard of. So I don’t really know what I’m doing, either.”
Harry thought for a moment. “I’m not sure which one of us has it worse. I suspect you do!”
“Yeah,” I said, “I vote for me. At least you’re not spending your afternoons drinking stale coffee to stay awake and trying to figure out how to make the time go by faster.”
“No, I’m not,” Harry concurred.
“So what do you do? You don’t work at all? A rich ex-teacher? What, did you win the lottery or something?” I asked, smiling.
“Something like that,” Harry laughed. “I actually do feel like I’ve hit the lottery, in a way. But rather than sitting on huge amounts of money, I’ve got a vast new ocean of potential.”
“A vast new ocean of potential? Sounds good to me. Where can I get one of those?” I asked with a smirk.
“You already have one, at your disposal,” Harry answered. “You just have to decide that it’s there.”
I sat pondering what Harry had just said. There was an ocean of potential at my disposal, and I simply had to decide that it was there. “And once I decide that it’s there, I have access to it?” I asked.
“Well, you’ve always had access to it. You’ve been drawing upon it all along. But if you know it’s there, then it feels like you’ve won the lottery. An ocean of potential. Unlimited.”
Now, I had no idea, really, what Harry was talking about. But the words he was using were very clear to me, like I understood what he was saying far better than I should have. I’d never studied philosophy, religion, or any of those things. No interest. I never got anything out of it, and I always found that stuff boring.
I was definitely not a spiritual person, and the words he was using, such as “ocean of potential”, would have turned me off under normal circumstances. But for whatever reason, I was comprehending completely what he was saying. The idea of an ocean of potential, feeling like winning the lottery, was very clear to me. I could feel it, and I knew exactly what he meant. It was a weird sensation, easily comprehending something that, at face value, should have meant little or nothing to me.
That was the first time I noticed that I’m a different person in Harry’s presence. My mind seems to work better. Whether talking or listening, I find it easier to find or interpret words and ideas during my conversations with him. It’s like there is an extra current of intelligence running through my brain or something. I would notice it again and again in the years to come. And I would later realize that I had been permanently affected by the interactions I had with Harry.
Now, Harry would insist that he was not the “cause” of such effects, but only perhaps a “catalyst” for them. He would insist that I had chosen to place him in my reality to tell me what I already knew. And he would, of course, be right.
Harry gave me a crash course during the five months I lived in Ohio. Not that I asked for it, and he certainly didn’t view it that way. But just by being around him, you learned things. You were taught by his approach to life, his way of handling things, his way of questioning things. And of course his near-incessant observation of the meaning behinds things, the reason for things to be the way they are, the beliefs we are expressing at any given moment.
Harry was a walking assessment of reality, and he spewed his ideas and observations like an old fountain with no shutoff valve. He was full of it, alright. And it flowed.
And thank God it did, because I learned a lot from Harry during those five months. Just as anyone who spends time around Harry does. It can’t be helped. He seems to exist to do just that: express himself, and in particular share his understanding of things with the rest of us.
It would take many years for me to fully appreciate the gift he gave me, just by being himself. He didn’t set out to teach me anything. But I believe he intended to be helpful. He told me on a number of occasions that this was his underlying intent, even if his enthusiasm often led him well off the path of helpfulness. But Harry, and his view of things, awakened a seed in me that would later bloom into something beyond anything I could have imagined.
Something that would eventually spread to the minds and hearts of people all over the globe.
Sound farfetched?
A little “over the top”?
I would have thought so, too.
But tiny seeds can grow into very big trees. And the one that Harry awakened in me would grow to be a very large tree indeed.
I often saw Harry as an old, weather-worn gardener, hunched over in his overalls, watering can in hand. Harry watered seeds, and sent them on their way. He returned from time to time to check on our progress (or, more precisely, we checked in with Harry to see how we were doing).
Other than that, Harry was just who he was.
And he helped me to be who I am.
That’s just what Harry does.
He is a gardener.
“A number of things,” he answered evasively, smiling as usual. Harry smiled a lot.
“Such as?” I prodded.
“Oh, whatever the moment calls for, I suppose.”
Harry was reading when I came in this time. Our previous meeting had been a fluke - he’s not a video poker junkie. Every other time I found him at Murphy’s, he was reading. Rarely talking. Except to me.
I wondered if perhaps he would prefer to keep reading whatever it was he was reading, so I just offered a quiet laugh, nodded, and let it go at that. Much to my surprise, however, Harry continued.
“I used to teach,” he said.
“Really? Teach what?” I asked.
“Science. Eighth grade,” he said.
“Ah, science! My favorite subject,” I said, glad that we had a common interest.
“Well, I said I used to,” Harry continued. “I don’t anymore.”
I wondered why not, but I didn’t want to ask. “So what now?”
Harry shrugged. “As odd as it may sound, I don’t really know.”
I laughed. “Doesn’t sound odd to me. I’m sitting here talking to you because I took a job that I didn’t really want, in a town I’d never even heard of. So I don’t really know what I’m doing, either.”
Harry thought for a moment. “I’m not sure which one of us has it worse. I suspect you do!”
“Yeah,” I said, “I vote for me. At least you’re not spending your afternoons drinking stale coffee to stay awake and trying to figure out how to make the time go by faster.”
“No, I’m not,” Harry concurred.
“So what do you do? You don’t work at all? A rich ex-teacher? What, did you win the lottery or something?” I asked, smiling.
“Something like that,” Harry laughed. “I actually do feel like I’ve hit the lottery, in a way. But rather than sitting on huge amounts of money, I’ve got a vast new ocean of potential.”
“A vast new ocean of potential? Sounds good to me. Where can I get one of those?” I asked with a smirk.
“You already have one, at your disposal,” Harry answered. “You just have to decide that it’s there.”
I sat pondering what Harry had just said. There was an ocean of potential at my disposal, and I simply had to decide that it was there. “And once I decide that it’s there, I have access to it?” I asked.
“Well, you’ve always had access to it. You’ve been drawing upon it all along. But if you know it’s there, then it feels like you’ve won the lottery. An ocean of potential. Unlimited.”
Now, I had no idea, really, what Harry was talking about. But the words he was using were very clear to me, like I understood what he was saying far better than I should have. I’d never studied philosophy, religion, or any of those things. No interest. I never got anything out of it, and I always found that stuff boring.
I was definitely not a spiritual person, and the words he was using, such as “ocean of potential”, would have turned me off under normal circumstances. But for whatever reason, I was comprehending completely what he was saying. The idea of an ocean of potential, feeling like winning the lottery, was very clear to me. I could feel it, and I knew exactly what he meant. It was a weird sensation, easily comprehending something that, at face value, should have meant little or nothing to me.
That was the first time I noticed that I’m a different person in Harry’s presence. My mind seems to work better. Whether talking or listening, I find it easier to find or interpret words and ideas during my conversations with him. It’s like there is an extra current of intelligence running through my brain or something. I would notice it again and again in the years to come. And I would later realize that I had been permanently affected by the interactions I had with Harry.
Now, Harry would insist that he was not the “cause” of such effects, but only perhaps a “catalyst” for them. He would insist that I had chosen to place him in my reality to tell me what I already knew. And he would, of course, be right.
Harry gave me a crash course during the five months I lived in Ohio. Not that I asked for it, and he certainly didn’t view it that way. But just by being around him, you learned things. You were taught by his approach to life, his way of handling things, his way of questioning things. And of course his near-incessant observation of the meaning behinds things, the reason for things to be the way they are, the beliefs we are expressing at any given moment.
Harry was a walking assessment of reality, and he spewed his ideas and observations like an old fountain with no shutoff valve. He was full of it, alright. And it flowed.
And thank God it did, because I learned a lot from Harry during those five months. Just as anyone who spends time around Harry does. It can’t be helped. He seems to exist to do just that: express himself, and in particular share his understanding of things with the rest of us.
It would take many years for me to fully appreciate the gift he gave me, just by being himself. He didn’t set out to teach me anything. But I believe he intended to be helpful. He told me on a number of occasions that this was his underlying intent, even if his enthusiasm often led him well off the path of helpfulness. But Harry, and his view of things, awakened a seed in me that would later bloom into something beyond anything I could have imagined.
Something that would eventually spread to the minds and hearts of people all over the globe.
Sound farfetched?
A little “over the top”?
I would have thought so, too.
But tiny seeds can grow into very big trees. And the one that Harry awakened in me would grow to be a very large tree indeed.
I often saw Harry as an old, weather-worn gardener, hunched over in his overalls, watering can in hand. Harry watered seeds, and sent them on their way. He returned from time to time to check on our progress (or, more precisely, we checked in with Harry to see how we were doing).
Other than that, Harry was just who he was.
And he helped me to be who I am.
That’s just what Harry does.
He is a gardener.
Chapter 19
The next time I ran into Harry, he invited me over to his place. I showed up on a Friday evening with a case of beer. He was sitting on his front steps when I arrived.
“Yo!” I yelled as I got out of my car.
“Good evening!” Harry yelled back. He stood up and walked down his front walkway. I popped open the trunk and took out the beer, looking around at the neighborhood.
“What’d you bring?” Harry asked as he arrived at the curb.
“Summer wheat, baby,” I answered, handing Harry the case of beer. “Already cold.”
“Perfect,” Harry said with a smile. “Come on in.” I followed Harry up to his house and in the front door. We walked into his kitchen, where he opened the case, took out two bottles, and put the rest in the fridge.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, and motioned with his hand for me to follow him. We walked down a hallway, through a small room with a washer and dryer, and out the back door. We walked down a few steps and stopped on a concrete patio on which was arranged a table with an umbrella and four chairs around it. There was a propane grill to the right and a bench to the left. And straight ahead, at the back of the property, was a pyramid.
I say pyramid, but it wasn’t pointed on top like pyramids usually are. This was flat on top, with curved sides. “Wow, look at that,” I said as I stared at it. It was big – almost as tall as the house. I started walking toward it. Harry followed.
As I got closer, I saw that the structure was covered with brick steps. At the top, it looked like a chimney was sticking up out of the middle of it.On the grass around the bottom of it were small statues, ranging from a foot to three feet tall. There was a Buddha, a Hindu god of some sort, one of Jesus Christ in a robe and sandals. There was what looked like a totem pole at one corner, and several other small shrine-type things that I couldn’t identify. These were arranged neatly at the corners and along each side. The entire scene was quite powerful to look at, everything neatly arranged. I immediately wanted to climb to the top of the structure, whatever it was.
“What do you call this thing?” I asked him.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t really given it a name. I guess I refer to it as my mound.”
“Well, it needs a name,” I said. “This thing is amazing. Can I climb to the top?”
“Go for it,” Harry said with a nod. I put my right foot on the first step. The bricks had been perfectly placed. Each row was straight and level. Harry, or whoever had done this, had known what they were doing and had put a lot of care and attention into it.
I counted the steps as I went – three deep steps, seven shallow steps, and three more deep ones. I arrived at the top and turned around. The view was amazing – I could see over Harry’s roof and all the other roofs around. I could see the building where I worked a half mile to the north. I could see the sun toward the west. It was early evening.
“Harry, this thing is awesome,” I said.
“I agree!” Harry said smiling as he arrived at the top next to me.
“You built this?”
“Yup.”
I thought about it a moment, then asked, “Why?”
Harry squinted at me, still smiling. “Hard to say. Lots of reasons.”
I nodded, and took a sip of my beer. “Like what?”
“Well, I wanted a better view of sunsets, for one thing.” I nodded again. “And I like to sit out here and read, ponder. Two of my favorite activities.”
I looked at Harry. He was facing the sun. For the first time I realized that there was far more to this guy than I had thought. There were things going on inside him that I knew I couldn’t possibly understand. I could picture him sitting up here on his mound, watching the sun move across the sky, perhaps a book in his hand.
What I had thought was a chimney was a column of bricks, two feet square and about my height. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to it.
“It used to hold up a flagpole. But I use it as a back rest. Like this.” Harry sat down and leaned back against it. I sat down and leaned back against an adjacent face.
“Ah,” I said, “I see.”
We sat there quietly for a moment. Then I noticed my bottle was empty. “I need another beer,” I said.
“Me too,” Harry agreed. We stood up and walked back down to the ground. Once inside, Harry filled a cooler with beer and ice and then we went headed back outside and up onto the mound.
We spent the rest of the evening up there. Sometime after sunset, the moon rose. It was a spectacular sight. I hadn’t watched the moon rise like that before. It was huge, a few days past full.
Harry and I talked about everything – sports, politics, even religion, which as I said was of very little interest to me. But Harry brought it up in reference to the situation in the Middle East, and he even managed to tie it into sports, though I can’t remember exactly how or why.
By midnight, I could barely walk back down the steps without stumbling, and I decided to crash on the couch in the living room. I awoke the next day with a splitting headache, left a note on the kitchen table, and somehow managed to drive home despite dizzying nausea.
And that was my first evening at Harry’s. My first time up on “the mound”. I would return many, many times over the next four months. At least once a week, and sometimes three or four nights a week, Harry and I sat atop the mound and talked, and talked, and talked.
I will share a few of those conversations with you because they were, quite frankly, life-changing for me. My perspective of myself, of the world, and of my reason for being alive changed dramatically during those four months, and perhaps you will find what I recount for you here as helpful and stimulating for you as it was for me.
So sit back, relax, make yourself comfortable.
And let me share with you what Harry told me.
“Yo!” I yelled as I got out of my car.
“Good evening!” Harry yelled back. He stood up and walked down his front walkway. I popped open the trunk and took out the beer, looking around at the neighborhood.
“What’d you bring?” Harry asked as he arrived at the curb.
“Summer wheat, baby,” I answered, handing Harry the case of beer. “Already cold.”
