

The Simplicity of Innocence

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By

Sandy Schider

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Sandy Schider at Smashwords

The Simplicity of Innocence

Copyright 2013 by Sandy Schider

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The Simplicity of Innocence

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By Sandy Schider

**Table of Contents**

Forward

Good Friday

Meeting Jesus

Childhood

Snowflakes in May

A Friend named Summer

Sister Mary Trinity

My Grandmother

Stella

Teenage Years

Young Adult

The Tin Man

Simeon

The Turtle and the Soldier

See God Yet?

What Just Happened Here?

The Farmer

Ansei

Meeting Ansei

All in a Day's Work

Star

My Guardian Angels

The Giant

The Death of a Friend

Jim Wax half Man half God

The Storm

Chiou

Teacher

Chiou and the Hawks

The Magician

The Three O'clock Messenger

Magic Happens

A Dog called Mushin

The Cross on the Road

Magic Happens Here

My Meeting with Cheyenne

The Light Travelers

Simon the Cross Carrier

Noah the Wood Carver

Nora the Bag Lady

Amber Dawn

Israel the Jamaican

Morty O'Brien

The Meeting

Final Thoughts

Healing prayer from the Mother of John the Baptist

About the Author

Forward

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In my early twenties, I was pulled over for speeding. As I defiantly looked into the officer's eyes, he asked me if I had a problem with authority figures. I said, "No Sir. I have no problem with God." I guess he wasn't ready for that response. He put his ticket book away and walked back to his patrol car.

Simplicity is living in a screenplay called life. Innocence is the director that will lead you home. While standing in the middle of nowhere, I watch humanity pretend to be somewhere. Man's law, not sacred law, challenges all who have entered the arena of time and replaced love with fear. When Mercy and Compassion disappeared into the realm of darkness, all life forms became a part of the 'Why Am I here?' enigma. Humanity was a movie script called Love and War. What started out as pure spiritual energy has now entered into a slaughterhouse of flesh becoming unconscious machines that do not think, or feel? According to my friend Chiou, the brain's only purpose is to keep these machines running to create mental images of a world that appears to be real. The invented circle of death they call home is just another war zone in the life of Mankind. We have created a heartless video game and do not know how to pull the plug. Our occupations have stolen our souls and made us something where not.

"If my body is occupied by a brain that doesn't think or feel past the tip of the nose Chiou, who wiggles my fingers and blinks my eyes?" I asked.

"Once you use the word 'my' Sandy, you separate yourself from all of creation. There is no 'my' in the creation of endlessness. The all-loving fourth-dimensional puppeteer wiggles your fingers and blinks your eyes. When this Most Holy Absolute pulls the strings, everything moves. This all-loving being is the spiritual force that leads us back to our original source in creation. Our obligation in this lifetime is to cut the strings and become a part of that creation. Man's authority has created an optical illusion to deliberately fool the soul as it is consumed by the jaws of the ego."

"I know that Chiou. I never had a problem with spiritual authority only with man's delusions of authority."

Conveying the right message at the right time can be rewarding for all involved. Most people talk 'at' each other instead of talking 'to' each other. We are not interested in listening, but in challenging thoughts not yet spoken. These daily conversations of insanity we have will never give us the sane answers we are looking for. How can you communicate to a world that is trying to squeeze orange juice out of an apple?

Remember, the world is the Ego's hunting ground, camouflaging the very essence of the soul's message. The ego stole our salvation and locked us up in the illusion of time. The worst thing you can do to the ego is to talk about the unknown. If life held no mysteries or deep secrets, the ego would no longer be able to continue playing the everyday mind games we torture ourselves with.

Life really isn't a mystery. What is yours was always here. What is not yours was never here to begin with. You are a Child of God when you are not playing life's game. The path of salvation you choose will bring redemption to a world in search of peace. In the end, the Phantom in the mirror will be your only answer in resurrecting your self. This phantom will either be your key to open all doors, or your prison cell for life.

Through sickness and in health, until death do we part? Will this marriage of soul into flesh eventually divorce itself or become one with God while still alive in a body on hallowed ground?

The choice of walking on water or drowning was mine alone. The church I was given at birth has no altar or stained glass windows, but blue skies, mountains, and oceans. This roller coaster ride I call life never had wheels or tracks, but sails filled with the winds of destiny.

When you have lived on this Earth without leaving any footprints, you have accomplished walking on water. When past memories of fear and guilt have been dissolved, you will realize that the world you lived in was never real to begin with. Being in this world, but not of this world has its advantages. You can be anything you want at any time you want when experiencing this life through the eyes of the soul. When you see life with the eyes, you are blinded by life. When you see life through the eyes, you become life. Man's greatest fears come from everything he relates to in his unconscious world. He is a prisoner captured by his own surroundings trying to solve a spiritual challenge by making something real that never was real. You can only find yourself by finding the original thought that created you. Listen to the listener inside of yourself who is always there when ever you open your feeling center. The portal doors of resurrection are everywhere, waiting to be opened. The answers of why you were born and how to face death lay not within the five senses but in the creation of a sixth sense. "The invisible one."

An empty mirror does not mean you are not somewhere in the room. It is just reminding you that life is more than a reflection. The choices you make in life will determine how you die in the end. The soul's gift to life is the death of the Ego before the physical body dies. This is where Heaven and Earth become one and the thoughts of Hell are replaced with forgiveness. When this is accomplished, two will become one and sons and daughters of god are born.

Always remember who you are, when you are not being who you think you are. An absolute moment in time is God finding you in a place where you cannot hide.

My all loving, friend, Chiou, once said, "Individuals are the breeding grounds for the Ego's existence."

Jesus and Buddha taught, "Make not yourself separate from each other but become one and experience being whole."

When you find your oneness in this family of humanity, a thousand angels will give your feet wings and make every step you take as light as a feather. May you always walk on air as long as you live and find the answers that are essential in freeing your Soul and let the great spirits of the universe shine their eternal light upon you.

My friends Chiou and Ansei reminded me to ask the questions that encouraged my spiritual growth. They were adamant that everything outside of us is the teacher as long as we remain the students. I must confess. To this day, I am still the student and my life is still a classroom.

The stories I share here are true stories of magic that happens for us all when The Simplicity of Innocence opens our hearts.

Always,

Sandy

**Good Friday**

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The year was 1954. It was Good Friday. The figures in the stained glass windows were coming alive as the morning sun shimmered through the glass of many colors. The smell of burning incense and the flickering flames of candles made from beeswax permeated the crowded church. I could hear Monsignor Murray's familiar voice. There I was, a two thousand year old soul in the body of a seven-year-old child trying to stay awake in the house of God.

I knew I was living in a world of people who were constantly in motion but going nowhere. The walking dead go about their daily rituals without a clue as to why they are here. They remind me of the shadows in the valley of death in the twenty- third psalm: mindless ghosts wandering endlessly in the arena of time, knowing their only reward at the end of life is the death of their own Identity.

I was not judging anyone, just contemplating the situation we are all born into. As I remember the blind souls on their knees praying to their invented God, I think of the messengers and prophets of the past. If they were to appear today, how would their message be received? Is it even possible to convey ancient knowledge lost for centuries to a modern day society? How will the message be delivered to a word-oriented generation when words have their limitations?

The fact that each person's perception of words is different makes the spiritual message almost impossible to deliver. One word has one meaning to one person and a completely different meaning to someone else. Our associations with words can paint a completely separate picture for each one of us. The law of association will make our life's experiences quite different. I know why my Grandmother said words were invented to confuse and challenge the soul. Try bringing a conscious message into the illusion of time, where real is not real.

With my head resting on Grandma's lap, I gazed into the glass eyes of Aunt Laura's Raccoon shoulder wrap and fell into a deep hypnotic sleep; self-hypnosis was a trait I mastered long ago. While in this hypnotic sleep I called upon my spiritual guides to help me in the art of escaping the flesh. My favorite pastime was Light traveling. As a Sagittarian, I had no trouble leaving my body. It gave me the vacation I needed from my one-man prison cell. These journeys would sometimes take me anywhere in or even out of the illusion time.

I would venture into the future or back into the past, never knowing where my soul might take me. When I went on these journeys, my soul would always land me in the right place at the right time. Yes, it was always the right time and my journeys never failed to teach me about this vast universe. Some gave me the wisdom and knowledge of the future of the world. But don't worry. The end of the world is not in its destruction but perched at the acceleration of its evolution.

Hearing the sound of an old friend calling, I started to prepare myself. The familiar high-pitched vibration that turns human cells into spirit was warning me that it was time to travel into another dimension.

Within seconds, time stopped. My breathing became shallow. As my heart slowed down to a few beats per minute, there I was, moving across the universe in God's perpetual motion machine.

Sometimes my light traveling trips would last for weeks, while only a few minutes passed in the period I was projecting from. This phenomena, gave me time to accomplish my missions without anyone knowing I was gone. This trip was no different then the others except for the fact I was looking through the eyes of a total stranger. This had never happened to me before. I always picked a conscious body I knew I could learn from. It was easy for me to enter a body I picked myself. I felt a little disoriented, but calmly settled down into my new dwelling as I realized higher forces had definitely picked the body I had just entered. I was having a 'lost and found experience'. Entering into someone else's thought process required time to adjust my state of consciousness in a new dwelling.

Even though the bodies I entered were not aware of my presence, I still needed to respect their sleeping soul. You know, the "thou shall not steal" thing. Always remember the body is just a mechanical machine as long as the soul is asleep. As frightening as this might sound, most of the people you meet in life are just dead bodies with sleeping souls. These mechanical machines, appearing to be real, are just a part of the "why am I here" enigma.

As I opened my eyes, I was looking at the world through the eyes of a sail maker named Israel. I would meet Israel again in my future on the south shore of Long Island.

Meeting Jesus

From where I stood, I could see the Sea of Galilee; it was as beautiful as when I last left her shoreline. I knew every inch of this place from past journeys. I felt at home. The sun was just coming up over the horizon and the fishermen were casting their nets out on the open waters.

Looking down from the hillside, I could see men and women mending nets and repairing boats. The smell of fresh bread soaked in olive oil filled the morning air. Lambs were slowly roasting on open fire pits and would be served on the evening's dinner plates.

I heard dogs barking and children laughing in the distance as they glided their kites along the beach. "Where are you coming from young man?" A voice called out from a tent.

"Hello. I am Israel."

"Oh yes, my boy we have been waiting for you, the master sail maker from Capernaum that is desperately needed here! Come. Sit in my humble tent Israel and rest. Please help yourself to some fresh baked bread and wine."

The old man introduced himself, "I am Simeon the village elder and this is my wife Sara. We were just talking about you and out of nowhere you appear, right on time. We were hoping that you would honor us by staying for dinner tonight. Maybe you could bring us up to date on what is happening in Capernaum."

"Thank you, Simeon, I appreciate your hospitality."

"In the morning, Israel, I will introduce you to some of the villagers and local fishermen so you don't feel like a stranger here."

"Thank you for all that you and Sara are doing. I promise to repay you."

"That's not necessary, Israel. Well, maybe you could do one thing for me. Did anything strange happen on the way to Galilee? Was there anything at all out of the ordinary going on?"

"No Simeon. Why are you asking?"

"Well, ever since he appeared a couple of months ago, strange things have been happening.

"Since who appeared?"

"I don't know that much about him Israel but I have seen him in the market place. The locals say once you meet him you will never be the same again. He is being described as some kind of magician or prophet. Some of the high priests in the temple are trying to portray him as a messenger of the Devil. If anyone has a partnership with the Devil, Israel, its those self-proclaimed holy men locked up in that hole they call the house of God. If I had my way, Israel, I would tear their Temple down and bury them alive in it."

Sara started to laugh. "Simeon, stop with the politics and tearing down temples. Israel is going to think you are a mad man!"

"Well, Sara, you know that I am right."

"What is his name Simeon? The one they call the prophet?" I asked.

"Some call him Panther bar Joseph others called him Jesus of Nazareth. If you ask me, he is probably just another crazy person too lazy to do an honest days work. Israel, are you ok?"

"If you only knew, Simeon."

"Did I say something to upset you Israel? "Simeon asked.

"No, Simeon, I was just talking to myself."

"Leave the boy alone Simeon he has had a long trip I am sure he could use some rest," Sara said to my relief. I could not believe what I was hearing. I was actually at the right place at the right time where the man they called Jesus walked the Earth. My soul started to vibrate at such a high frequency that I thought I would disappear at any moment. My travels have taken me to many places in many different bodies over the past thousand years I never knew if that one magical portal would open. Today was definitely my time to shine. Now I knew why the higher forces picked the body of a sail maker called Israel. His body just happened to walk through that one portal into the place where the man Christianity called the Son of God was abiding. All the questions that had haunted me were finally going to be answered.

While pondering my situation, I heard Simeon's voice in the distance ask, "Where did you just go, Israel?"

"I was just thinking about what you were just saying, Simeon, about some crazy person too lazy to do an honest day's work."

"There is no lack of laziness here in Galilee," Simeon acknowledged.

I felt Jesus would definitely get a laugh out of Simeon's compliment.

"Israel?"

"Yes, Simeon?"

"The fishermen he made friends with say he came out of Judea. From what I understand, he is related to that crazy bastard who has been preaching fire and brimstone down on the Jordan, trying to baptize every sinner in Jerusalem. The villagers say he lives on honey and locusts. My friend Noah stopped to talk to him one morning. The conversations Noah had with this mad man were definitely one sided and made no sense at all. Comments like:

'I came into this world not to die but raise my soul from the dead'. What does that mean? The shepherds on the hillsides are terrified of him. They say the eerie screams coming out of the night breezes, sound like wounded animals crying out in agony.

"His cries of 'Repent, calling out you crawling vipers,' and 'recognize the Holy One's foot steps you wretched slugs' would echo across the countryside.

"Noah could not get away from him fast enough. And, anyway, what gives John the Baptist the right to call us sinners?"

As I listened to Simeon's friend's description of John the Baptist, I thought if only they knew that this mad man they called the Baptist actually paved the way for God to come into this world disguised as the man called Jesus, they would be on their knees in awe of John's completed mission.

With my emotions riding high, I really wanted to share the real story of John the Baptist with Simeon and Sara. After thinking it over, I knew it was best not to start a war of words with Simeon. I had the feeling I would lose anyway, and could find myself standing in line with the rest of his so called 'crazies.'

Also, Sara was one of the best cooks in Galilee and I didn't want to ruffle her feathers and miss a well-cooked dinner. Even light travelers have a motive when it comes to good food. "Did your friend Noah ever meet Jesus?" I asked.

"Well actually, he worked for the carpenter Joseph off and on for years. Noah said the boy Jesus taught him how to carve all kinds of things. The boy's specialty was carving animals. Sometimes Jesus would sit at his workbench for hours talking to the piece of wood before he started carving. Strange boy, that Jesus. Noah told me that half the time Jesus would answer his questions before he had a chance to open his mouth. Then Jesus would just start laughing.

"Noah said the boy was always laughing. He wasn't sure if Jesus was just a happy child or maybe just a little crazy upstairs. At the same time, he always felt Jesus did have some kind of mystical presence about him. Jesus once told Noah that he would be a Light Traveler someday and travel to another place in time to help raise the souls of thousands who were instantly taken out of this world during a tragic moment in history. Noah said Jesus did have this uncanny way of reading the future. There were other times when Noah was not sure what to believe or not to believe. When Noah and his wife, Ann, were having dinner with us, he told me that some of the carvings that Jesus had completed looked so real he could have sworn some of them moved.

"I was surprised to hear that coming from Noah. Noah was not a stargazer. Noah was the one man I knew had his feet firmly planted on the ground."

"Simeon, your friend, Noah, did he ever think that John the Baptist or Jesus might have some message to give the world?" I asked.

"Absolutely not. There was never a message. Whether it was yesterday, today or two thousand years from now, they are nothing but a bunch of no good daydreaming charlatans with nothing better to do with their lives."

While listening to Simeon and hearing Noah's description of these ferocious warriors as daydreamers and loafers, I started to ponder their situation. I thought about the unrecorded history of the spiritual world, wondering how many times these men and women came into this world disguised in the bodies of Saints and Prophets, never being recognized for their efforts in helping raise the Spiritual evolution of humanity?

I wondered if they would be recognized in the twenty-first century when they return as teachers of the light. Maybe they would meet with the same fate that John the Baptist met with, when Herod granted the wishes of a young female dancer and gave her the head of John on a silver platter. Or maybe they would be crucified upside down like the apostle Peter for spreading the word of Jesus. Perhaps their fate would fall to the savage method of stoning people to death while the crowds cheered or simply nailed to a cross like the carpenter.

As I contemplated the future of the world and its messengers, I heard Simeon's voice in the distance, "Israel, wake up. Sara has dinner ready."

The word 'food' was the one thing that could wake my mind from the fog instantly. The dinner Sara prepared was absolutely out of this world, and it reminded me of the way my Jewish Grandma prepared her meals. After dinner, I asked Simeon to tell me more about the Nazarene, "Simeon could you describe him in your own words? You know. What is he all about?" "

"Well, Israel, I remember one day when a crowd of people were gathering around one of the shepherd's dog that had been bitten by a poisonous viper."

"What happened then, Simeon?"

"Some of the village loafers said he put his left hand on the wounds and the marks disappeared. If you ask me, I think the shepherd and his cross-eyed friends had a little too much wine to drink and imagining they saw the poisonous bite. The adults say his presence make them feel emotionally and spiritually naked. The children that gather around him are always happy and laughing. Even the troublemakers, take a break from their everlasting mischief when he is around.

"Some of the people in the village call him the dream-weaver. Whenever he walks through the streets late at night, he appears in their dreams helping them with their daily health and emotional challenges. The sick say that by sunrise their illnesses are cured.

"I do not know why, Israel, but I am always a little skeptical when I hear these stories about Jesus. There have been days when I wished I were as positive as Sara and the rest of the villagers that Jesus actually did these things. You know, Israel, there is a part of me that really wants to believe that Jesus performed these acts of kindness."

By describing the miracles as acts of kindness, Simeon gave everyone a chance to perform their own daily miracles.

"You know something, Israel? I guess a little hope for these miserable people in this dark and dreaded world cannot be that bad.

"Israel, I could sit here for days telling you stories about this Jesus character, whether there true or not. The stories go on forever I remember talking to Peter, one of the local fishermen and a follower of Jesus, who had not caught a fish for months. One day he takes Jesus out fishing and before you know it, Peter's and the rest of the fishermen's nets were filled with fish.

"The strangest stories I have heard about the Nazarene are his sightings. He has been known to be in three or four difference places at the same time. Sometimes with the High Priest, sometimes with ordinary people with the large crowds he drew. Some have said he has stayed until sunrise with Mary Magdalene, the town whore.

"There have also been conflicting answers to his involvement with the politics of that murdering scum Barabbas and his gang of thieves. I guess he doesn't mind the company he keeps. Whenever I talk to people who have met him, they say they can never get enough of him. He always has the answers and the energy to deliver the word.

"Even the animals seem to recognize a part of themselves in this Jesus. If you want to meet him, you can catch him tomorrow walking the shore line at sunrise."

"Simeon, are you telling me he is here now, in Galilee? "I asked.

"Yes, my boy."

My trip started to make sense to me. Now I knew why the higher forces picked the body of a sail maker named Israel. Morning could not have come any faster. I saw a young man, maybe in his late twenties or early thirties, in the distance walking along the shoreline surrounded by dozens of children and animals fading in and out of the sunlight.

His body reflected everything around him.

As he got closer, I could see the dark color of his skin. His high cheekbones and short-cropped black hair gave him the appearance of a Native American warrior. His liquid black eyes said everything about his mission. As I stood there with my open heart bleeding, this ancient warrior greeted me with a huge genuine hug.

His laughter and joyful gestures were contagious.

I was amazed at the simplicity of his soft-spoken voice. The energy surrounding his body seemed to be protecting the very essence of God from the thieves of the world. As he put his left hand on my right shoulder, I could feel the force of this energy starting to pull me into a higher spiritual consciousness.

His eyes and smile reassured me that the guilt and fear I was carrying were just human emotions created by negative thoughts, and with the right work on myself, these things would eventually dissolve. You cannot love someone who does not love himself; you can only be a reflection of love for them Jesus acknowledged. In the presence of this extraordinary being I regained my childhood innocence. Yes. Heaven had just entered the beating heart of a child. In the weeks ahead, I just sat back and enjoyed every second with this unique and humble human being. Thoughts that had kept me in prison for years were finally erased on that incredible Saturday morning. For the first time in my life, I saw myself through the eyes of God. For weeks I listened to him not preach to the crowds but teach them a method of seeing each other, not as separate bodies, but as reflections of each other.

The crowds were mesmerized by his wisdom as he melted their thoughts into one universal mind. He reminded me of a human microphone sending out spiritual sound waves dissolving every cancerous thought of doubt and guilt the crowds carried.

As I walked with Jesus from one village to the next, I observed his body language and was sure that some invisible puppeteer was directing his every movement. He was walking on this Earth, but was not of this Earth. There were no time outs in his spiritual game; you either played hard or were lost forever.

"Tonight, my sisters and bothers we drink and eat. Tomorrow we will visit the thieves in the market place and shed some light on the dilemma they brought upon themselves," Jesus said.

"What do you mean by that, Jesus?" Someone yelled out.

"Thieves are those who fill their houses with anger and fear instead of love. The emotions of Pain and Guilt they create is then unleashed on the world disguised as war in the name of God and country. The destruction these wars create can be devastating, lasting for years at the expense of the innocents." There was a lot of tension mounting in the crowd after that statement. "Listen, I am not taking sides here," Jesus said. There is no good in any kind of war; the dilemma that human beings have created for themselves can disappear in a second. The sad part is they do not realize you cannot have a war if no one participates on either side."

As I stood there listening to him talk, I started thinking to myself. No wonder the government in power wanted him crucified. This was not going to be a religious slaughter but a political assassination.

The messenger was here, but was the world ready for the message?

Everywhere we went people greeted him with reverence. The gratitude in their eyes was unexplainable yet thankful for his presence, if just for a moment.

As evening rolled over the untamed landscape, we approached the last village before dark. An old man, probably in his eighties, wanted to know where do we go when we die.

Jesus noticed the expression on my face and starting laughing. "Only the old with one foot in the grave always ask that question Israel. The young are too busy living to be concerned with death."

"Old man, your interpretation of who you are through the five senses steals your natural perception of yourself. Your death has nothing to do with who you are. Mother nature has robbed you by giving you a false identity. The faces you see in this lifetime are just illusionary Phantoms of the Earth. Phantoms cannot die because they never existed."

"So you are saying I was never born? Try to tell the tax collectors you were never born, and see what happens!" Someone shouted.

"What I am saying is your body is just a shell protecting a sleeping seed we call the soul waiting to germinate in this unconscious dream we call life. When this communion between spirit and flesh is consummated, you will become one with this entity we call God."

An angry voice shouted, "Are you telling us we are not born with a soul?"

"Yes and no. You were born with a sleeping seed that if actively cultivated through conscious work on oneself will eventually become the Soul. There lies your freedom of free will and choice.

"When the Soul is finally born, it stays in the physical realm to find itself by losing itself in the body of flesh. When the time comes for the soul to go back home, the body will radiate and disappear. You don't have to die to experience Heaven. The rapture lies in experiencing the soul's exit before the physical body dies. By passing this spiritual test of free will, the soul earns the love of the Absolute Almighty Creator and eventually enters through heaven's door of eternity.

"I know what I am saying is hard for you to digest, old man, but once you understand that this world you perceive as your home never happened, you will also realize there is nothing here to die."

"So, you are telling me I was never born."

"Yes and no. As I said earlier, you were created to be the host of a sleeping seed. Once this seed resurrects a soul from the physical apparatus we call man, we just become another walking, talking illusion, and eventually disappear.

What is real is real. What is not, real never existed. The completion of the Soul is forever; the physical body of man is not.

"The old man thanked Jesus for his after life explanation, even though he looked a little confused. You can imagine that, after that bit of unexpected news about dying, the crowd started getting rowdy.

"If I am not real, then what is the point in being here?" Mumbled one gent.

"I wish my wife wasn't real!" Another voice yelled from the crowd.

As the crowd got larger and angrier, the women surrounded Jesus to protect him from any harm. People were shouting, "Who does this carpenter's son think he is?"

Jesus was a master of getting people to ask themselves the why questions.

As I watched him disappear into the starlit night still laughing, I wondered what it would be like, to be one of the only humans in this world who knew the secret of all creation.

That evening, I headed back to Simeon and Sara's tent. Even though it was late, Sara had dinner sitting on the table. She was standing there with such hope in her eyes. "Isn't it wonderful listening to Jesus, Israel? All the girls think he is so handsome."

"Well, Sara, that didn't occur to me, but now that you mention it, he is a good looking man."

"I sometimes don't know why, Israel, but I seem to understand his every word."

'I think, Sara, that some of us who are in this world, but not of this world have the ability to listen with an inner eye. We listen with the heart and do not judge with the mind."

"Oh, by the way, Israel, some of the villagers are going down to the Jordan tomorrow. John the Baptist will be there, baptizing and teaching the word. Would you like to join us Israel?"

"I would not miss seeing John for anything, Sara."

As we approached the Jordon River that morning, the sun was already baking the landscape. In the distance, I could see a whirlwind of energy surrounding a small figure. He was moving with such ferocity that I thought the Devil himself would fear his presence. John the Baptist was standing there not in front of some altar decorated with gold crucifixes and candleholders, but in a crowd of lost Souls delivering the Lord's message. The sounds that were coming out of his short but stocky body were frightening. His jet-black hair and beard were long and matted exposing the fire in his piercing black eyes every time he moved his head. His clothes were ragged and torn but were as clean as the soul of the man who wore them. As the sun was rising over the Jordan, the presence of John's being reminded me of a wild animal ready for the kill. No wonder the stories I heard about him were terrifying. You could hear his voice ringing out in a ghostly fashion, bouncing off every lost soul in the ten-mile radius of his teaching. "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven," echoed into the hot desert sun. His thunderous voice had the roar of a mother lion protecting her cubs. "There is only one eye. The eye of God," he shouted out. "The only eye bringing sight to the blind. The lord is our spiritual Shepherd and is among us now. His mission is to resurrect God's universal fire and anoint all these hopeless souls trapped in bodies of dead bones. Repent, you slugs, who pretend to be the Holy of Holies in the face of God!"

The fire was flying off him into the hearts and minds of everyone on the riverbank. There was a feeling of fire roaming through every grain of sand in the desert, baptizing every sinner in its path. As the morning progressed, John started turning into the voices of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and the disciple John all rolled up in one message.

His agonizing call for all souls to repent in the wildness was haunting. I listened and watched him for hours as he mesmerized the people there. His knowledge of the human condition was inspiring and hopeless at the same time. He spoke with such wisdom and clarity, you felt as if Jesus himself was their blessing you.

John talked about future generations of highly evolved children bringing the Christ consciousness into the world, changing the evolution of all humankind and the entire animal kingdom as well. "There will be less hunger and disease in the world," he cried out like a wounded wolf howling at a full moon. "Most of us will be healing not stealing from each other!"

"The pure essence of the earth will rise up and give birth. All will feel this spiritual birth and take flight. The only war in the world will be the destruction of war. The hearts of humanity will recognize the enemy is not there or here. The real enemy is the guilt we carry in our hearts from birth, inflicting our unconscious pain on every bleeding heart by avoiding our own needed heart surgery. Everyone listen. I am John the Baptist, and I did not come here just to teach the word today. I want you all to become mirrors for each other. Reflect and realize you are all one spirit living in different physical forms on this road called life. Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you. Peace be with you my children."

That morning as I left the Baptist at the river, I had the strange feeling that John and Jesus were made from the same spiritual essence.

It was already lunchtime as we approached Simeon's tent. He was excited to see me and told me he found a place where I could work while in Galilee. He also wanted to know what my plans were for Passover week. Next week was Passover and the Dark Panther we now call Jesus would enter Jerusalem through the south gates. Here, he would be crucified, accomplishing the mission he came into the world for: The resurrection of God.

That week the streets, inns, and marketplaces were packed, and there was no shortage of Passover food. The wine, bread, lamb and fish were endless. I could feel the joy and happiness of every person hanging in the air over Jerusalem, while nature provided everything they needed. What could possibly go wrong?

An old gray haired woman with one eye standing and selling bread and fish grabbed my arm. "My name is Nora," she said. "My boy, remember what happens here tomorrow. There will be a time in the future when we will cross paths and experience one of New York's greatest tragedies together. We will help the lost souls who are caught up in this human tragedy find their way back home again."

She had to be a light traveler to know about a city that would not exist for another two thousand years. Spiritual light travelers have a way of recognizing one other the instant they meet. For one reason or another, my meeting with Nora made me feel uneasy. I wondered what she meant about remembering what happens tomorrow. As Nora disappeared into the crowd, something in the air changed. Dark clouds were rolling in over the tranquil landscape. I would have left this scene immediately if it had not been for the invitation from Jesus himself. I was about to attend a midnight supper that was being prepared, to my surprise, by Simeon's wife, Sara. It was being held in the upper room of a local inn in the honor of Jesus and his close friends.

It was already Thursday evening. When I entered the upper room of the inn, the sweet smell of food and incense was intoxicating. Sara greeted me, as always, with a huge smile.

"I would like you to meet a friend of mine, Israel. Her name is Mary Magdalene, and she is a long-time friend of Jesus."

"My pleasure, Mary."

"She and some of the other women will help with dinner tonight, Israel."

As the magic hour approached, a young man, who could have been the twin brother of Jesus, announced that tonight we would celebrate, fulfilling the spiritual journey that bought us all together. The man was none other then Judas of Iscariot, whom I later learned was the most conscious and trusted Disciple of Jesus. The high Priests invented the story of his betrayal to discredit this most loyal spiritual brother of Jesus. Upon meeting this remarkable man, I felt that Judas, like John the Baptist, was made of the same spiritual essence as Jesus.

Jesus began the evening ceremony saying, "Since the beginning of time, only one hundred eight humans have created the right conditions for resurrecting their souls and becoming one with the entity we call God. Their journeys have taken them to all parts of the universe. Because of their relentless spiritual work while on earth, they have acquired the knowledge to create their own worlds and become Gods themselves."

"This gift was given to them by the all-loving absolute whole that created God. Please remember this: anyone or anything born on this planet, man or animal, can become a part of everything or a part of nothing. We and we alone can make the conscious choice of returning to dust or resurrecting to God. The world you live in is a spiritual garden created for one purpose alone: to develop the seed of eternity into the evolving soul it was meant to be."

As the evening wore on Jesus talked about an ancient group called 'the fellowship of Blood Brothers and Sisters.' The ceremony he was about to share with us was the exact ritual the fellowship had preformed for thousands of years.

The ritual began with Jesus taking a drop of his blood and putting it in his wine cup. The cup was then passed round room to all those who wanted to participate. He then said with joy, "Drink this, my body of universal love, and be a part of the whole throughout eternity!" The vibrations in the room were extraordinary.

Everyone and everything in the room became translucent. At that instant, our bodies were turning into perfect blue spheres. The language of spiritual telepathy was communicated through our new bodies until sunrise. If you ever want to experience heaven on earth, have dinner with Jesus.

It was early Friday morning when Jesus and some of his disciples journeyed up to Gethsemane for their morning prayers where they encountered the Roman soldiers who intended to deliver Jesus into the hands of Pilate. Judas, who tried standing between Jesus and the soldiers, was severely beaten. Reality was now setting in for the followers of Jesus and they disappeared into the early morning darkness, frightened for their lives.

As I ventured out into the streets of Jerusalem, I found myself in a place of death and destruction. I was struck by the difference in people's attitudes from just the night before. The smell of human sweat and decay filled the air as the walking dead gathered to participate in the execution of this extraordinary being. It started to rain, and the dust in the air was turning into mud. The rotten food being devoured by the rodents and dogs was everywhere.

Drunks and whores filled the alleyways with their screams of lust.

After days of celebration, most of the children were so dirty, that they smelled like sewer rats. There in the distance came the most terrifying sound imaginable.

"There he is, the bastard son of that whore, Mary, and the pathetic apprentice of Joseph, the so called carpenter!" The roar of the crowd was causing a violent frenzy in every living creature in sight. I was feeling sick. Every cell in my body was turning cancerous. A small bird lying on the ground was so paralyzed by the negative energy of the crowd that it lost its will to fly.

What came next, not even the Devil could have foreseen.

About a hundred feet away, soaked in blood from head to toe, dragging a huge cross up a rocky steep path was Jesus smiling as he fell for the second time. A young girl, no more then fourteen years old, knelt down on the muddy ground and wiped the blood and sweat off the face of Jesus while being kicked and punched by one of the Roman soldiers. To add to her misery, a group of old men came out of the crowd throwing stones at her and calling her a whore for helping the Nazarene. As I helped her shaken body stand, beautiful green eyes stared back at me and she said, "I am Veronica the granddaughter of Mordecai the village Rabbi. Do not worry about what happens to me here today. I was born for this moment. And you, beautiful boy, we will definitely meet again in the future."

When I met Veronica again, it was in a coffee shop in New York's Greenwich Village. She was smiling at me with those beautiful green eyes. Her name was Amber Dawn.

As Jesus tried to stand up under the weight of the cross, the crowd just laughed and jeered at him. The wine they were spitting on him smelled like sour vinegar. The awful sounds of screaming, "Crucify him!" was electrifying. Even the dogs that were usually resting under some shady tree this time of day were caught up in this cruel display of human madness. The louder the crowd got the more vicious these animals became. Men, women and children of all ages were caught up in this horrible cruelty.

The negative energy in the air was so damaging to the heart and soul that people were visibly turning into heartless savages. I could hear the dragging of the cross over the stones getting louder. As I watched him fall for the third time right in front of me, he turned his head, and smiled. The paralyzed bird immediately took to the sky.

I could see the similarity in the paralyzed bird and the body of Jesus. He to was waiting for that one moment to take off into eternity, never looking back. I was completely shocked. His liquid black eyes were so calm and innocent, as if to say" whatever you think you are seeing here today never happened." I felt him saying to me: If you can accept that this stage of life we perform on is not real, then you will realize the actors are not either.

"Sandy, listen to me. All of the light travelers you have met here in Jerusalem will meet you again in the future. Their task and yours in that lifetime will to be teachers of the light.

"Israel Noah, Amber, Nora, Simon, Mordecai and all the others are just extensions of my essence in different bodies. They will help you in the future. The spiritual energy that will be created between all of you will automatically build an Ark of spiritual light shinning over Istanbul and the entire East coast of America. This Ark will save all souls who enter its open doors and protect them from the great flood of the everlasting universe. I will be with you shortly after the temples of the moneychangers in Manhattan are leveled to the ground."

I wondered how Jesus knew my name was Sandy and an Island called Manhattan then realized what a stupid question that was. When you are first and last, you are the past, present, and future. You are also the beginning and end.

Reality set in as my fog-cluttered mind awoke to the sound of the mob yelling out "Crucify him, crucify him!"

The Roman guard standing in front of me yelled out, "Hey, you, the black man they call Simon, get over here and help him carry this tree. I haven't got all day." Out of the crowd stepped Simon, a giant of a man. He at least was six foot six and weighed over three hundred pounds.

The crowd continued to yell out, "Crucify him!"

As Simon walked by, he looked straight at me saying, we will meet again in the future. Not only did Simon carry the cross to its final destination that awful day, but practically carried Jesus too. Simon would keep his promise.

While I stood there watching this man nailed to the cross consoling the thieves on either side of him to the very end, I finally experienced the true meaning of unconditional Love. The compassion coming from this extraordinary soul, who was still teaching to the very end, had no limitations.

As my time traveling cinema of the life of Christ started to fade and disappear, I woke up from my deep sleep looking up at Grandma's smile, wondering why my spirit brought me back to the trials and tribulations of my brother in Christ. As I picked my head up off Grandma's lap, still a little drowsy, and gazed into the glass eyes of Aunt Laura's Raccoon shoulder wrap, I heard Monsignor Murray finish the Stations of the Cross with "And on the third day, he rose from the dead, Amen."

**Childhood**

*********

**Snowflakes in May**

After Easter Sunday mass and Stations of the Cross with Grandma, I decided to give up light traveling for a while. The trip to Galilee was so emotionally exhausting; I needed a rest from my own mind. Now pushing the ripe old age of eight, and with the frequent visits from my spiritual guides, I, Sandy, found myself being a kid again. The warm spring sun energized my spirit. I was never alone during this phase of my life. My God was always with me, whether in the shape of a tree, a flower, or a full moon lighting up the midnight sky. I was never a stranger to myself. By always being myself, everything I felt and touched with the curiosity of a child's mind vibrated with answers. It was a magical time in my life. Disguised as a child I had the freedom to work on myself and complete the tasks I would be challenged with in this lifetime.

It was early May and school would be out in two weeks. My only mission was to head for the harbor. I loved the smell of saltwater and the sounds of seagulls squawking for their daily meals. As far as I was concerned, there was no place on earth like Cold Spring Harbor on a warm spring morning. Along the shoreline, the horseshoe crabs were swimming on their underwater highways. The fiddler crabs were darting in and out of their sand holes every time a wave came in.

My life was an adventure with a child's perception of being lost in this great illusion of nothingness. The fresh cut grass in the park filled the air with nature's perfume. As I approached the harbor, I could see the clam boats bringing in their catch of the day. In the nineteen fifties and sixties, Cold Spring Harbor was famous for its seafood restaurants like The Moorings, Joe's Neptune Cave, and the Irishman's bar and restaurant, Pat Margie's.

I was walking home that afternoon, counting the cracks in the sidewalk and feeding the ants bits and pieces of my candy bar, when I heard the sound of thunder in the distance. A Long Island thunderstorm was approaching the harbor's inlet. My experiences with these storms warned me to take cover immediately, but the spirit in me always wanted to experience that invisible communion with everything in nature. With Queeney, the family's golden retriever, by my side, what could possibly go wrong? Even at my age, I did manage to know one thing. When nature's tempest came calling, it was time to get out of dodge.

I was about halfway home when a whirling vortex of wind, rain, and lightening filled the sky. The torrential rain turned daylight into night. The temperature dropped rapidly and the air was charged with electricity. I could smell and taste the metallic elements in mouth. Queeney kept glancing back to make sure I was not losing ground. The trees bending towards the ground reminded me of praying monks giving Om to the great spirits of the wind. The town of Cold Spring Harbor was about to be baptized by the ancient rainmakers of the clouds. I loved the way these storms would interrupt everyday life and bring people into the now.

Queeney and I were almost home when all of heaven broke loose. What happened next, only nature's elves and fairies could have foreseen. Before my eyes, something incredible and magical was transpiring in the center of the storm. As the sun started to filter rays of light through the wall of darkness, crystal flakes began to form, slowly falling between the raindrops. It was snowing in May.

I was watching the spirits of the earth create their spiritual Art one crystal at a time when one lone flake floated down, melting on my tongue, and consecrating my communion with nature. That day I shared my experience with Grandma.

She said, "Sweetheart, as long as the door to the universal magic shop is open, the magician of creation will always perform for you."

Before I knew it, summer was half over. I dreaded going back to school. Sister Mary Trinity the angel of retribution was my third grade teacher. My sleepless nights were filled with frightening thoughts of the upcoming school year. When I was around the nuns, I felt like I was under a spiritual magnifying glass ready to be burned by their vengeful God. The God my Grandmother shared with me was an all-loving being. Her insights led me to believe that the nuns were just holy robots trying to push their sanctity in my child like heart. Their Jesus was some kind of 'walk on water', untouchable God, while my Jesus was all around me. The conflict I was having in my soul had nothing to do with the nuns, but with what they were teaching.

A friend named Summer

My sleepless nights finally ended on a muggy Long Island night. A beautiful being I eventually named Summer saved me from myself. I was easy to find. My room was in the unfinished part of the attic and the exposed underside of the roof was my ceiling. The cracks in the chimney gave refuge to all my insect friends. The openness of my room gave easy access to any creature that wanted to enter, including my two older brothers.

One night, I heard munching sounds coming from the foot of my bed. I was surprised by a beautiful spirit disguised as a rat was sitting on the edge of my bed eating my stash of Ritz crackers. I felt honored by her appearance.

Her visit to my bedroom made me forget about school and my fate in the hands of Sister Mary Trinity. It was love at first sight. With jet black eyes and beautiful eyebrows, she was crunching crackers while smiling at me. From that moment on, I knew this was the beginning of a long and everlasting love affair. Grandma was right, just when you think all is lost, something magical happens. That night, with summer by my side, I fell into a deep sleep for the first time in weeks. The saga of Sister Mary Trinity became a passing thought and I, Sandy, was in Heaven.

In my tunnel vision of love, it never dawned on me that Summer would not be accepted as one of the family. I can still, to this day, remember that frightening morning when Mom screamed. "Rat in the kitchen!"

As I ran down stairs, knowing my friend was in trouble, I saw Mom franticly swinging a broom at Summer as she ran for her life out the back door. I didn't say a word.

That weekend, Dad came to Mom's rescue, setting traps all over the house. My counter strategy was to spring each trap every day as soon as I got home from school and remove the bait.

After months of failing Dad finally gave up as he declared, "I must be dealing with the most intelligent rodent that God put on this earth."

Towards the end of Dad's life, I finally got up the courage to tell him how I had sprung the traps to keep Summer safe.

"You're kidding me!" He said, while laughing his head off.

"Sandy," Dad said, "I tried every method known to mankind to catch that rat. Even people I worked with who designed and built planes for a living could not help me figure out a way to catch that over grown mouse. I guess my rat catching techniques were no match for the love you had for Summer. In a way, Sandy, I am glad I didn't succeed in catching her. I am sure it would have broken your heart."

I was surprised by his words. It meant a lot to me to have him recognize me. Maybe his battle with cancer made him more sensitive to how precious life is. Even though he was a brilliant man in his aviation work, Dad's generation needed to work a little harder at sharing their feelings. I think telling my story about Summer helped Dad open his heart.

During those last days of his life, I was more than just his son. We became good friends, drinking an occasional beer together. The Italian heroes I brought home from Queens always made his day.

After I told him about Summer, Dad began sharing stories of his childhood and the animal friends in his life. I was not surprised to hear that he raised a baby raccoon and kept it for many years. I was born with innocence in my heart, seeing every living being in this world as equal. As far as I was concerned, two legs or four, we are all equal spirits on this universal Ark of plenty.

Most children grow up playing with stuffed animals. I chose to grow up with a friend called Summer. Even now, I miss the late-night snacks we shared together on those hot and muggy Long Island summer nights. I will never forget those nights with Summer as she stayed by my side for many years. The week Summer finally disappeared, I was happy for her. When my time is up, that is the way I want to go: Just disappear. Rest in peace, baby girl.

**Sister Mary Trinity**

As summer ended and school began, I got my first real introduction to Catholicism in Sister Mary Trinity's class. I still remember that day in nineteen fifty-four as if it were yesterday.

"Class, who spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying, 'I Am'?" Sister Mary Trinity asked.

I proudly raised my hand before anyone else.

"Yes, Mr. Schider."

"Popeye the Sailor Man."

The class started to laugh. Sister Mary Trinity's face turned beet red." What did you say, young man?"

"Popeye the Sailor Man. You know, I AM What I AM."

"That is what I thought. Blasphemer! Get out of my sight and kneel in the hallway. Right now!"

From that moment on, I knew I would be living in hell for the rest of the year. As I looked around the classroom for some kind of moral support, not one classmate looked in my direction except John T, my best friend.

I had an uneasy feeling that this was not going to be good. She usually made the worst of the worst stand in the hallway. Kneel in the hallway? I couldn't believe it. What made me say that out loud?

With her mustache sweating, and fire burning in her eyes, Sister Mary Trinity came charging out of the classroom like a bull in heat. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"Well, young man I'll give you nothing about something to keep you busy. Remember, empty hands and thoughts are the work of the Devil."

I remember Grandma telling me that God would not have created the Devil unless the Devil was needed to test our freewill. I had a strange feeling that sister Mary Trinity was testing my free will and challenging my soul to the point of extinction. Spending time with God's chosen daughter was pure hell.

"Get on your knees and start praying mister! I want you to say four hundred Our Father's and four hundred Hail Mary's."

After kneeling for hours and pondering my situation, the buzzing sound of kids warned me that it was almost lunchtime. The dreadful sound of the metal clicking frog filled the hallway.

"Class, single file: boys on the left, girls on the right."

At this point I could hardly stand, much less walk. The walk to church for prayers before eating lunch didn't make sense to me. I knew that God was everywhere. The prayer sessions were spoken in Latin, a language none of us kids understood. The sounds of empty stomachs growling in church, longing for lunch were part of our daily torture. Whether it was raining, snowing, or a hundred degrees the march back to school lunch from church and the constant clicking sounds of Sister Mary Trinity's metal frog could test any kids sanity.

Recess after lunch consisted of fighting on the school's concrete playground, the altar boys' arena of destruction. Sitting in a classroom for eight hours, a day with sixty other children could turn any kid into a playground warrior. These guys kept the school nurse's supply of Band-Aids, Mercurochrome, and cotton gauze at an all time low. I never had to worry about these holy sons of god messing with me. Fear of retaliation from my two older brothers protected me.

Weekly spelling bees lasted forever, often extending into the next day. Sometimes I would purposely misspell a word after six hours of standing in exchange for an afternoon nap at my desk. I wasn't the only one napping. The sound of Sister Mary Trinity snoring during these spelling bees was common. Learning to spell unnecessary words that would eventually confuse my soul did not appeal to me anyway.

My Grandmother reminded me that people show you two important things in life: "What to be or what not to be." Not one priest or Nun ever taught me that I could develop into a being that was half man half God through mercy and compassion. The God they worship is an untouchable vengeful God whose only purpose is to punish the sinners of the world. Going to catholic school taught me one thing: religion can destroy a child's innocence by replacing it with deliberate religious lies. I was born into a sleeping world that didn't know how to wake up. The sleeping dreamers had their own egotistical agenda in keeping humanity asleep. I was fortunate to have a grandmother who kept me Awake. I never dreamt as a child; I knew my whole existence was a dream.

Grandma always knew when something was troubling me, like the time I came home from school with my tail between my legs.

"What is wrong sweetie dolly?" She asked.

"Sister Mary Trinity said that we were all born with original sin, and that God would eventually inflict pain and suffering on all of us. Even our pets."

I stood in front of Grandma, holding her cat, Tom Boy, with tears running down my cheeks. I will never forget the look of compassion and sorrow in Grandma's eyes.

"Shame on Sister for saying that. I wish these nuns were a little more open minded. Sandy your birth was like Saint Francis. You were born with original innocence and only your God, not Sister Mary Trinity's or anyone else's God, will bring you love and joy in this lifetime. Mark my words, child, the souls of your generation will eventually feel your presence."

Grandma always had a way of making me feel important. Feeling no longer like an original sin misfit, but one of God's sons, I straightened out my tail and felt like the cat's meow for the rest of the year in spite of Sister Mary Trinity.

The sound of the metal clicking frog brought us to attention and off we went, into the schoolyard and the loving arms of the Blessed Mother. It was the month of May, a time set aside for remembering the Mother of Jesus.

Every day for the entire month we would stand in the open yard and pray to Mother Mary. The boys were dressed in wool pants with green wool jackets to match. The girls survived the afternoon heat in their cotton blouses and skirts. The heat from the sun during prayer hour was unbearable. It played tricks on my mind and body. Under these harsh conditions, even if you were dressed properly in shorts and a cotton shirt, you could still die of heat stroke. Can you imagine what it felt like dressed in wool?

In the moments just before I started to faint, I actually thought I saw the statue of the Blessed Mother waving at me through a mirage of sweltering heat. And when if, I fainted and fell to the ground clutching my rosary beads, gasping for every ounce of hot air left in the schoolyard, I did not have to worry. I could always rely on Sister Mary Trinity with her endless supply of smelling salt capsules to wake me up to continue the praying.

Sunday was another challenge for me, especially in the summer time. The smell of 'Evening in Paris' and 'Old Spice was the 1950's weapons of mass destruction that every breathing kid dreaded. The huge fans pushed the hot air and body odor around God's house and the ushers walked up and down the isles with their supply of smelling salt capsules waiting for the fainting to begin.

Saturday was confession night. Dad would drive us to church wait in the car for us. I guess he was a saint. He never went to confession.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned" would ring through the scented air of God's Earthly House. I would always make up something to confess so the priest would think he was doing his job. At the end of every confession, the last thing I would say is "I lied", leaving me with a clean slate for the rest of the month.

As a middle child, I learned how to survive at a young age. I mean, do you really think I felt guilty lying to a priest?

Catholic kids are the best liars in the world. Even Mary Margaret had a sweet smile while lying, her butt off. If someone stayed with the priest in the confessional for more than five minutes we all knew, they must have had a pretty-exciting month. The Irish girls would always smile and winked at the boys as they left the confessional. I am sure that even the priest's imagination ran wild after listening to these girls. Thinking about it now, the confessional would be a good name for a gossip magazine. Thank you God for creating girls.

Well anyway, I still liked receiving Holy Communion on Sundays, especially while Sister Mary Trinity was watching from the front row seat with the other nuns. It was the only time, I felt safe around her. I knew she would not mess with me after receiving the Holy Body of Christ. Still, if for some reason I happened to glance in her direction, she would just stare at me. What else can I say? With great effort and the encouragement of my Grandma, I had survived the entire year in Sister Mary Trinity's class.

Even though I enjoyed the rituals of Sunday mass, I always saw religion as an authority on deception. The one experience the Catholic school system did teach me was that no matter how big a religious institution becomes, it does not have the right to monopolize God. I know in my heart that Jesus would have shared his thoughts of Love and compassion with anyone, no matter what religious beliefs they had.

When you deny someone the practice of his or her own chosen belief system, you are destroying the essence of your own beliefs at the same time.

Remember the 'do unto others as you would have them do unto you' thing. Practice that, and then all your fears, the judging, and the guilt trips the church dumped on us, as children will eventually disappear. Pure thought will eventually give you yourself by being yourself.

Years later I realized that Sister Mary Trinity was only trying to follow the guidance of her spiritual husband, Jesus the best way she knew how. I am sure it was not an easy career choice being a Nun. May the spiritual work you did in your lifetime on this earth bring you safely home to your Jesus, "The enlightened One.'

**My Grandmother**

I treaded on thin ice with Sister Mary Trinity for years with all the other catholic misfits. I would have never survived catholic school and the nuns without the love and wisdom that Grandma shared with me. How can I describe what it meant being a part of Grandma's circle of love? The poets have been trying to write love stories for centuries. Some have even taken their own lives frustrated with life's delusions. Grandma's wisdom came from keeping it simple.

My Grandma, bless all five feet of her, was part Shaman and part Druid: a simple, down-to-earth woman whose knowledge of herbal healing helped me as a child many times. On the other-hand Mom was always skeptical about Grandma's potions of love. Even Dr. Hoffmann, our family doctor said Grandma could have given the Native American medicine women a run for their money.

Grandma arrived at New York harbor's Ellis Island from Poland in the early 1900's and headed for Long Island where she would join her future husband working at the Jones' estate. Their employer was one of the Long Island wealthy. Grandma participated in everything. She was house cleaner, tailor, cook, and baby-sitter. She was also known for her healing powers. Grandpa oversaw the slaughter of livestock and the planting and harvesting of fruits and vegetables grown for the Estate's daily consumption. But Grandpa's true love for his job was tied to his love of horses. He was also in charge of taking care of the horses and training them for the old Westbury foxhunts. He was known as one of the best Horsemen and jumpers on Long Island. One winter while in pursuit of a fox, Grandpa took his horse across the ice-covered pond sliding to the other side while everyone lost ground going around. He mastered riding horses as a young boy in Poland. The phrase horse whisperer could have been his signature.

Grandma was a child whisperer. I can still remember standing in my crib as a two-year-old hearing that Grandma was moving next door. My whole being was jumping for joy. In that instant, I knew that unconditional love could find you anywhere at any time. Mom and Dad kept my body fed and protected from the damp Long Island winters. Grandma nourished my spirit.

My journey into adulthood was filled with endless thoughts coming from nowhere giving me my somewhere. With the love and protection of my Grandmother, I felt I was half God half child, floating in a body of everyday wisdom.

Grandma often reminded me. 'Sandy, if you make this illusion of life real, you will have to suffer its pain." One of Grandma's favorite lines was: "My God is my Soul, and my Soul is my God." She said our true obligation coming into this world was to help raise the consciousness of each other, not as separate souls, but as the one all loving universal God energy. I always liked that concept: Being One. It replaced the feeling of being alone with a spiritual blanket of security. I experienced everything in nature as a mirror image of myself.

My years with Grandma were spent in her classroom of inspiration. One of my first lessons was in early spring. I was six and the bag of brown seeds Grandma handed me was dry and dirty. "The seeds," she said, "represent humanity's perception of itself through the five senses. These seeds will never find their identity if they are not planted. The seeds scattered about the Earth that Jesus talks about in the New Testament are the Tombs of Lazarus looking for their spiritual Baptism of eternal light lifting them from their graves of darkness just like these seeds."

Like the pumpkin seeds, we will never experience our God self, if we don't awaken the sleeping seed of eternal life we call the soul. Grandma gave me the seeds of ideas and I planted them with love.

The Saturday night shopping trip to the local A&P grocery store with Grandma was always exciting. She would give a dollar and the Elvis Presley records I bought for eighty-nine cents were a bargain for any fan of the King. Some forty years later, as I stood on the same spot where the record-stand once stood. 'Love Me Tender' came over the stores Intercom. For a second I felt like a kid again with the presence of Grandma all around me.

Grandma's unconditional love aside, she held everyone accountable for his or her actions. One day, as I was cutting through a neighbor's yard, a loud voice rang out, "Get your little ass off my property." When I mention this incident to Grandma, she laughed. I guess she had an idea of whom I was talking about. She said, "Sandy, you know you should always respect your elders." I started to frown at that remark. Grandma paused for a moment and said, "Only if they deserved respect." Can you imagine what a kid's idea of 'deserving respect' meant to me? Eventually, this would get Grandma and me in lots of trouble with some of the neighborhood elders who thought they deserved respect. Grandpa died in August 1960. In the fall, I moved in with Grandma to keep her company while she was grieving for her loss. I lived with her until I was about nineteen.

I still miss the little things Grandma shared with me, like her daily rituals of feeding the birds from the palms of her hands and collecting eggs from the chicken coop. My favorite ritual was coloring eggs at Easter time with beet juice, and concoctions made from lemon and onion peels. These ceremonies were always performed with absolute heart, bringing my soul into the realm of time.

Grandma died at the age of ninety. She was never sick a day in her life even to the very end. I spent time at her bedside at St Mary's hospital in Fall River, Massachusetts, while she waited for her Jesus. I will always remember Grandma being there whenever I would find myself lost in the sounds of silence. May we meet again my all-loving friend, not as separate bodies in this illusion of time, but as one universal Soul?

**Stella**

I remember the early morning sounds before sunrise of Stella pulling her iron wheeled cart down Main Street in the town of Cold Spring Harbor. Attached to the cart with straps made for Horses was Stella. Over six feet tall and all muscle, you knew Stella was on a mission at the right place at the right time. The logs she was hauling were thick and heavy, waiting to be born into some form of art.

The only sound that was louder than Stella's wheels of steel were the occasional flat bed army trucks in low gear delivering nuclear warheads to the Nike Base in Lloyd Harbor in the nineteen fifties. "Yes, nuclear warheads." The base was built a few miles from my back yard to protect the entire east coast during the Cold War. Looking over my backyard domain from my bedroom window I wondered what Stella was thinking as she moved to one the side of the road while the flatbeds of destruction were placing instant death in her world of art and joy. I could feel Stella's sorrow as this ancient warrior of wisdom pulled her cart aside to let modern day madness continue on its journey of destruction. During these episodes of insanity, I still felt safe knowing Stella was in this world.

Even though she had a beautiful soul, Stella wasn't spinning any heads in her direction. She always dressed in farmer's trousers and white t-shirts. She was not the prettiest girl in town, but she did have a smile that was contagious to all those who entered her circle. Her low grunting laugh could be frightening to people who didn't know her. A hug from Stella was an experience in itself. It probably would have helped her image if she had worn a bra and taken an occasional bath.

Stella's sanctuary of creation and art studio was a house and tower structure overlooking Cold Spring Harbor. My visits to Stella's art studio were always a learning experience. She told me that her Art was not something she created, but an extension of her own being finding herself outside herself. I was not sure what Stella meant by that remark until years later when I found 'The Art of Being Myself' in a world that wanted me to be anything else but me.

Except for my Grandmother, many of my relatives had preconceived ideas about my visits to Stella's workshop. "You don't have to worry about anything, Sweet Heart." Grandma said. "Everyone you meet in this lifetime is just a mirror image of yourself. How can anyone harm a universal reflection?"

If the people who played Judge and Jury were only made of the same spirit as Stella, they wouldn't have to go to church on Sundays. In Stella's domain, every day was God's day. They didn't realize the artist had more than a chisel in her hand. Stella had a heart that could bring spiritual light to anyone's darkness. "Man or Beast." There were times I thought Stella was half Goddess and half Buddhist. She could never harm any creature. The spiders, ants, flies, and even the dreaded mosquitoes were always safe when Stella was around. The chance of being put outside to live another day was inevitable for these creatures.

Saturday mornings in the park with Stella playing monster and her two longhaired sheep dogs, Soybean and Tofu whom she called her star children, chasing us kids up into the trees was irreplaceable. Looking back, