This morning just before I woke up for the day I had a strange dream. The chant “Om Namo Nityananda” (properly titled Nityanandam Brahmanandam”) was playing in the background throughout the dream. I was attending an outdoor Catholic mass which was being celebrated by the priest who has known me since I was nine years old, Father Stephen Halabura. I was sitting behind him on the alter.
When it came time for the Gospel Acclamation, a prayer or “Allelujah” that is sung just before the priest reads from one of the gospels of the New Testament, Father Halabura called me up to the alter to read a passage I had written about the importance of Jesus’s teachings which the gospels are based on.
I walked up and stood at the actual alter to speak, not at the lectern that the lectors usually stand at. The scene was coming into clearer view for me. I had to peer through an opening to see the congregation in front of me. The sky was clear but growing darker. I began to speak. The passage I wrote was only one paragraph long. Father Halabura sat behind me as I spoke. As I continued to read, I noticed that what I wrote was actually a page and a half long, the typical length of one of my meditation writings. As I continued to read, I would occasionally lose my exact spot. During those times, I would ad lib my speech, adding a flair of emotion to my words to hide my momentary “lost”-ness.
When I was halfway through the speech, the sky had become so dark that I could no longer read clearly. I saw a light bulb with a cord attached to it hanging down over my head. I reached up and pulled the cord to turn the light on. As I turned back to my paper, I was surprised to see how much I had actually written. This was only supposed to be a brief introduction. Instead, it was an entire lesson. As the church scene faded out, the chanting of Nityananda’s name continued on in the background. I soon woke up to face the new day.
I thought to myself, “Wow, what a blessed way to start the day!” But then I realized something very humbling: today was just another day in the life of an autie. I spent the next thirty minutes just lying there in bed, recounting my life which, despite rays of hope and moments of upsets, never seemed much to talk about; I’ve been driving around in an airplane that never got off the ground in fifty years. So too on this day, nothing is different.
Despite all the time I spent on the ground, I always knew that I was THIS close to losing everything. I had ALWAYS had someone show up in my life at the right time to rescue me from total doom or to give me a chance at something, even if it was just a chance to have a bed to sleep in. The best lesson I’ve learned in this lifetime so far is to not fear. Near the time I was born, I learned very quickly to not fear illness. I don’t know how old I was or which illness it was (I had many in my early childhood), but I remember an event (or was it a dream) when two angels comforted me. They even showed me what Heaven was like. It was all so fascinating – a place without pain, a place without fear. I never feared illness again, neither when I had open heart surgery in 1981 nor when I suffered a stroke in 2009.
When I underwent a heart procedure in 1999 to correct the worst case of Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome that Dr. Francis Marchlinski, a world expert in cardiac arrhythmias, has ever seen, I again was oh so close to my death. Now during such procedures, they may play music that the patient likes in order to make the patient comfortable. My choice was the Guru Gita followed by the chant Govinda Jaya Jaya. At the point when Dr. Marchlinski warned me that this may be the end, I simply lied back and said to Gurumayi, “All I ask is that I get to meet Baba on the way out.” And just like that my heart started beating normally again. Dr. Marchlinski and his entire staff stood there in awe, wondering what had just happened.
Fear of illness and fear of death have no grip on me. But there were other fears to conquer. During my times of wandering here and there, trying to start practices to no avail, between 2000 and 2001, I always had my parents’ home to go back to temporarily. The first time I was truly “homeless”, in October of 2001, I was blessed to work in an office, my office at the truck stop, that had its own private shower facility. When I was in fear of losing even that much, I met my (former) wife Bianca. During my almost ten years of marriage with her, I learned that I had autism. That alone was a huge prayer answered. I finally, after 45 years, knew why I was so “different”.
Now I am here in Arizona. I shared in my last writing what brought me here. But the story doesn’t end there. There were more fears to conquer. Again I was faced with homelessness, and I was taken in by an understanding friend. Also faced with being penniless, I would go about my days sulking that I would be unable to manage – unable to eat, unable to go anywhere, unable to have opportunities to promote myself. Only by budgeting my last few dollars, and on some days pennies, do I manage to keep going, somehow. Thanks to having two regular patients at this point, I know that I will have something to live on.
People may wonder why I am unable to find part-time employment. When in Minnesota, as here in Arizona, people feel quite queasy about working with a guy who is SUPPOSED to be a doctor but ended up being a security guard at a theater (something I did for 18 months in downtown Minneapolis). Most companies just don’t bother calling, rationalizing that I would be gone in just a couple weeks when I finally have this whopping successful practice.
I would say that I conquered all fear. Illness, death, homelessness, pennilessness, and even lack of credibility. Yes, the fear of lack of credibility also came into play on those occasions when people would walk out of my office saying, “You’re not a real doctor.” Having autism is hard enough. Having nothing else is even harder.
John Milton once wrote, “Farewell Hope, and with Hope farewell Fear.” Well, even though I said farewell to my fears, hope can never die. I have a Gurudeva. Despite having absolutely nothing in the worldly sense, or even in a mind-ful sense, I have EVERYTHING in the spiritual sense.
Jesus said, “He who has no concern for his life in this world will keep it to life eternal.” (John 12:25, The Lamsa Translation) While I cannot say that I am not concerned, by concern paying me no mind I guess I have no place here. It doesn’t mean that I will leave it like someone who has lost even hope. I have not lost hope that I have a purpose here. If God had deemed that I had none left, then I would not be here. But I do know that I may be reconnecting with Siddhaloka once I leave this world.
Sadgurunath Maharaj Ki Jay!
No comments:
Post a Comment