“Perfect,” Harry said with a smile. “Come on in.” I followed Harry up to his house and in the front door. We walked into his kitchen, where he opened the case, took out two bottles, and put the rest in the fridge.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” he said, and motioned with his hand for me to follow him. We walked down a hallway, through a small room with a washer and dryer, and out the back door. We walked down a few steps and stopped on a concrete patio on which was arranged a table with an umbrella and four chairs around it. There was a propane grill to the right and a bench to the left. And straight ahead, at the back of the property, was a pyramid.
I say pyramid, but it wasn’t pointed on top like pyramids usually are. This was flat on top, with curved sides. “Wow, look at that,” I said as I stared at it. It was big – almost as tall as the house. I started walking toward it. Harry followed.
As I got closer, I saw that the structure was covered with brick steps. At the top, it looked like a chimney was sticking up out of the middle of it.On the grass around the bottom of it were small statues, ranging from a foot to three feet tall. There was a Buddha, a Hindu god of some sort, one of Jesus Christ in a robe and sandals. There was what looked like a totem pole at one corner, and several other small shrine-type things that I couldn’t identify. These were arranged neatly at the corners and along each side. The entire scene was quite powerful to look at, everything neatly arranged. I immediately wanted to climb to the top of the structure, whatever it was.
“What do you call this thing?” I asked him.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I haven’t really given it a name. I guess I refer to it as my mound.”
“Well, it needs a name,” I said. “This thing is amazing. Can I climb to the top?”
“Go for it,” Harry said with a nod. I put my right foot on the first step. The bricks had been perfectly placed. Each row was straight and level. Harry, or whoever had done this, had known what they were doing and had put a lot of care and attention into it.
I counted the steps as I went – three deep steps, seven shallow steps, and three more deep ones. I arrived at the top and turned around. The view was amazing – I could see over Harry’s roof and all the other roofs around. I could see the building where I worked a half mile to the north. I could see the sun toward the west. It was early evening.
“Harry, this thing is awesome,” I said.
“I agree!” Harry said smiling as he arrived at the top next to me.
“You built this?”
“Yup.”
I thought about it a moment, then asked, “Why?”
Harry squinted at me, still smiling. “Hard to say. Lots of reasons.”
I nodded, and took a sip of my beer. “Like what?”
“Well, I wanted a better view of sunsets, for one thing.” I nodded again. “And I like to sit out here and read, ponder. Two of my favorite activities.”
I looked at Harry. He was facing the sun. For the first time I realized that there was far more to this guy than I had thought. There were things going on inside him that I knew I couldn’t possibly understand. I could picture him sitting up here on his mound, watching the sun move across the sky, perhaps a book in his hand.
What I had thought was a chimney was a column of bricks, two feet square and about my height. “What’s this?” I asked, pointing to it.
“It used to hold up a flagpole. But I use it as a back rest. Like this.” Harry sat down and leaned back against it. I sat down and leaned back against an adjacent face.
“Ah,” I said, “I see.”
We sat there quietly for a moment. Then I noticed my bottle was empty. “I need another beer,” I said.
“Me too,” Harry agreed. We stood up and walked back down to the ground. Once inside, Harry filled a cooler with beer and ice and then we went headed back outside and up onto the mound.
We spent the rest of the evening up there. Sometime after sunset, the moon rose. It was a spectacular sight. I hadn’t watched the moon rise like that before. It was huge, a few days past full.
Harry and I talked about everything – sports, politics, even religion, which as I said was of very little interest to me. But Harry brought it up in reference to the situation in the Middle East, and he even managed to tie it into sports, though I can’t remember exactly how or why.
By midnight, I could barely walk back down the steps without stumbling, and I decided to crash on the couch in the living room. I awoke the next day with a splitting headache, left a note on the kitchen table, and somehow managed to drive home despite dizzying nausea.
And that was my first evening at Harry’s. My first time up on “the mound”. I would return many, many times over the next four months. At least once a week, and sometimes three or four nights a week, Harry and I sat atop the mound and talked, and talked, and talked.
I will share a few of those conversations with you because they were, quite frankly, life-changing for me. My perspective of myself, of the world, and of my reason for being alive changed dramatically during those four months, and perhaps you will find what I recount for you here as helpful and stimulating for you as it was for me.
So sit back, relax, make yourself comfortable.
And let me share with you what Harry told me.
Chapter 20
Between mid-April and mid-August, Harry and I had regular discussions atop his mound. Our conversations covered everything from religion and spirituality to politics and social issues, from schools and education to celebrity and entertainment. Harry had insights on any and every subject, and not once was he stumped by my many attempts to catch him off guard.
Harry always used to caution me, however, that anything he said was only relevant to the present moment, to his understanding at that point in time.
He used to say, “Don’t ask me next week or next year about something I say today. I will have changed a thousand times in a million different ways by then.”
So the discussions I present here are in no way an accurate reflection of his understanding now. They were what he was thinking and feeling at the time, and chances are he has learned more and understood more since then.
April 21st – Thursday evening, unseasonably warm, slightly overcast
Paul: OK, tell me about all these little statues around the base of this thing. Why did you put them there, where did they come from, and what do they mean to you?
Harry: I found them in many different places. Each one means something different, of course. They represent the major religions and spiritual paths that mankind has developed throughout our recorded history.
Paul: And what do they have to do with this mound?
Harry: Well, in a way they have everything to do with this mound. When I originally came up with the idea for it, I was in the midst of the lawsuit.
Paul: What lawsuit?
Harry: Three years ago, I tried to sue God.
Paul: Sue God? (this caught me way off guard)
Harry: Yup. I sued God. Or at least, I tried to sue God. It didn’t work, though.
Paul: Alright, hold on. Start from the beginning. Why did you do this?
Harry: To be honest, I’d rather not go through all the details. It was an interesting experience that went about as far as it could. There’s not much more to say about it.
Paul: Well, did you win? And what did you sue Him for?
Harry: No, I didn’t win. Though technically, I didn’t lose either. The case was never heard, and I ended up dropping the whole thing after a few months.
Paul: But you have to tell me why you did it.
Harry: Well, I did it because the human race is ridiculously confused about who God really is, what God really is, whether or not God really exists, what it is He expects of us, how we really came to be here, what happens when we die, which religions are right, which ones are wrong. Shall I go on?
Paul: No, no, that’s enough.
Harry: Indeed. So I really did it to prove a point, which was that we need to figure all this out once and for all. Because if we don’t, we’ll probably end up destroying ourselves, in one way or another. We’ve got terrorism, global warming, disease, poverty. And underneath it all, everyone thinks that their religious beliefs are right and that any opposing beliefs are wrong. And worst of all, we have radical fundamentalists who feel that there is a war of ideology to be fought in the twenty-first century, and they all want to prove that their side is right. It’s ridiculous, and chaotic, and God doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. So that is why I sued God – to get Him to straighten us out once and for all.
Paul: And how was He supposed to do that?
Harry: Well, I asked him to send us one more messenger.
Paul: Ah, one more messenger. Good idea. One more guy for people to worship.
Harry: Well, yes, I had thought of that. But then again, why do you think it would be a guy? Maybe He could send a woman this time.
Paul: Oh, I’m sure the Muslims would love that!
Harry: Indeed! But that’s a good point: would anybody believe that this “messenger” was the real deal? How would we know it? Would he or she walk around performing miracles? How would people know that this person was a messenger of God?
Paul: That’s a good question. I have no idea. How did people identify the others?
Harry: Oh, every religion has their stories about their messenger, their prophet, their messiah. I don’t think we need to go through all that again. And besides, they all lived during other eras, other periods. Some would say they have little relevance today because the world is not what it was then. All the major religions were founded over a thousand years ago. And it’s their lack of relevance today that has the human race so screwed up. Or so I thought.
Paul: Or so you thought?
Harry: Or so I thought. These are all things I was wrestling with back then. They are why I decided to sue God.
Paul: But you don’t feel that way any more?
Harry: Nope.
Paul: Why not? Isn’t the world just as confused now as it was then?
Harry: Yes it is. But I’m not.
Paul: Really? Why not?
Harry: Because I have begun to awaken.
Paul: Awaken? What, have you “seen the light” or something?
Harry: You could say that, yes.
Paul: Oh, great wise one, sitting atop your mound in your backyard in Ohio, please share your wisdom with the rest of us!
Harry: I’d be happy to! What would you like to know?
As an aside here, I have to say that at that particular moment I saw Harry change, at least in my perception. As I sat there looking at him, he seemed for a moment to be much older than he usually did. It could have been my imagination, but the way he was smiling at me, his odd confidence, made him seem like a different person than the guy I had met in a bar a few weeks before. That quiet guy playing video poker was not at all who I had originally thought he was. How many other people sitting in bars, or in libraries, or on street corners, are like Harry? How many people have silently attained a state of inner peace but have no need to draw attention to themselves, choosing rather to enjoy their lives and share their perspective whenever asked to do so? I wonder…
Paul: OK, let’s see. What’s the meaning of life? We’ll start with an easy one.
Harry: The meaning of life is life itself.
Paul: Huh? That’s not an answer.
Harry: Of course it’s an answer.
Paul: But it doesn’t say anything.
Harry: I respectfully disagree.
Paul: OK, look, if you’re going to give me non-answers, then you don’t really know any more than I do.
Harry: I agree. I don’t know more than you do. The major difference between us, perhaps, is that I know less.
Paul: You know less? Less than I do?
Harry: Indeed. I have unlearned much of what you still know. Therefore, I know less than you do.
Paul: And how, exactly, did you unlearn it?
Harry: By realizing that it isn’t true.
Paul: What isn’t true?
Harry: Much of what I knew.
Paul: Oh. Okay, I see. So you unlearned the things you used to know but that weren’t true. But where does that leave you now?
Harry: Less cluttered. Less confused. Truth is quite simple.
Paul: I’ve heard that. But why do we always see scholars and spiritual seekers pouring over teachings in an effort to learn?
Harry: Much of what they are learning, if they are making any progress at all, is that most of what they “know” is not actually true. There is tremendous freedom in releasing false knowledge.
Paul: Now you’re sounding like a wise old sage. I like that: there is tremendous freedom in releasing false knowledge. So if I am going to learn anything from you, it is going to involve unlearning. Would you agree?
Harry: I would agree with that, yes. Your willingness to let go of your limiting beliefs and ideas will produce the clarity and balance you desire.
Paul: I think I understand.
Harry: Good!
Paul: And now my brain is tired. Let’s talk about something else.
Harry: Fine with me. How are those Red Sox looking this year?
Harry always used to caution me, however, that anything he said was only relevant to the present moment, to his understanding at that point in time.
He used to say, “Don’t ask me next week or next year about something I say today. I will have changed a thousand times in a million different ways by then.”
So the discussions I present here are in no way an accurate reflection of his understanding now. They were what he was thinking and feeling at the time, and chances are he has learned more and understood more since then.
April 21st – Thursday evening, unseasonably warm, slightly overcast
Paul: OK, tell me about all these little statues around the base of this thing. Why did you put them there, where did they come from, and what do they mean to you?
Harry: I found them in many different places. Each one means something different, of course. They represent the major religions and spiritual paths that mankind has developed throughout our recorded history.
Paul: And what do they have to do with this mound?
Harry: Well, in a way they have everything to do with this mound. When I originally came up with the idea for it, I was in the midst of the lawsuit.
Paul: What lawsuit?
Harry: Three years ago, I tried to sue God.
Paul: Sue God? (this caught me way off guard)
Harry: Yup. I sued God. Or at least, I tried to sue God. It didn’t work, though.
Paul: Alright, hold on. Start from the beginning. Why did you do this?
Harry: To be honest, I’d rather not go through all the details. It was an interesting experience that went about as far as it could. There’s not much more to say about it.
Paul: Well, did you win? And what did you sue Him for?
Harry: No, I didn’t win. Though technically, I didn’t lose either. The case was never heard, and I ended up dropping the whole thing after a few months.
Paul: But you have to tell me why you did it.
Harry: Well, I did it because the human race is ridiculously confused about who God really is, what God really is, whether or not God really exists, what it is He expects of us, how we really came to be here, what happens when we die, which religions are right, which ones are wrong. Shall I go on?
Paul: No, no, that’s enough.
Harry: Indeed. So I really did it to prove a point, which was that we need to figure all this out once and for all. Because if we don’t, we’ll probably end up destroying ourselves, in one way or another. We’ve got terrorism, global warming, disease, poverty. And underneath it all, everyone thinks that their religious beliefs are right and that any opposing beliefs are wrong. And worst of all, we have radical fundamentalists who feel that there is a war of ideology to be fought in the twenty-first century, and they all want to prove that their side is right. It’s ridiculous, and chaotic, and God doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. So that is why I sued God – to get Him to straighten us out once and for all.
Paul: And how was He supposed to do that?
Harry: Well, I asked him to send us one more messenger.
Paul: Ah, one more messenger. Good idea. One more guy for people to worship.
Harry: Well, yes, I had thought of that. But then again, why do you think it would be a guy? Maybe He could send a woman this time.
Paul: Oh, I’m sure the Muslims would love that!
Harry: Indeed! But that’s a good point: would anybody believe that this “messenger” was the real deal? How would we know it? Would he or she walk around performing miracles? How would people know that this person was a messenger of God?
Paul: That’s a good question. I have no idea. How did people identify the others?
Harry: Oh, every religion has their stories about their messenger, their prophet, their messiah. I don’t think we need to go through all that again. And besides, they all lived during other eras, other periods. Some would say they have little relevance today because the world is not what it was then. All the major religions were founded over a thousand years ago. And it’s their lack of relevance today that has the human race so screwed up. Or so I thought.
Paul: Or so you thought?
Harry: Or so I thought. These are all things I was wrestling with back then. They are why I decided to sue God.
Paul: But you don’t feel that way any more?
Harry: Nope.
Paul: Why not? Isn’t the world just as confused now as it was then?
Harry: Yes it is. But I’m not.
Paul: Really? Why not?
Harry: Because I have begun to awaken.
Paul: Awaken? What, have you “seen the light” or something?
Harry: You could say that, yes.
Paul: Oh, great wise one, sitting atop your mound in your backyard in Ohio, please share your wisdom with the rest of us!
Harry: I’d be happy to! What would you like to know?
As an aside here, I have to say that at that particular moment I saw Harry change, at least in my perception. As I sat there looking at him, he seemed for a moment to be much older than he usually did. It could have been my imagination, but the way he was smiling at me, his odd confidence, made him seem like a different person than the guy I had met in a bar a few weeks before. That quiet guy playing video poker was not at all who I had originally thought he was. How many other people sitting in bars, or in libraries, or on street corners, are like Harry? How many people have silently attained a state of inner peace but have no need to draw attention to themselves, choosing rather to enjoy their lives and share their perspective whenever asked to do so? I wonder…
Paul: OK, let’s see. What’s the meaning of life? We’ll start with an easy one.
Harry: The meaning of life is life itself.
Paul: Huh? That’s not an answer.
Harry: Of course it’s an answer.
Paul: But it doesn’t say anything.
Harry: I respectfully disagree.
Paul: OK, look, if you’re going to give me non-answers, then you don’t really know any more than I do.
Harry: I agree. I don’t know more than you do. The major difference between us, perhaps, is that I know less.
Paul: You know less? Less than I do?
Harry: Indeed. I have unlearned much of what you still know. Therefore, I know less than you do.
Paul: And how, exactly, did you unlearn it?
Harry: By realizing that it isn’t true.
Paul: What isn’t true?
Harry: Much of what I knew.
Paul: Oh. Okay, I see. So you unlearned the things you used to know but that weren’t true. But where does that leave you now?
Harry: Less cluttered. Less confused. Truth is quite simple.
Paul: I’ve heard that. But why do we always see scholars and spiritual seekers pouring over teachings in an effort to learn?
Harry: Much of what they are learning, if they are making any progress at all, is that most of what they “know” is not actually true. There is tremendous freedom in releasing false knowledge.
Paul: Now you’re sounding like a wise old sage. I like that: there is tremendous freedom in releasing false knowledge. So if I am going to learn anything from you, it is going to involve unlearning. Would you agree?
Harry: I would agree with that, yes. Your willingness to let go of your limiting beliefs and ideas will produce the clarity and balance you desire.
Paul: I think I understand.
Harry: Good!
Paul: And now my brain is tired. Let’s talk about something else.
Harry: Fine with me. How are those Red Sox looking this year?
Chapter 21
April 24th – Sunday afternoon, sunny and warm, beautiful blue sky
Yesterday, a suicide bomber killed 48 people somewhere in India. I decided to see what Harry thought about it.
Paul: So what are your thoughts on the attack in India yesterday?
Harry: Ah, suicide bombings. What’s to say about them? Lots, I suppose. They are the release of pent-up anger, wouldn’t you say?
Paul: Yeah, definitely. But from a spiritual standpoint, what do they mean? Where is God in all of that?
Harry: Where is God in all that? Yes, that is certainly a good question. Most suicide bombers seem to believe that God approves of what they are doing. And even wants them to do it.
Paul: Do you think they really believe that? That God wants them to kill people?
Harry: Some of them probably do. Others probably want to be heroes. Its hard to say. It does appear, to me at least, that they are used as instruments of war more than anything. Like objects.
Paul: So they are being used.
Harry: Indeed. But they are allowing themselves to be used.
Paul: But why?
Harry: Because they are confused.
Paul: No kidding.
Harry: Are you?
Paul: What? Confused?
Harry: Yes.
Paul: Sure, about some things. But not about everything. I know not to blow people up.
Harry: That’s nice to know! But you acknowledge that you are confused about some things.
Paul: Of course.
Harry: Well, that puts you in the minority. Most people would probably insist that they are not confused about anything. Most people feel that they know what’s right and what’s wrong.
Paul: That’s definitely true.
Harry: And a suicide bomber is no different. He (or she) is absolutely convinced that they are doing the right thing when they walk into a marketplace and blow themselves to pieces.
Paul: Now, see, that’s where I’m baffled. What kind of mindset makes one think like that?
Harry: That’s the power of beliefs. When you believe something, and believe it strongly, it is a fact for you. There is no questioning. And so for some people, it is an unquestionable truth that certain others should be put to death. Whether it’s Islamic fundamentalists, supporters of the death penalty, or anyone else who sincerely advocates killing or harming another being. When you believe something, it is truth for you. It is fact.
Paul: But isn’t there an absolute truth? A truth that doesn’t depend on what any particular human believes?
Harry: That’s what God is supposed to be. That’s why people are always claiming that God approves of their choices. God is supposed to be absolute truth. And when you want to prove that you are right, you point to some scripture or doctrine to prove that God agrees with you.
Paul: Well, is anyone ever right? What does God want?
Harry: Ah! Isn’t that THE question? What does God want?
Paul: Yes!
Harry: Indeed, and that is one of our most fundamental dilemmas: we can’t agree on what God wants. Everyone interprets God in their own way, and everyone thinks he or she is right.
Paul: Well, wise one, tell us! What does God really want?!!
Harry: Well, look at it this way: Is there a difference between who God really is and who you perceive Him to be? Assuming of course that you believe in God’s existence.
Paul: Is there a difference? I suppose, yes. If humans perceive God in different ways, than we can’t all be right. So yes, there must be a difference between God as He really is and God as we perceive Him.
Harry: Or Her.
Paul: Or Her.
Harry: Now, you said that we can’t all be right. Are you sure?
Paul: Am I sure? Well, yes, I don’t see how it could be any other way. How could two people perceive God in totally different ways and yet both be right?
Harry: I’ll tell you how: because when a person turns their attention to God, they are actually turning their attention to their perception of God.
Paul: Okay, that makes sense.
Harry: So one could say that you cannot perceive God directly, you can only perceive Him from your perspective, your vantage point. You can only perceive God through your beliefs. And since your beliefs are not necessarily the same as someone else’s, you cannot actually perceive God in exactly the same way. Are you with me so far?
Paul: Yes.
Harry: Okay. So our religious problem as a race is that we are not distinguishing between God and our perception of God. We are assuming that there is some absolute Truth regarding God, and some people are aware of this Truth while others are not.
Paul: Right.
Harry: But in fact, no one is actually perceiving the Truth. No one is actually perceiving God directly.
Paul: And why is that again?
Harry: Because your perception of God is always filtered through your beliefs. Through your understanding. Through your ideas of God. Your perception of God is filtered, and no two people are filtering in exactly the same way. So we can never agree on who or what God is, or on what God actually wants, because we are each perceiving God in a unique way.
Paul: But what about those who want to perceive God in the right way? In the way that God actually is?
Harry: That is what the spiritual path is: the journey toward seeing God in a less and less distorted way. And I would agree with that, to a certain extent. But this brings us back to what we discussed on Thursday: the spiritual path is as much about unlearning as it is about learning. You’re not learning about who or what God is, you are unlearning what you thought God was. You are clearing up your distorted beliefs about what God is and what God wants. You must begin with the assumption that all the things you previously believed may, in fact, be incorrect. Otherwise you are stuck with a crystallized, unbending perception of God, and you can never get to a clearer understanding.
Paul: This seems to contradict what so many religions claim. They seem to claim that they have the Truth. It’s in their scriptures, their doctrine. Are they all wrong?
Harry: No. They are not wrong. They do have the truth. Their truth. Where they are wrong is in assuming they have the Truth. Everyone’s Truth. Absolute Truth. What they have is their truth. They have what is true for them. They have a perception of God that feels true to them. And it is true for them. That is the way they are perceiving God, and it is their truth. But it is not everyone’s truth. That is where they are mistaken.
Paul: I’m quite sure many people would disagree with you.
Harry: Indeed. From their perspective, I am wrong. From their perspective, they are right. And they are right. Within their perception, they are right and I am wrong. The only difference between them and myself is that I am aware of the relativity of truth, and they are not.
Paul: The relativity of truth?
Harry: Indeed: truth, with a lower-case “t”, is relative, because when you believe something, it becomes true for you. And your perception is filtered through that belief, reinforcing it and convincing you that it really is true.
Paul: Can you give me an example?
Harry: Certainly. Two people go to a Broadway show. The first person has been to many Broadway shows, and has even seen that particular show done previously. They are not the least bit impressed. The lighting is poor, the singing and acting are sub par. The entire thing is a disappointment. The second person has never been to a Broadway show. They have never even been to New York. They are overwhelmed by the lights, the sounds, the atmosphere. They love the show, which they have never seen before, and the entire experience is incredible and exhilarating for them. Afterward, these two people strike up a conversation on the sidewalk out front. The first person is absolutely convinced that the show was awful. Within their perspective, it was a waste of time and money. The second person is still buzzing from such an incredible experience. Now, these two people witnessed the same show, did they not?
Paul: Yes they did.
Harry: And yet their perception of the show was completely different. It is almost as if they saw two different shows, that is how different their perception of it was.
Paul: I see. So the show was the same, but their perceptions of it were completely different.
Harry: Correct. And the same thing applies to any experience, up to and including God. Two people can perceive God just as differently as our two friends at the Broadway show. To one person, God may be judgmental, punishing, and vengeful. To another, God may be accepting, unconditionally loving, and a source of indescribable joy. Which one is right?
Paul: I see. They are both right.
Harry: They are both right. Because they are not actually perceiving God directly, they are perceiving God from their own unique perspective, with their own beliefs and experiences coloring that perception. And both are right. Both are experiencing God the way they believe God to be.
Paul: So instead of being so fixated upon God, we should be focusing instead on our perception of God. Because it is our perception of God that we are experiencing.
Harry: Very good! Our perception of God is true for us. We will see evidence of it all around us, because our perception of everything is unique to us, just as the two people at the Broadway show seemed to experience two different shows. Same show, different perceptions, each of which was valid for that person.
Paul: And the same goes for God, then. Everyone is perceiving the same God, but their perception and experience of God is unique.
Harry: And valid.
Paul: So the suicide bomber?
Harry: He or she is right. Their perception is real. Their picture of reality is real. Their beliefs are true for them. They may not be your truths, but that does not make them invalid. They are real and true for them.
Paul: But where does that leave us? If each of us is walking around with our own truths, we’ll never agree on anything.
Harry: We don’t have to agree. Who said we have to agree?
Paul: Well, we have to agree on right and wrong to have a society, don’t we?
Harry: No. What we have to do is allow each person to believe what they choose to believe. And that is something that we, as a race, have been struggling with. It is at the heart of our religious dilemma. Many people refuse to allow others to believe what they choose to believe. Or they refuse to accept that any beliefs which differ from their own are valid.
Paul: So that’s the solution then? To accept that all beliefs are valid?
Harry: Indeed. All beliefs are valid. When you believe something, it is true for you. And your perception will be filtered through that belief, reinforcing it.
Paul: And we don’t have to agree?
Harry: No! That would be a disaster!
Paul: It would?
Harry: Yes! What kind of society would we have if everyone agreed on everything?
Paul: Uh, a peaceful one?
Harry: A boring one.
Paul: A boring, peaceful one.
Harry: Yes!
Paul: But that seems a lot better than what we have now.
Harry: What we have now are people struggling to learn how to accept. And as you look at the news and note all the conflicts and disharmony around the world, what you are seeing is a race trying to learn how to accept.
Paul: It doesn’t look like we’re learning very well.
Harry: Looks can be deceiving.
Paul: But we’re seeing violence and animosity everywhere.
Harry: Yes, because that’s what gets the most attention. No one pays attention when one more person finally realizes that acceptance is the answer. You don’t see the news ticker at the bottom of the television screen describing how thousands of individuals across Iraq are realizing that differences are okay, that people don’t have to believe the same things or think in the same way. What gets attention are the acts of people clinging tightly to separation, to conflict, to insisting that their side is right and the other side is wrong and must be defeated. What gets attention are the loudmouths and the suicide bombers, the people who are so immersed in anger and revenge that they can’t possibly consider the idea of acceptance. They are not there yet.
Paul: So even though we can’t see it, some people are beginning to accept?
Harry: Indeed. More that some. Lots. Thousands. Millions. More people each day. But you won’t hear about it on the news. There are no explosions or deaths to mark the emergence of acceptance. And yet acceptance grows. And eventually, gradually, it is emerging as the core value that will provide the foundation for our race.
Paul: Well, forgive me for being pessimistic, but I think that may be a long way off.
Harry: And that would be your perception!
Paul: True.
Harry: But if you begin to look for it, you will see it. You’ll see a news story here or there about a person or group of people who have decided to reach out across dividing lines of one sort or another. Across religious lines, ethnic lines, racial lines. It’s happening. It’s just not getting many headlines. But if you really want to see it in the world around you, begin looking for it within yourself.
Paul: Within me?
Harry: Yes. Try to notice each time you find fault with someone for thinking or believing something different from you.
Paul: That won’t be hard – the world is full of idiots, isn’t it?
Harry: Within your perception, perhaps! But remember, you’re not seeing the world as others see it, you’re seeing the world through your own perception. And if you’re perceiving idiots, that says a lot more about you and your perception than it does about others.
Paul: Oh, man, I never thought of that.
Harry: Perhaps you should.
Paul: I will.
Harry: Good!
Yesterday, a suicide bomber killed 48 people somewhere in India. I decided to see what Harry thought about it.
Paul: So what are your thoughts on the attack in India yesterday?
Harry: Ah, suicide bombings. What’s to say about them? Lots, I suppose. They are the release of pent-up anger, wouldn’t you say?
Paul: Yeah, definitely. But from a spiritual standpoint, what do they mean? Where is God in all of that?
Harry: Where is God in all that? Yes, that is certainly a good question. Most suicide bombers seem to believe that God approves of what they are doing. And even wants them to do it.
Paul: Do you think they really believe that? That God wants them to kill people?
Harry: Some of them probably do. Others probably want to be heroes. Its hard to say. It does appear, to me at least, that they are used as instruments of war more than anything. Like objects.
Paul: So they are being used.
Harry: Indeed. But they are allowing themselves to be used.
Paul: But why?
Harry: Because they are confused.
Paul: No kidding.
Harry: Are you?
Paul: What? Confused?
Harry: Yes.
Paul: Sure, about some things. But not about everything. I know not to blow people up.
Harry: That’s nice to know! But you acknowledge that you are confused about some things.
Paul: Of course.
Harry: Well, that puts you in the minority. Most people would probably insist that they are not confused about anything. Most people feel that they know what’s right and what’s wrong.
Paul: That’s definitely true.
Harry: And a suicide bomber is no different. He (or she) is absolutely convinced that they are doing the right thing when they walk into a marketplace and blow themselves to pieces.
Paul: Now, see, that’s where I’m baffled. What kind of mindset makes one think like that?
Harry: That’s the power of beliefs. When you believe something, and believe it strongly, it is a fact for you. There is no questioning. And so for some people, it is an unquestionable truth that certain others should be put to death. Whether it’s Islamic fundamentalists, supporters of the death penalty, or anyone else who sincerely advocates killing or harming another being. When you believe something, it is truth for you. It is fact.
Paul: But isn’t there an absolute truth? A truth that doesn’t depend on what any particular human believes?
Harry: That’s what God is supposed to be. That’s why people are always claiming that God approves of their choices. God is supposed to be absolute truth. And when you want to prove that you are right, you point to some scripture or doctrine to prove that God agrees with you.
Paul: Well, is anyone ever right? What does God want?
Harry: Ah! Isn’t that THE question? What does God want?
Paul: Yes!
Harry: Indeed, and that is one of our most fundamental dilemmas: we can’t agree on what God wants. Everyone interprets God in their own way, and everyone thinks he or she is right.
Paul: Well, wise one, tell us! What does God really want?!!
Harry: Well, look at it this way: Is there a difference between who God really is and who you perceive Him to be? Assuming of course that you believe in God’s existence.
Paul: Is there a difference? I suppose, yes. If humans perceive God in different ways, than we can’t all be right. So yes, there must be a difference between God as He really is and God as we perceive Him.
Harry: Or Her.
Paul: Or Her.
Harry: Now, you said that we can’t all be right. Are you sure?
Paul: Am I sure? Well, yes, I don’t see how it could be any other way. How could two people perceive God in totally different ways and yet both be right?
Harry: I’ll tell you how: because when a person turns their attention to God, they are actually turning their attention to their perception of God.
Paul: Okay, that makes sense.
Harry: So one could say that you cannot perceive God directly, you can only perceive Him from your perspective, your vantage point. You can only perceive God through your beliefs. And since your beliefs are not necessarily the same as someone else’s, you cannot actually perceive God in exactly the same way. Are you with me so far?
Paul: Yes.
Harry: Okay. So our religious problem as a race is that we are not distinguishing between God and our perception of God. We are assuming that there is some absolute Truth regarding God, and some people are aware of this Truth while others are not.
Paul: Right.
Harry: But in fact, no one is actually perceiving the Truth. No one is actually perceiving God directly.
Paul: And why is that again?
Harry: Because your perception of God is always filtered through your beliefs. Through your understanding. Through your ideas of God. Your perception of God is filtered, and no two people are filtering in exactly the same way. So we can never agree on who or what God is, or on what God actually wants, because we are each perceiving God in a unique way.
Paul: But what about those who want to perceive God in the right way? In the way that God actually is?
Harry: That is what the spiritual path is: the journey toward seeing God in a less and less distorted way. And I would agree with that, to a certain extent. But this brings us back to what we discussed on Thursday: the spiritual path is as much about unlearning as it is about learning. You’re not learning about who or what God is, you are unlearning what you thought God was. You are clearing up your distorted beliefs about what God is and what God wants. You must begin with the assumption that all the things you previously believed may, in fact, be incorrect. Otherwise you are stuck with a crystallized, unbending perception of God, and you can never get to a clearer understanding.
Paul: This seems to contradict what so many religions claim. They seem to claim that they have the Truth. It’s in their scriptures, their doctrine. Are they all wrong?
Harry: No. They are not wrong. They do have the truth. Their truth. Where they are wrong is in assuming they have the Truth. Everyone’s Truth. Absolute Truth. What they have is their truth. They have what is true for them. They have a perception of God that feels true to them. And it is true for them. That is the way they are perceiving God, and it is their truth. But it is not everyone’s truth. That is where they are mistaken.
Paul: I’m quite sure many people would disagree with you.
Harry: Indeed. From their perspective, I am wrong. From their perspective, they are right. And they are right. Within their perception, they are right and I am wrong. The only difference between them and myself is that I am aware of the relativity of truth, and they are not.
Paul: The relativity of truth?
Harry: Indeed: truth, with a lower-case “t”, is relative, because when you believe something, it becomes true for you. And your perception is filtered through that belief, reinforcing it and convincing you that it really is true.
Paul: Can you give me an example?
Harry: Certainly. Two people go to a Broadway show. The first person has been to many Broadway shows, and has even seen that particular show done previously. They are not the least bit impressed. The lighting is poor, the singing and acting are sub par. The entire thing is a disappointment. The second person has never been to a Broadway show. They have never even been to New York. They are overwhelmed by the lights, the sounds, the atmosphere. They love the show, which they have never seen before, and the entire experience is incredible and exhilarating for them. Afterward, these two people strike up a conversation on the sidewalk out front. The first person is absolutely convinced that the show was awful. Within their perspective, it was a waste of time and money. The second person is still buzzing from such an incredible experience. Now, these two people witnessed the same show, did they not?
Paul: Yes they did.
Harry: And yet their perception of the show was completely different. It is almost as if they saw two different shows, that is how different their perception of it was.
Paul: I see. So the show was the same, but their perceptions of it were completely different.
Harry: Correct. And the same thing applies to any experience, up to and including God. Two people can perceive God just as differently as our two friends at the Broadway show. To one person, God may be judgmental, punishing, and vengeful. To another, God may be accepting, unconditionally loving, and a source of indescribable joy. Which one is right?
Paul: I see. They are both right.
Harry: They are both right. Because they are not actually perceiving God directly, they are perceiving God from their own unique perspective, with their own beliefs and experiences coloring that perception. And both are right. Both are experiencing God the way they believe God to be.
Paul: So instead of being so fixated upon God, we should be focusing instead on our perception of God. Because it is our perception of God that we are experiencing.
Harry: Very good! Our perception of God is true for us. We will see evidence of it all around us, because our perception of everything is unique to us, just as the two people at the Broadway show seemed to experience two different shows. Same show, different perceptions, each of which was valid for that person.
Paul: And the same goes for God, then. Everyone is perceiving the same God, but their perception and experience of God is unique.
Harry: And valid.
Paul: So the suicide bomber?
Harry: He or she is right. Their perception is real. Their picture of reality is real. Their beliefs are true for them. They may not be your truths, but that does not make them invalid. They are real and true for them.
Paul: But where does that leave us? If each of us is walking around with our own truths, we’ll never agree on anything.
Harry: We don’t have to agree. Who said we have to agree?
Paul: Well, we have to agree on right and wrong to have a society, don’t we?
Harry: No. What we have to do is allow each person to believe what they choose to believe. And that is something that we, as a race, have been struggling with. It is at the heart of our religious dilemma. Many people refuse to allow others to believe what they choose to believe. Or they refuse to accept that any beliefs which differ from their own are valid.
Paul: So that’s the solution then? To accept that all beliefs are valid?
Harry: Indeed. All beliefs are valid. When you believe something, it is true for you. And your perception will be filtered through that belief, reinforcing it.
Paul: And we don’t have to agree?
Harry: No! That would be a disaster!
Paul: It would?
Harry: Yes! What kind of society would we have if everyone agreed on everything?
Paul: Uh, a peaceful one?
Harry: A boring one.
Paul: A boring, peaceful one.
Harry: Yes!
Paul: But that seems a lot better than what we have now.
Harry: What we have now are people struggling to learn how to accept. And as you look at the news and note all the conflicts and disharmony around the world, what you are seeing is a race trying to learn how to accept.
Paul: It doesn’t look like we’re learning very well.
Harry: Looks can be deceiving.
Paul: But we’re seeing violence and animosity everywhere.
Harry: Yes, because that’s what gets the most attention. No one pays attention when one more person finally realizes that acceptance is the answer. You don’t see the news ticker at the bottom of the television screen describing how thousands of individuals across Iraq are realizing that differences are okay, that people don’t have to believe the same things or think in the same way. What gets attention are the acts of people clinging tightly to separation, to conflict, to insisting that their side is right and the other side is wrong and must be defeated. What gets attention are the loudmouths and the suicide bombers, the people who are so immersed in anger and revenge that they can’t possibly consider the idea of acceptance. They are not there yet.
Paul: So even though we can’t see it, some people are beginning to accept?
Harry: Indeed. More that some. Lots. Thousands. Millions. More people each day. But you won’t hear about it on the news. There are no explosions or deaths to mark the emergence of acceptance. And yet acceptance grows. And eventually, gradually, it is emerging as the core value that will provide the foundation for our race.
Paul: Well, forgive me for being pessimistic, but I think that may be a long way off.
Harry: And that would be your perception!
Paul: True.
Harry: But if you begin to look for it, you will see it. You’ll see a news story here or there about a person or group of people who have decided to reach out across dividing lines of one sort or another. Across religious lines, ethnic lines, racial lines. It’s happening. It’s just not getting many headlines. But if you really want to see it in the world around you, begin looking for it within yourself.
Paul: Within me?
Harry: Yes. Try to notice each time you find fault with someone for thinking or believing something different from you.
Paul: That won’t be hard – the world is full of idiots, isn’t it?
Harry: Within your perception, perhaps! But remember, you’re not seeing the world as others see it, you’re seeing the world through your own perception. And if you’re perceiving idiots, that says a lot more about you and your perception than it does about others.
Paul: Oh, man, I never thought of that.
Harry: Perhaps you should.
Paul: I will.
Harry: Good!
Chapter 22
May 7th – Friday evening, warm
I met Harry at Murphy’s after work. When I arrived, he was sitting with a gorgeous woman whom I had never met before. She had dirty blond curly hair, a radiant smile, and wore a tight blue sweater that distracted me for the rest of the evening.
As I approached the two of them, Harry stood up and introduced us. Her name was Anne. Anne stood up and shook my hand. She gave me a firm handshake and a very warm smile. I had the immediate and uncharacteristic urge to give her a hug, but she offered her hand before I had a chance.
I sat down to the left of Harry, and Anne sat to his right. You may be wondering why I am giving you so many details, and so I will tell you: it was the first time I met Anne, and it has remained vivid in my memory to this day. I was immediately attracted to her, quite strongly. In fact, I had a very hard time paying attention to anything Harry said while Anne was around. And it would be like that every time the three of us got together.
After a few beers, we all went back to Harry’s and spent the evening sitting on lawn chairs on top of his mound. It didn’t take long for Anne and I to make a connection, and soon it was as though we had always known each other. As the evening wore on, I tried to sense what kind of relationship the two of them had.
I could see by the way Harry looked at her and listened to her that he was very fond of Anne. He smiled when she talked, agreed with her more than he agreed with me, and I noticed that his eyes followed her whenever she moved. Of course, it was hard for me to notice that since my eyes were following her as well. But I needed to know where they stood. And if there was nothing significant going on between them, I wanted very much to get to know her better.
As nightfall arrived, the three of us were having a merry old time on the mound. I decided I needed to find out what the deal was with the two of them.
Paul: Anne, you haven’t told me how you and Harry know each other.
Anne: Well, I was his attorney a few years back. That’s how we met.
Paul: You mean for his lawsuit?
Anne: Correct.
Harry: She helped me sue God.
Anne: I helped Harry sue God.
Paul: Wow. What a way to meet!
Harry: She was the first and only lawyer I talked to who understood what I was doing. Or trying to do.
Anne: And he was the most interesting client I’ve ever had.
Paul: I would imagine so. There aren’t too many people like Harry.
Anne: No, he’s one of a kind. Aren’t you, dear?
Harry: I suppose.
Paul: So what happened afterward?
Harry: What happened with what?
Paul: With you two. (I was trying to find out if they became anything more than friends)
Harry: We stayed in contact.
Anne: For a while. And then Harry disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Paul: Really? Where’d you go, Harry?
Harry: Oh, I’ll never tell. (big smile)
Anne: He hasn’t really told me either. Come to think of it, it’s time you did. Tell me Harry, where were you? How long were gone, two years?
Paul: Two years? You disappeared for two years?
Harry: I didn’t disappear! I was somewhere.
Anne: But where? See, Paul, about six months after we gave up on the lawsuit, Harry told me he was going away for a while.
Harry: I think I told you I was doing some traveling, or something.
Anne: Right. You said you were going to visit some friends out west somewhere.
Harry: Except I didn’t really have any friends out west.
Paul: So you lied?
Harry: No, I didn’t lie. I assumed I would be making some friends out west. And those were the people I intended to visit.
Paul: So you were going to visit friends you hadn’t met yet.
Harry: Exactly.
Anne: It’s kind of a lie. Or at least, it was a bit misleading.
Harry: Call it what you will. I was in a weird place back then. And it didn’t really matter why I was going. I just had to go.
Paul: Why?
Harry: Well, I guess you could call it a soul-searching mission.
Paul: Ah. You were heading west to find yourself.
Harry: Pretty much, yeah.
Paul: And did you?
Harry: I did.
Paul: And where did you find yourself? Where were you hiding?
Harry: In Jasper.
Paul: Jasper?
Anne: That’s what I said, too. Harry, you never did tell me what Jasper was.
Harry: Jasper is a town. In Indiana.
Anne: Really? I never heard of it.
Harry: Neither had I.
Paul: And what did you find in Jasper, Indiana?
Harry: Myself. Like I told you.
Paul: And what were you doing in Jasper? What part of you was in Jasper?
Harry: Look, this is a long story. There’s not nearly enough time tonight to tell it to you, and I need to think it all through before I can describe it in a way that will make sense to you.
Anne: Oh, boy. Gee, Harry, you’re so deep and mysterious. And your life if so complicated, I don’t think Paul and I could possibly understand.
Harry: Come on, that’s not fair.
Paul: Well, why can’t you just tell us about your “lost years”? Give us the Cliff Notes version.
Harry: I’ll tell you what, the next time the three of us get together, I’ll tell you all about what happened in Jasper. Okay?
Anne: Fine.
Paul: Fine?
Harry: Fine!
I met Harry at Murphy’s after work. When I arrived, he was sitting with a gorgeous woman whom I had never met before. She had dirty blond curly hair, a radiant smile, and wore a tight blue sweater that distracted me for the rest of the evening.
As I approached the two of them, Harry stood up and introduced us. Her name was Anne. Anne stood up and shook my hand. She gave me a firm handshake and a very warm smile. I had the immediate and uncharacteristic urge to give her a hug, but she offered her hand before I had a chance.
I sat down to the left of Harry, and Anne sat to his right. You may be wondering why I am giving you so many details, and so I will tell you: it was the first time I met Anne, and it has remained vivid in my memory to this day. I was immediately attracted to her, quite strongly. In fact, I had a very hard time paying attention to anything Harry said while Anne was around. And it would be like that every time the three of us got together.
After a few beers, we all went back to Harry’s and spent the evening sitting on lawn chairs on top of his mound. It didn’t take long for Anne and I to make a connection, and soon it was as though we had always known each other. As the evening wore on, I tried to sense what kind of relationship the two of them had.
I could see by the way Harry looked at her and listened to her that he was very fond of Anne. He smiled when she talked, agreed with her more than he agreed with me, and I noticed that his eyes followed her whenever she moved. Of course, it was hard for me to notice that since my eyes were following her as well. But I needed to know where they stood. And if there was nothing significant going on between them, I wanted very much to get to know her better.
As nightfall arrived, the three of us were having a merry old time on the mound. I decided I needed to find out what the deal was with the two of them.
Paul: Anne, you haven’t told me how you and Harry know each other.
Anne: Well, I was his attorney a few years back. That’s how we met.
Paul: You mean for his lawsuit?
Anne: Correct.
Harry: She helped me sue God.
Anne: I helped Harry sue God.
Paul: Wow. What a way to meet!
Harry: She was the first and only lawyer I talked to who understood what I was doing. Or trying to do.
Anne: And he was the most interesting client I’ve ever had.
Paul: I would imagine so. There aren’t too many people like Harry.
Anne: No, he’s one of a kind. Aren’t you, dear?
Harry: I suppose.
Paul: So what happened afterward?
Harry: What happened with what?
Paul: With you two. (I was trying to find out if they became anything more than friends)
Harry: We stayed in contact.
Anne: For a while. And then Harry disappeared off the face of the Earth.
Paul: Really? Where’d you go, Harry?
Harry: Oh, I’ll never tell. (big smile)
Anne: He hasn’t really told me either. Come to think of it, it’s time you did. Tell me Harry, where were you? How long were gone, two years?
Paul: Two years? You disappeared for two years?
Harry: I didn’t disappear! I was somewhere.
Anne: But where? See, Paul, about six months after we gave up on the lawsuit, Harry told me he was going away for a while.
Harry: I think I told you I was doing some traveling, or something.
Anne: Right. You said you were going to visit some friends out west somewhere.
Harry: Except I didn’t really have any friends out west.
Paul: So you lied?
Harry: No, I didn’t lie. I assumed I would be making some friends out west. And those were the people I intended to visit.
Paul: So you were going to visit friends you hadn’t met yet.
Harry: Exactly.
Anne: It’s kind of a lie. Or at least, it was a bit misleading.
Harry: Call it what you will. I was in a weird place back then. And it didn’t really matter why I was going. I just had to go.
Paul: Why?
Harry: Well, I guess you could call it a soul-searching mission.
Paul: Ah. You were heading west to find yourself.
Harry: Pretty much, yeah.
Paul: And did you?
Harry: I did.
Paul: And where did you find yourself? Where were you hiding?
Harry: In Jasper.
Paul: Jasper?
Anne: That’s what I said, too. Harry, you never did tell me what Jasper was.
Harry: Jasper is a town. In Indiana.
Anne: Really? I never heard of it.
Harry: Neither had I.
Paul: And what did you find in Jasper, Indiana?
Harry: Myself. Like I told you.
Paul: And what were you doing in Jasper? What part of you was in Jasper?
Harry: Look, this is a long story. There’s not nearly enough time tonight to tell it to you, and I need to think it all through before I can describe it in a way that will make sense to you.
Anne: Oh, boy. Gee, Harry, you’re so deep and mysterious. And your life if so complicated, I don’t think Paul and I could possibly understand.
Harry: Come on, that’s not fair.
Paul: Well, why can’t you just tell us about your “lost years”? Give us the Cliff Notes version.
Harry: I’ll tell you what, the next time the three of us get together, I’ll tell you all about what happened in Jasper. Okay?
Anne: Fine.
Paul: Fine?
Harry: Fine!
Chapter 23
The next time I met up with Harry was the following Friday. I went directly to his place after work. I picked up a pizza and some chicken wings on the way.
Harry was sitting on his front steps when I arrived. He was wearing a white golf hat and looked rather festive. He was sipping some sort of frozen drink, a margarita perhaps.
Anne arrived later. Harry and I were sitting in the living room when she came walking through the front door, a bottle of wine in her hand. She put the wine on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. Then she plopped down on the sofa next to me.
“Hey boys,” she said playfully. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Waiting for you,” Harry answered with a big smile. “What took you so long?”
“Who cares? Would one of you open that wine for me?”
Harry and I both stood up, looked at each other, then Harry sat back down while I walked into the kitchen to grab a corkscrew.
Anne looked around the room. “What are you doing inside? It’s gorgeous out.”
“As we said,” I called in from the kitchen, where I was rummaging through the drawers. “We were waiting for you.”
That wasn’t true – we weren’t waiting for her. At least I wasn’t. I had no idea she would be stopping by. But for whatever reason I wanted her to think that she was on my mind.
“It’s in the cabinet with the glasses,” Harry called in. I opened the cabinet in front of me and found the corkscrew. Then I opened the bottle Anne had brought and poured her a full glass. It was a Chardonnay. I took a quick sip before walking back into the living room and handing it to her.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you, dear,” Anne said and took a sip, then another sip, and then a few full swallows.
“Ah, much better,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Harry and I must having been staring at her, because she looked at the two of us and laughed. “Yes?” she asked with a tilt to her head.
Harry stood up and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll load up a cooler and meet you guys out back.”
Anne stood up and slipped her shoes on, then the two of us walked down the hallway, out the back door, across the lawn - which needed very much to be mowed - and up onto the mound. The lawn chairs were still there from the week before, and the two of us sat down.
“So how was your week?” I asked.
“Ugh. I don’t want to talk about it. I was in Dayton all week, and I don’t think I ever want to go back there again.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. Well, I guess the city itself is okay. But they were five of the most boring, unproductive days I’ve spent in a long time. Probably forever. So I’m ready to let off some steam.”
I nodded. I noticed that she was wearing makeup, which she hadn’t the week before. She was wearing black pants and a red blouse with several top buttons undone, revealing a thin gold necklace.
I tried to look interested in our conversation, but I was mesmerized by her. Did I mention that she was attractive? More than a little. I tried to think of something else to say. My mind raced, but no words came to me. Luckily, she wasn’t at a loss for words. Apparently, she wasn’t as distracted by my presence as I was by hers.
“What is it you do?” she asked. “I don’t think you told me.”
I was relieved. “I work in R&D. For GE. I help design and improve electromechanical devices, computer assisted motion, stuff like that.
She actually looked interested. “Like what? Tell me about something you designed.”
I thought for a moment. None of what I did seemed interesting enough to describe to her. Luckily, Harry came walking out the back door at that moment. Anne and I looked over in time to see him stumble down the back steps, almost dropping the blue cooler he was carrying.
“Careful!” I yelled.
“Right,” Harry said without looking up. “Careful.”
Harry walked across the lawn and up the steps to the top of the mound. He put the cooler down and plopped into the chair between Anne and I. Then he opened the lid of the cooler and took out two bottles, handing one to me.
“Another beautiful Friday evening,” he said.
“Sure is,” Anne agreed.
Harry then told us about his neighbor whom he had noticed peering over the fence at him from time to time. This nosey neighbor seemed to think that everything anyone did was her business. She was the gossip queen of the block, and often she would stop Harry on the sidewalk to tell him about something inappropriate that someone had done to their house, their property, or their family.
Harry was amused by the old woman, and he told us how he loved the challenge of listening to her without judging her. Most of us, to be sure, would find such a person annoying and petty, and would probably do their best to avoid her. But not Harry. Harry saw her as an opportunity. An opportunity to practice accepting, and an opportunity to be helpful to her.
“At first,” he told us, “I thought she was just a miserable old bag who spent her time judging and criticizing everyone around her. But then I realized that I was judging her. But I didn’t realize it at first. To me, it seemed obvious that she was being ignorant. But eventually I saw what I was doing. I was judging her for being judgmental.”
“Wow,” said Anne. “so perhaps you were the one being ignorant?”
“I was judging the judger.”“So you weren’t any better than she was,” I said.
“Exactly. There I was, feeling that I was better than her because I was a more accepting person. I was comparing myself to her and concluding, without knowing it, that I was better than she was. And in doing so, I was doing exactly what she was doing.”
“That’s interesting,” Anne said. “I bet we do that all the time.”
Harry nodded. “Indeed we do. I find myself doing it a lot. And other people too. If you pay attention, you’ll catch yourself judging the judger.”
“Well, what’s wrong with judging?” I asked. “Who says I have to agree with what other people say or do?”
“Nothing,” Harry answered. “You’re free to judge or not judge, however you see fit. But this is a perfect example of how we tend to notice and find fault in other people for doing the very same things that we do. We just don’t realize it.”
“So why do we do that?” Anne asked.
Harry paused for a moment. “The answer is far more interesting than you would think, and not easy to explain quickly. But the short answer is that people mirror things back to us. We tend to draw to ourselves the same kinds of things that we ourselves express. So greedy people tend to draw examples of other people being greedy. Racists tend to see racism all around them. And you can be sure that the person who is always screaming about racism is a racist themselves. It’s the way it works. They are seeing themselves mirrored in the world around them.”
“I can see that,” I said. “But why does that happen? How do you draw those people to you? How does anyone draw anything to them? You mean like a magnet?”
“Exactly, just like a magnet. Think of yourself as a magnet, and whatever you express, or think about a lot, acts like a magnet that draws a matching expression to you. So my nosey neighbor must be obsessed with her own faults, because she is constantly noticing the faults of others.”
“Wow,” said Anne. “I’ll have to think about that some more.”
“It’s a very handy tool, I’ve found,” Harry continued. “Whenever you find yourself finding fault with someone about something, stop immediately and turn your attention back to yourself. What is this person mirroring back to you? What are they showing you about yourself?”
“Hold on,” I interrupted. “So every time I notice someone being an idiot, that person is mirroring that back to me? Does that mean I’m an idiot?”
“Well, we already know the answer to that question!” Harry said laughing. Anne smiled.
“But you know what I mean,” I went on. “I work with a bunch of imbeciles. Not all of them, but many of them. They drive me nuts.”
“Then you must be driving yourself nuts,” Anne said.
“Or more specifically,” said Harry, “You spend a lot of time thinking about your own faults, your own stupidity, and your coworkers are reflecting that back to you.”
“Do you?” Anne asked me.
“Do I what?” I responded.
“Do you spend a lot of time thinking about your faults?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” I asked.
“Most of us do,” Harry nodded. “And most of us find lots of faults in others.”
“And so most of us complain about other people,” Anne said. “I do it. I just spent a week with some very annoying people. I could sit here and complain about them for the rest of the evening. But, fortunately, my glass is empty. And I have to use the little girls’ room.”
Anne stood up and walked back down the steps and across the lawn. Harry and I sat quietly, watching. After she went in the back door, we looked at one another. Harry shrugged. I shrugged. We grabbed two more beers and waited for Anne to return.
Harry was sitting on his front steps when I arrived. He was wearing a white golf hat and looked rather festive. He was sipping some sort of frozen drink, a margarita perhaps.
Anne arrived later. Harry and I were sitting in the living room when she came walking through the front door, a bottle of wine in her hand. She put the wine on the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. Then she plopped down on the sofa next to me.
“Hey boys,” she said playfully. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Waiting for you,” Harry answered with a big smile. “What took you so long?”
“Who cares? Would one of you open that wine for me?”
Harry and I both stood up, looked at each other, then Harry sat back down while I walked into the kitchen to grab a corkscrew.
Anne looked around the room. “What are you doing inside? It’s gorgeous out.”
“As we said,” I called in from the kitchen, where I was rummaging through the drawers. “We were waiting for you.”
That wasn’t true – we weren’t waiting for her. At least I wasn’t. I had no idea she would be stopping by. But for whatever reason I wanted her to think that she was on my mind.
“It’s in the cabinet with the glasses,” Harry called in. I opened the cabinet in front of me and found the corkscrew. Then I opened the bottle Anne had brought and poured her a full glass. It was a Chardonnay. I took a quick sip before walking back into the living room and handing it to her.
“Here you are.”
“Thank you, dear,” Anne said and took a sip, then another sip, and then a few full swallows.
“Ah, much better,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Harry and I must having been staring at her, because she looked at the two of us and laughed. “Yes?” she asked with a tilt to her head.
Harry stood up and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll load up a cooler and meet you guys out back.”
Anne stood up and slipped her shoes on, then the two of us walked down the hallway, out the back door, across the lawn - which needed very much to be mowed - and up onto the mound. The lawn chairs were still there from the week before, and the two of us sat down.
“So how was your week?” I asked.
“Ugh. I don’t want to talk about it. I was in Dayton all week, and I don’t think I ever want to go back there again.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. Well, I guess the city itself is okay. But they were five of the most boring, unproductive days I’ve spent in a long time. Probably forever. So I’m ready to let off some steam.”
I nodded. I noticed that she was wearing makeup, which she hadn’t the week before. She was wearing black pants and a red blouse with several top buttons undone, revealing a thin gold necklace.
I tried to look interested in our conversation, but I was mesmerized by her. Did I mention that she was attractive? More than a little. I tried to think of something else to say. My mind raced, but no words came to me. Luckily, she wasn’t at a loss for words. Apparently, she wasn’t as distracted by my presence as I was by hers.
“What is it you do?” she asked. “I don’t think you told me.”
I was relieved. “I work in R&D. For GE. I help design and improve electromechanical devices, computer assisted motion, stuff like that.
She actually looked interested. “Like what? Tell me about something you designed.”
I thought for a moment. None of what I did seemed interesting enough to describe to her. Luckily, Harry came walking out the back door at that moment. Anne and I looked over in time to see him stumble down the back steps, almost dropping the blue cooler he was carrying.
“Careful!” I yelled.
“Right,” Harry said without looking up. “Careful.”
Harry walked across the lawn and up the steps to the top of the mound. He put the cooler down and plopped into the chair between Anne and I. Then he opened the lid of the cooler and took out two bottles, handing one to me.
“Another beautiful Friday evening,” he said.
“Sure is,” Anne agreed.
Harry then told us about his neighbor whom he had noticed peering over the fence at him from time to time. This nosey neighbor seemed to think that everything anyone did was her business. She was the gossip queen of the block, and often she would stop Harry on the sidewalk to tell him about something inappropriate that someone had done to their house, their property, or their family.
Harry was amused by the old woman, and he told us how he loved the challenge of listening to her without judging her. Most of us, to be sure, would find such a person annoying and petty, and would probably do their best to avoid her. But not Harry. Harry saw her as an opportunity. An opportunity to practice accepting, and an opportunity to be helpful to her.
“At first,” he told us, “I thought she was just a miserable old bag who spent her time judging and criticizing everyone around her. But then I realized that I was judging her. But I didn’t realize it at first. To me, it seemed obvious that she was being ignorant. But eventually I saw what I was doing. I was judging her for being judgmental.”
“Wow,” said Anne. “so perhaps you were the one being ignorant?”
“I was judging the judger.”“So you weren’t any better than she was,” I said.
“Exactly. There I was, feeling that I was better than her because I was a more accepting person. I was comparing myself to her and concluding, without knowing it, that I was better than she was. And in doing so, I was doing exactly what she was doing.”
“That’s interesting,” Anne said. “I bet we do that all the time.”
Harry nodded. “Indeed we do. I find myself doing it a lot. And other people too. If you pay attention, you’ll catch yourself judging the judger.”
“Well, what’s wrong with judging?” I asked. “Who says I have to agree with what other people say or do?”
“Nothing,” Harry answered. “You’re free to judge or not judge, however you see fit. But this is a perfect example of how we tend to notice and find fault in other people for doing the very same things that we do. We just don’t realize it.”
“So why do we do that?” Anne asked.
Harry paused for a moment. “The answer is far more interesting than you would think, and not easy to explain quickly. But the short answer is that people mirror things back to us. We tend to draw to ourselves the same kinds of things that we ourselves express. So greedy people tend to draw examples of other people being greedy. Racists tend to see racism all around them. And you can be sure that the person who is always screaming about racism is a racist themselves. It’s the way it works. They are seeing themselves mirrored in the world around them.”
“I can see that,” I said. “But why does that happen? How do you draw those people to you? How does anyone draw anything to them? You mean like a magnet?”
“Exactly, just like a magnet. Think of yourself as a magnet, and whatever you express, or think about a lot, acts like a magnet that draws a matching expression to you. So my nosey neighbor must be obsessed with her own faults, because she is constantly noticing the faults of others.”
“Wow,” said Anne. “I’ll have to think about that some more.”
“It’s a very handy tool, I’ve found,” Harry continued. “Whenever you find yourself finding fault with someone about something, stop immediately and turn your attention back to yourself. What is this person mirroring back to you? What are they showing you about yourself?”
“Hold on,” I interrupted. “So every time I notice someone being an idiot, that person is mirroring that back to me? Does that mean I’m an idiot?”
“Well, we already know the answer to that question!” Harry said laughing. Anne smiled.
“But you know what I mean,” I went on. “I work with a bunch of imbeciles. Not all of them, but many of them. They drive me nuts.”
“Then you must be driving yourself nuts,” Anne said.
“Or more specifically,” said Harry, “You spend a lot of time thinking about your own faults, your own stupidity, and your coworkers are reflecting that back to you.”
“Do you?” Anne asked me.
“Do I what?” I responded.
“Do you spend a lot of time thinking about your faults?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” I asked.
“Most of us do,” Harry nodded. “And most of us find lots of faults in others.”
“And so most of us complain about other people,” Anne said. “I do it. I just spent a week with some very annoying people. I could sit here and complain about them for the rest of the evening. But, fortunately, my glass is empty. And I have to use the little girls’ room.”
Anne stood up and walked back down the steps and across the lawn. Harry and I sat quietly, watching. After she went in the back door, we looked at one another. Harry shrugged. I shrugged. We grabbed two more beers and waited for Anne to return.
Chapter 24
May 19th - Wednesday, chilly but clear and breezy
I arrived after work to find Harry and Anne already out back.
Anne: Good, you’re here. Harry is going to tell us about his lost years.
Paul: Wonderful! I was starting to think he never would.
Harry: I had to wait until you were ready.
Anne: Yes, Harry. We weren’t ready for such powerful information.
Paul: You had to cultivate our receptivity first.
Harry: Hey, I have better things to do than sit here and be insulted.
Anne: Oh, but we don’t! Please tell us your story!
Paul: Yeah, come on uncle Harry, please?!!!
Harry: Alright kids. Make yourselves comfy.(Anne and I ran inside and brought out a cold bottle of wine she had brought and three glasses. While we were opening and pouring, Harry began his long-awaited tale)
Harry: Okay, it all started three years ago. The lawsuit had gone nowhere and we had given up trying. Anne, you were dating what’s-his-name.
Anne: Bill.
Harry: Right, Bill. So we weren’t talking much anymore.
Anne: But not because of Bill. You just weren’t much fun to talk to.
Harry: I was a bit distracted. I built this mound. That was in the late summer. Then my neighbor Bob died. And he left me a bunch of money.
Paul: Really? Your neighbor left you money? In his will?
Harry: Yup. Lots of money, actually.
Paul: Wow! That’s incredible!
Harry: Indeed. So now I had more money than I needed, and I certainly didn’t need to find a job, which I had been worried about.
Paul: Wait, why did your neighbor leave you all his money? Didn’t he have any relatives?
Harry: He had kids. He didn’t give me all his money. He gave me about half.
Paul: And why was that?
Anne: Because Harry was the only person who paid any attention to him before he died.
Harry: Bob and I became very good friends for a few years before he died. We would hang out three or four times a week while the weather was warm. So anyway, he died, and he left me several thousand dollars, so I paid off the mortgage and the car and everything else, and I ended up with a big lump of change in the bank and no need to really do anything. So I hit the road.
Anne: One day he called me and said something like, “Anne, I’m leaving for a while. Talk to you when I get back.” He didn’t say where he was going, though he may have mentioned something about California.
Harry: Perhaps. So I packed a few bags, paid ahead on all my bills, and left.
Paul: And how long were you gone?
Anne: He was gone at least two years. I didn’t see him again until last Christmas.
Harry: I actually came home a bunch of times to collect mail, pay bills, flush the toilets. Did you know that toilets get really nasty when you don’t flush or clean them for a few months?
Paul: I never really thought about it. I’ll try to remember that.
Harry: Yeah, you better. It took me three hours to replace the inside parts and get it working again. After that, I drained the toilet every time I left.
Paul: What about the pipes? Did they freeze in the winter?
Harry: I kept the heat on, barely, in the winter. I never had a problem. So anyway, I hit the road. In October, I think.
Anne: It was just before Halloween.
Harry: Yes, Halloween. I brought my camping gear, and I spent some time camping and hiking and just taking my time. It was a beautiful autumn. I was far more affected by the changing leaves than I had been before. Gradually I worked my way west, spending a few days here or there, camping, sightseeing. I enjoyed stopping in small towns for lunch when I was on the road. Small town diners are the best. You meet the simplest, most perfect people in diners.
So eventually I made my way through Ohio, down into northern Kentucky, and along the bottom of Indiana and Illinois. I decided that I would get a hotel room when I got to St. Louis. I’ve always wanted to visit the blues clubs in St. Louis.
Paul: You’re into blues? I didn’t know that.
Harry: Well, I’m into pretty much everything. So as I got closer to St. Louis, the idea of sleeping in a hotel room sounded great. And eating in a nice restaurant. Total contrast to the campgrounds and diners I had been experiencing.
Anne: Now how long after you left home did you get to St. Louis?
Harry: It was about a month, but I never made it to St. Louis.
Paul: You didn’t? Why not?
Harry: I remember thinking afterward that I was turned aside by the Gateway to The West. Like it wasn’t time yet.
Paul: So you never went beyond St. Louis? Never further west?
Harry: Nope. I stopped at a historical spot just east of St. Louis called Cahokia. Ever hear of it?
Anne: Nope.
Paul: Never.
Harry: Well, Cahokia was a Native American city eight or nine hundred years ago.
Paul: A city? I didn’t know Native Americans lived in cities.
Harry: Oh, they did. This was one of the biggest in North America. Long before the Europeans arrived. I had read about it before, so when I saw a sign for it I decided I would stop and check it out. I parked at the visitor’s center and walked around for a while. The place is very cool. Kind of spooky in a way. There are mounds everywhere. Some are small, some are bigger. The biggest is called Monk’s Mound.
Paul: Any of them called Harry’s Mound?
Anne: Yeah, this one!(we all stomped our feet and laughed)
Harry: No, there was no Harry’s Mound. But Monk’s Mound is huge. It’s the biggest in North America.
Paul: And why is it there? What was it for?
Harry: I think the chief lived on top of it. There was apparently a large building on the top that overlooked the city. So anyway, I walked along a path that wound around the outside of the park. There was one rather odd and amazing thing that happened. I was walking alone along the path, on the south side of the park, and as I was walking I felt a presence. Now remember, this place just felt odd. Like there were ghosts all around. So I stopped walking, and turned to my left, and there was a huge deer just standing there and starring at me. A buck.
Anne: How far away was he?
Harry: He was about 30 feet from me, I’d say. I was actually startled when I saw him. He was standing perfectly still, staring at me. And the weird thing was, he was missing half of his antlers. On the one side he had this huge rack, and on the other side there was nothing. The whole scene was surreal. There I was, standing in the midst of all these ancient mounds, feeling like I was surrounded by ghosts, not another person within sight, and staring at this huge buck missing half his antlers.
Anne: Wow.
Harry: Yeah, wow. My adrenaline was racing because he startled me. I never saw him move. He was just staring at me when I looked at him. After a moment, I got a little nervous. I thought he might charge me.
Anne: Do deer do that?
Harry: I don’t know. He looked like he might, though. So after a few seconds I just started walking. And then he turned around and ran back into the trees behind him. But the whole scene left me shaken for a few minutes. It just made the place seem that much stranger. So I kept walking, and the path eventually led around the park and up to where a road passes through it, right in front of the big mound. I crossed the street and began walking up the steps. The mound is tall, and it took several minutes to walk all the way to the top.
Paul: What’s it made of?
Harry: Dirt, I guess. Maybe rocks inside it, but it’s covered with dirt and grass. So I climbed and climbed, and then at the top I turned around and I could see all the grass-covered mounds spread out below. It was incredible. I tried to imagine what it would be like to look out eight hundred years ago and see thousands of people spread out in front of me. I could see St. Louis in the distance.
Paul: How many people lived there when it was a city?
Harry: I think they estimate it was as much as 40,000 people.
Paul: Really? That’s huge. I had no idea there were cities back then.
Anne: Well, they were probably more like towns than cities.
Harry: You have to be pretty organized to have that many people living so close together. So it was a complex society, for sure.
Anne: So you climbed to the top of Monk’s Mound. Then what?
Harry: Well, I sat down on the top step and took in the view. Down at the bottom of the steps, I saw a woman walking along the road. She was carrying something, and when she got to the bottom of the steps she stopped and looked up at me. She looked right at me, and then she started climbing up the steps. Immediately, something didn’t feel right.
Paul: In what way?
Harry: She just seemed out of place. She didn’t look like a tourist. She was wearing bell-bottom jeans and a zippered sweatshirt. As she climbed higher, I saw that the object in her hand was a bottle in a paper bag.
Anne: Oh my God!
Harry: Yeah. And she kept stopping every ten or fifteen steps to catch her breath. I tried not to stare at her. She kept on climbing, and she looked up at me from time to time. I was actually getting kind of nervous.
Paul: Why?
Harry: I don’t know. I guess I just felt out of place. I was out of my element. I was having this surreal experience, in a place I had never been to before. And here was this very odd looking woman with a bottle in her hand struggling to climb this huge set of steps and staring up at me every few steps.
Anne: I think I would have been freaked out, too.
Harry: She finally got to the top, after maybe ten minutes, and she sat down next to me and said hello.
Anne: How old was she?
Harry: She looked like she was in her mid-twenties.
Anne: Was she drunk?
Harry: She didn’t seem too drunk. She was slurring her words a bit, but she was also out of breath so I couldn’t tell.
Anne: So then what?
Harry: So she asked me where I was from, and I said Ohio. And she said she didn’t believe me and asked to see my driver’s license.
Paul: Really? Did you show it to her?
Harry: I did.
Anne: God, what was going through your head at that point?
Harry: I think I was actually shaking. I felt totally disoriented. I took out my wallet and showed her my license. I didn’t know what else to do.
Paul: Then what?
Harry: Well, she seemed surprised that I really was from Ohio. Why, I don’t know. But she kept looking at my eyes. She was smiling a lot. I realized that she was being flirty. She asked me what I was doing there, and I told her I was checking out the park. She seemed oblivious to the fact that we were sitting on an archeological wonder. To her it was just a big pile of dirt, I suppose.
Anne: Probably.
Harry: So then she suggested that we go into St. Louis together.
Anne: Really? Oh God, she was a hooker!
Harry: I think so, yeah.
Paul: Holy crap. You got propositioned!
Harry: Yup.
Anne: On Monk’s Mound!
Harry: Oh, I never thought of that. On a mound named Monk, I got propositioned.
Paul: Cool! So did you take her up on her offer?
Anne: Paul!!! Besides, Harry said he never made it to St. Louis.
Harry: No, Paul, I didn’t take her up on her offer. First of all, I wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. Second of all, spending an evening with a prostitute is not on my list of things to do in this life. And third of all, I was totally freaked out. I was actually scared at that point.
Paul: Why?
Harry: I had never been in a position like that before. It was probably the most disoriented I’ve ever felt. It occurred to me that the place where I was sitting could be a meeting place for that sort of thing, and that perhaps I looked like a potential customer.
Anne: That’s probably what it looked like to her.
Harry: Exactly. And I realized that. So I said no, I wasn’t looking for any companionship. She looked surprised at first, but then I think she realized I was actually there to see the site. So we sat there for a few seconds saying nothing, looking out over the mounds below and over toward the city skyline. The city looked incredible. The mounds were casting long shadows to our left. And then we started talking.
Anne: About what?
Harry: At first, we talked about where we were from. I told her that I used to teach. She wanted to know about that. I told her about the lawsuit. And then she told me that her father used to be a preacher.
Anne: A preacher? And she was a hooker?
Harry: Apparently. She never actually confirmed that she was a hooker. Maybe she was just being friendly.
Paul: Right!
Anne: She was a hooker.
Harry: Probably. But once we started talking, my impression of her changed. She became warmer, and I became more relaxed. And before I knew it, we were having a great conversation. She said her dad was a pastor of some sort, and that he had given up a few years ago and moved away.
Paul: Did she say why?
Harry: She did. Apparently, he started to feel frustrated with his own church, and his congregation. And he was increasingly disillusioned with his own religion.
Paul: You got all of that from a drunk hooker?
Harry: Her name was Rachel.
Anne: Rachel? Rachel the drunk hooker.
Harry: You guys are brutal! She didn’t actually seem drunk as we talked, and she didn’t seem like a hooker. So let’s call her Rachel, and show her a little more respect, okay?
Anne: You’re right. Sorry Rachel!
Harry: She said her dad was sort of a hippie, and that she used to walk to church with him when she was a little girl. She said he had long hair, which was very odd for a preacher. But apparently he was very popular for a while. But then he started bringing some ideas into his sermons that were outside of typical Christian topics, and the congregation started to challenge him on some things.
Paul: What kinds of things?
Harry: The one thing Rachel kept mentioning was energy. He apparently talked about everyone and everything as if it were energy. He talked about people being energy, emotions being energy. Energy and vibration. Everything was made up of energy, and that energy vibrated. And everything that we experience happens because of our energy, our vibration. Well, his congregation was baffled by all of this, and eventually they became split between those who supported him and those who wanted him gone.
Anne: That’s really weird.
Harry: Yeah. So eventually he just decided to leave, and he moved away from the city and quit preaching.
Anne: And Rachel stayed?
Harry: Rachel stayed. She was in her late teens at that time, and she didn’t want to leave her friends. So she stayed behind and moved in with her uncle.
Paul: And where did her dad end up?
(Harry paused and smiled at Anne and I)
Harry: Any guesses?
(Anne and I looked at each other and shrugged. Then Anne suddenly sat up straight and looked at Harry)
Anne: Jasper!
Harry: Jasper, Indiana. That’s correct.
Paul: Holy crap! That’s how you end up in Jasper?
Harry: Indeed.
Anne: Wow! That’s so cool!
Paul: You went to visit Rachel’s dad? Why?
Harry: I can’t really tell you why. I just knew I had to. I realized as I sat there at the top of Monk’s Mound that I had come there to meet Rachel and to find out about her dad. And the next day I drove back to Indiana and found him. As if I had somehow planned the whole thing.
Paul: What’s his name?
Harry: His name is Albert. But people call him John.
Anne: Why John?
Harry: Because he doesn’t look like an Albert. At least, that’s what Rachel told me.
Anne: So you ended up in Jasper, Indiana. And what did you do there?
Harry: Well, John has a farm outside of Jasper, on the edge of Hoosier National Forest. And that’s where I ended up. It was the day before Thanksgiving when I drove down his long, winding driveway. His house sits way back from the road. The driveway winds through trees and up over a hill. The property is huge, with fields and woods and ponds and a stream. And it borders on the park, so you can walk for hours and even days without seeing anyone or anything besides nature.
Paul: Sounds incredible.
Harry: It is.
Paul: And how long did you stay?
Harry: That first visit? Seven weeks.
Anne: That’s incredible. You just met this guy, out of nowhere, and you stayed for seven weeks?
Harry: It didn’t feel like I had just met him. It felt like I had always known him. In fact, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he recognized me somehow when I arrived. I pulled up to his house and got out of the car and there he was, sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch. He didn’t look at all surprised to see me. Happy, yes, but not surprised.
Anne: Were you nervous?
Harry: A little. But I felt like I already knew him after talking to Rachel the day before. He invited me up onto the porch and told me to have a seat in the chair next to him, and he offered me a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. I told him I had met Rachel, and he just nodded and smiled. Really, it felt like I was telling him something he already knew. He had a gleam in his eye that reminded me of Santa Claus. In fact, he even looked a little like Santa Claus. He had a bushy grey beard and was even wearing suspenders. He was quite comical to look at. And he smiled constantly. He was always smiling. He made me feel so comfortable, I didn’t want to leave. And so I stayed. For seven weeks.
Anne: It sounds like you were suppose to go there.
Harry: I think I was. I’ve thought about it many times since, and I’m absolutely convinced that I left home that fall to go find John. And I found him. In a most amazing way.
Paul: Well, finally, we know about Jasper, Indiana.
Anne: Yes! I’m glad you finally told us.
Paul: But you haven’t really explained why you stayed for so long.
Anne: Or why you kept going back.
Paul: For two years.
Anne: For two years.
Harry: Well, for that you’ll have to tune in next time!
Anne: Oh, Harry! Why do you have to be like that?
Paul: Got to keep us waiting.
Harry: No! Well, maybe… But hey, I can’t tell the whole story at once! I have to let my audience think and ponder and wonder what happens next. Right?
Anne: No. You have to respect your audience and tell them your story rather than playing with them and keeping them waiting.
Paul: I agree.
Harry: Well, I don’t! Besides, I’m tired of talking.
Paul: Okay, if we’re going to change the subject, then I have a question for you guys: I was offered tickets for the Cleveland Indians game Friday night. Do you guys want to go?
Anne: Sure!
Harry: Absolutely!
Anne: I haven’t been to a baseball game in ages.
Harry: Me neither.
Paul: Alright then, it’s a done deal. Who’s driving?
Anne: I’ll drive. What time should I pick you guys up?
Harry: Pick me up at five. We’ll swing by and pick up Paul and we should get to the park in plenty of time.
Anne: Okay. Five o’clock. Be ready.
Harry: I will.
Paul: Me too!
Anne: And don’t forget the tickets!
Paul: I won’t!
We spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about childhood trips to various sporting events. I was getting to know both of them better, and we were quickly becoming like old friends. Unfortunately, we lost track of time and wound up talking until after midnight.I finally bid the two of them farewell and headed home. As I drove home, I wondered whether Anne would end up spending the night at Harry’s. I never did find out whether their friendship was anything more than it appeared to be. Part of me said it didn’t really matter. It was their business, not mine. But another part of me, a much more insistent part of me, wanted to know for sure.
Throughout our conversation that evening, I noticed that Anne had a tendency to put her hand on my arm every time she got excited about something. And every time she did, I felt energy run through me. Despite Harry’s interesting story, I found myself paying as much attention to her and her expressions as I did to Harry and his tale.
Over the previous weeks, I had gotten to know Anne quite well. My first impression of her had given way to a deep appreciation. She was funny, sweet, and beautiful. She didn’t take herself too seriously, was quick to joke about most things, and didn’t seem to have anything particularly bad to say about anyone, that I could tell. From all appearances, she was a balanced, fun-loving person. Who wasn’t currently seeing anyone, as far as I knew.
So by the time I arrived back at my apartment and parked the car, Anne was firmly in my mind. Her face, her voice. Everything about her was vivid in my mind. And as I pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened my door to get out, I froze with a realization that was both startling and exciting:I had most definitely, without question, fallen in love with her.
I couldn’t wait to see her again.
I was looking forward to Friday night.
I arrived after work to find Harry and Anne already out back.
Anne: Good, you’re here. Harry is going to tell us about his lost years.
Paul: Wonderful! I was starting to think he never would.
Harry: I had to wait until you were ready.
Anne: Yes, Harry. We weren’t ready for such powerful information.
Paul: You had to cultivate our receptivity first.
Harry: Hey, I have better things to do than sit here and be insulted.
Anne: Oh, but we don’t! Please tell us your story!
Paul: Yeah, come on uncle Harry, please?!!!
Harry: Alright kids. Make yourselves comfy.(Anne and I ran inside and brought out a cold bottle of wine she had brought and three glasses. While we were opening and pouring, Harry began his long-awaited tale)
Harry: Okay, it all started three years ago. The lawsuit had gone nowhere and we had given up trying. Anne, you were dating what’s-his-name.
Anne: Bill.
Harry: Right, Bill. So we weren’t talking much anymore.
Anne: But not because of Bill. You just weren’t much fun to talk to.
Harry: I was a bit distracted. I built this mound. That was in the late summer. Then my neighbor Bob died. And he left me a bunch of money.
Paul: Really? Your neighbor left you money? In his will?
Harry: Yup. Lots of money, actually.
Paul: Wow! That’s incredible!
Harry: Indeed. So now I had more money than I needed, and I certainly didn’t need to find a job, which I had been worried about.
Paul: Wait, why did your neighbor leave you all his money? Didn’t he have any relatives?
Harry: He had kids. He didn’t give me all his money. He gave me about half.
Paul: And why was that?
Anne: Because Harry was the only person who paid any attention to him before he died.
Harry: Bob and I became very good friends for a few years before he died. We would hang out three or four times a week while the weather was warm. So anyway, he died, and he left me several thousand dollars, so I paid off the mortgage and the car and everything else, and I ended up with a big lump of change in the bank and no need to really do anything. So I hit the road.
Anne: One day he called me and said something like, “Anne, I’m leaving for a while. Talk to you when I get back.” He didn’t say where he was going, though he may have mentioned something about California.
Harry: Perhaps. So I packed a few bags, paid ahead on all my bills, and left.
Paul: And how long were you gone?
Anne: He was gone at least two years. I didn’t see him again until last Christmas.
Harry: I actually came home a bunch of times to collect mail, pay bills, flush the toilets. Did you know that toilets get really nasty when you don’t flush or clean them for a few months?
Paul: I never really thought about it. I’ll try to remember that.
Harry: Yeah, you better. It took me three hours to replace the inside parts and get it working again. After that, I drained the toilet every time I left.
Paul: What about the pipes? Did they freeze in the winter?
Harry: I kept the heat on, barely, in the winter. I never had a problem. So anyway, I hit the road. In October, I think.
Anne: It was just before Halloween.
Harry: Yes, Halloween. I brought my camping gear, and I spent some time camping and hiking and just taking my time. It was a beautiful autumn. I was far more affected by the changing leaves than I had been before. Gradually I worked my way west, spending a few days here or there, camping, sightseeing. I enjoyed stopping in small towns for lunch when I was on the road. Small town diners are the best. You meet the simplest, most perfect people in diners.
So eventually I made my way through Ohio, down into northern Kentucky, and along the bottom of Indiana and Illinois. I decided that I would get a hotel room when I got to St. Louis. I’ve always wanted to visit the blues clubs in St. Louis.
Paul: You’re into blues? I didn’t know that.
Harry: Well, I’m into pretty much everything. So as I got closer to St. Louis, the idea of sleeping in a hotel room sounded great. And eating in a nice restaurant. Total contrast to the campgrounds and diners I had been experiencing.
Anne: Now how long after you left home did you get to St. Louis?
Harry: It was about a month, but I never made it to St. Louis.
Paul: You didn’t? Why not?
Harry: I remember thinking afterward that I was turned aside by the Gateway to The West. Like it wasn’t time yet.
Paul: So you never went beyond St. Louis? Never further west?
Harry: Nope. I stopped at a historical spot just east of St. Louis called Cahokia. Ever hear of it?
Anne: Nope.
Paul: Never.
Harry: Well, Cahokia was a Native American city eight or nine hundred years ago.
Paul: A city? I didn’t know Native Americans lived in cities.
Harry: Oh, they did. This was one of the biggest in North America. Long before the Europeans arrived. I had read about it before, so when I saw a sign for it I decided I would stop and check it out. I parked at the visitor’s center and walked around for a while. The place is very cool. Kind of spooky in a way. There are mounds everywhere. Some are small, some are bigger. The biggest is called Monk’s Mound.
Paul: Any of them called Harry’s Mound?
Anne: Yeah, this one!(we all stomped our feet and laughed)
Harry: No, there was no Harry’s Mound. But Monk’s Mound is huge. It’s the biggest in North America.
Paul: And why is it there? What was it for?
Harry: I think the chief lived on top of it. There was apparently a large building on the top that overlooked the city. So anyway, I walked along a path that wound around the outside of the park. There was one rather odd and amazing thing that happened. I was walking alone along the path, on the south side of the park, and as I was walking I felt a presence. Now remember, this place just felt odd. Like there were ghosts all around. So I stopped walking, and turned to my left, and there was a huge deer just standing there and starring at me. A buck.
Anne: How far away was he?
Harry: He was about 30 feet from me, I’d say. I was actually startled when I saw him. He was standing perfectly still, staring at me. And the weird thing was, he was missing half of his antlers. On the one side he had this huge rack, and on the other side there was nothing. The whole scene was surreal. There I was, standing in the midst of all these ancient mounds, feeling like I was surrounded by ghosts, not another person within sight, and staring at this huge buck missing half his antlers.
Anne: Wow.
Harry: Yeah, wow. My adrenaline was racing because he startled me. I never saw him move. He was just staring at me when I looked at him. After a moment, I got a little nervous. I thought he might charge me.
Anne: Do deer do that?
Harry: I don’t know. He looked like he might, though. So after a few seconds I just started walking. And then he turned around and ran back into the trees behind him. But the whole scene left me shaken for a few minutes. It just made the place seem that much stranger. So I kept walking, and the path eventually led around the park and up to where a road passes through it, right in front of the big mound. I crossed the street and began walking up the steps. The mound is tall, and it took several minutes to walk all the way to the top.
Paul: What’s it made of?
Harry: Dirt, I guess. Maybe rocks inside it, but it’s covered with dirt and grass. So I climbed and climbed, and then at the top I turned around and I could see all the grass-covered mounds spread out below. It was incredible. I tried to imagine what it would be like to look out eight hundred years ago and see thousands of people spread out in front of me. I could see St. Louis in the distance.
Paul: How many people lived there when it was a city?
Harry: I think they estimate it was as much as 40,000 people.
Paul: Really? That’s huge. I had no idea there were cities back then.
Anne: Well, they were probably more like towns than cities.
Harry: You have to be pretty organized to have that many people living so close together. So it was a complex society, for sure.
Anne: So you climbed to the top of Monk’s Mound. Then what?
Harry: Well, I sat down on the top step and took in the view. Down at the bottom of the steps, I saw a woman walking along the road. She was carrying something, and when she got to the bottom of the steps she stopped and looked up at me. She looked right at me, and then she started climbing up the steps. Immediately, something didn’t feel right.
Paul: In what way?
Harry: She just seemed out of place. She didn’t look like a tourist. She was wearing bell-bottom jeans and a zippered sweatshirt. As she climbed higher, I saw that the object in her hand was a bottle in a paper bag.
Anne: Oh my God!
Harry: Yeah. And she kept stopping every ten or fifteen steps to catch her breath. I tried not to stare at her. She kept on climbing, and she looked up at me from time to time. I was actually getting kind of nervous.
Paul: Why?
Harry: I don’t know. I guess I just felt out of place. I was out of my element. I was having this surreal experience, in a place I had never been to before. And here was this very odd looking woman with a bottle in her hand struggling to climb this huge set of steps and staring up at me every few steps.
Anne: I think I would have been freaked out, too.
Harry: She finally got to the top, after maybe ten minutes, and she sat down next to me and said hello.
Anne: How old was she?
Harry: She looked like she was in her mid-twenties.
Anne: Was she drunk?
Harry: She didn’t seem too drunk. She was slurring her words a bit, but she was also out of breath so I couldn’t tell.
Anne: So then what?
Harry: So she asked me where I was from, and I said Ohio. And she said she didn’t believe me and asked to see my driver’s license.
Paul: Really? Did you show it to her?
Harry: I did.
Anne: God, what was going through your head at that point?
Harry: I think I was actually shaking. I felt totally disoriented. I took out my wallet and showed her my license. I didn’t know what else to do.
Paul: Then what?
Harry: Well, she seemed surprised that I really was from Ohio. Why, I don’t know. But she kept looking at my eyes. She was smiling a lot. I realized that she was being flirty. She asked me what I was doing there, and I told her I was checking out the park. She seemed oblivious to the fact that we were sitting on an archeological wonder. To her it was just a big pile of dirt, I suppose.
Anne: Probably.
Harry: So then she suggested that we go into St. Louis together.
Anne: Really? Oh God, she was a hooker!
Harry: I think so, yeah.
Paul: Holy crap. You got propositioned!
Harry: Yup.
Anne: On Monk’s Mound!
Harry: Oh, I never thought of that. On a mound named Monk, I got propositioned.
Paul: Cool! So did you take her up on her offer?
Anne: Paul!!! Besides, Harry said he never made it to St. Louis.
Harry: No, Paul, I didn’t take her up on her offer. First of all, I wasn’t the least bit attracted to her. Second of all, spending an evening with a prostitute is not on my list of things to do in this life. And third of all, I was totally freaked out. I was actually scared at that point.
Paul: Why?
Harry: I had never been in a position like that before. It was probably the most disoriented I’ve ever felt. It occurred to me that the place where I was sitting could be a meeting place for that sort of thing, and that perhaps I looked like a potential customer.
Anne: That’s probably what it looked like to her.
Harry: Exactly. And I realized that. So I said no, I wasn’t looking for any companionship. She looked surprised at first, but then I think she realized I was actually there to see the site. So we sat there for a few seconds saying nothing, looking out over the mounds below and over toward the city skyline. The city looked incredible. The mounds were casting long shadows to our left. And then we started talking.
Anne: About what?
Harry: At first, we talked about where we were from. I told her that I used to teach. She wanted to know about that. I told her about the lawsuit. And then she told me that her father used to be a preacher.
Anne: A preacher? And she was a hooker?
Harry: Apparently. She never actually confirmed that she was a hooker. Maybe she was just being friendly.
Paul: Right!
Anne: She was a hooker.
Harry: Probably. But once we started talking, my impression of her changed. She became warmer, and I became more relaxed. And before I knew it, we were having a great conversation. She said her dad was a pastor of some sort, and that he had given up a few years ago and moved away.
Paul: Did she say why?
Harry: She did. Apparently, he started to feel frustrated with his own church, and his congregation. And he was increasingly disillusioned with his own religion.
Paul: You got all of that from a drunk hooker?
Harry: Her name was Rachel.
Anne: Rachel? Rachel the drunk hooker.
Harry: You guys are brutal! She didn’t actually seem drunk as we talked, and she didn’t seem like a hooker. So let’s call her Rachel, and show her a little more respect, okay?
Anne: You’re right. Sorry Rachel!
Harry: She said her dad was sort of a hippie, and that she used to walk to church with him when she was a little girl. She said he had long hair, which was very odd for a preacher. But apparently he was very popular for a while. But then he started bringing some ideas into his sermons that were outside of typical Christian topics, and the congregation started to challenge him on some things.
Paul: What kinds of things?
Harry: The one thing Rachel kept mentioning was energy. He apparently talked about everyone and everything as if it were energy. He talked about people being energy, emotions being energy. Energy and vibration. Everything was made up of energy, and that energy vibrated. And everything that we experience happens because of our energy, our vibration. Well, his congregation was baffled by all of this, and eventually they became split between those who supported him and those who wanted him gone.
Anne: That’s really weird.
Harry: Yeah. So eventually he just decided to leave, and he moved away from the city and quit preaching.
Anne: And Rachel stayed?
Harry: Rachel stayed. She was in her late teens at that time, and she didn’t want to leave her friends. So she stayed behind and moved in with her uncle.
Paul: And where did her dad end up?
(Harry paused and smiled at Anne and I)
Harry: Any guesses?
(Anne and I looked at each other and shrugged. Then Anne suddenly sat up straight and looked at Harry)
Anne: Jasper!
Harry: Jasper, Indiana. That’s correct.
Paul: Holy crap! That’s how you end up in Jasper?
Harry: Indeed.
Anne: Wow! That’s so cool!
Paul: You went to visit Rachel’s dad? Why?
Harry: I can’t really tell you why. I just knew I had to. I realized as I sat there at the top of Monk’s Mound that I had come there to meet Rachel and to find out about her dad. And the next day I drove back to Indiana and found him. As if I had somehow planned the whole thing.
Paul: What’s his name?
Harry: His name is Albert. But people call him John.
Anne: Why John?
Harry: Because he doesn’t look like an Albert. At least, that’s what Rachel told me.
Anne: So you ended up in Jasper, Indiana. And what did you do there?
Harry: Well, John has a farm outside of Jasper, on the edge of Hoosier National Forest. And that’s where I ended up. It was the day before Thanksgiving when I drove down his long, winding driveway. His house sits way back from the road. The driveway winds through trees and up over a hill. The property is huge, with fields and woods and ponds and a stream. And it borders on the park, so you can walk for hours and even days without seeing anyone or anything besides nature.
Paul: Sounds incredible.
Harry: It is.
Paul: And how long did you stay?
Harry: That first visit? Seven weeks.
Anne: That’s incredible. You just met this guy, out of nowhere, and you stayed for seven weeks?
Harry: It didn’t feel like I had just met him. It felt like I had always known him. In fact, if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he recognized me somehow when I arrived. I pulled up to his house and got out of the car and there he was, sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch. He didn’t look at all surprised to see me. Happy, yes, but not surprised.
Anne: Were you nervous?
Harry: A little. But I felt like I already knew him after talking to Rachel the day before. He invited me up onto the porch and told me to have a seat in the chair next to him, and he offered me a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. I told him I had met Rachel, and he just nodded and smiled. Really, it felt like I was telling him something he already knew. He had a gleam in his eye that reminded me of Santa Claus. In fact, he even looked a little like Santa Claus. He had a bushy grey beard and was even wearing suspenders. He was quite comical to look at. And he smiled constantly. He was always smiling. He made me feel so comfortable, I didn’t want to leave. And so I stayed. For seven weeks.
Anne: It sounds like you were suppose to go there.
Harry: I think I was. I’ve thought about it many times since, and I’m absolutely convinced that I left home that fall to go find John. And I found him. In a most amazing way.
Paul: Well, finally, we know about Jasper, Indiana.
Anne: Yes! I’m glad you finally told us.
Paul: But you haven’t really explained why you stayed for so long.
Anne: Or why you kept going back.
Paul: For two years.
Anne: For two years.
Harry: Well, for that you’ll have to tune in next time!
Anne: Oh, Harry! Why do you have to be like that?
Paul: Got to keep us waiting.
Harry: No! Well, maybe… But hey, I can’t tell the whole story at once! I have to let my audience think and ponder and wonder what happens next. Right?
Anne: No. You have to respect your audience and tell them your story rather than playing with them and keeping them waiting.
Paul: I agree.
Harry: Well, I don’t! Besides, I’m tired of talking.
Paul: Okay, if we’re going to change the subject, then I have a question for you guys: I was offered tickets for the Cleveland Indians game Friday night. Do you guys want to go?
Anne: Sure!
Harry: Absolutely!
Anne: I haven’t been to a baseball game in ages.
Harry: Me neither.
Paul: Alright then, it’s a done deal. Who’s driving?
Anne: I’ll drive. What time should I pick you guys up?
Harry: Pick me up at five. We’ll swing by and pick up Paul and we should get to the park in plenty of time.
Anne: Okay. Five o’clock. Be ready.
Harry: I will.
Paul: Me too!
Anne: And don’t forget the tickets!
Paul: I won’t!
We spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about childhood trips to various sporting events. I was getting to know both of them better, and we were quickly becoming like old friends. Unfortunately, we lost track of time and wound up talking until after midnight.I finally bid the two of them farewell and headed home. As I drove home, I wondered whether Anne would end up spending the night at Harry’s. I never did find out whether their friendship was anything more than it appeared to be. Part of me said it didn’t really matter. It was their business, not mine. But another part of me, a much more insistent part of me, wanted to know for sure.
Throughout our conversation that evening, I noticed that Anne had a tendency to put her hand on my arm every time she got excited about something. And every time she did, I felt energy run through me. Despite Harry’s interesting story, I found myself paying as much attention to her and her expressions as I did to Harry and his tale.
Over the previous weeks, I had gotten to know Anne quite well. My first impression of her had given way to a deep appreciation. She was funny, sweet, and beautiful. She didn’t take herself too seriously, was quick to joke about most things, and didn’t seem to have anything particularly bad to say about anyone, that I could tell. From all appearances, she was a balanced, fun-loving person. Who wasn’t currently seeing anyone, as far as I knew.
So by the time I arrived back at my apartment and parked the car, Anne was firmly in my mind. Her face, her voice. Everything about her was vivid in my mind. And as I pulled the keys out of the ignition and opened my door to get out, I froze with a realization that was both startling and exciting:I had most definitely, without question, fallen in love with her.
I couldn’t wait to see her again.
I was looking forward to Friday night.
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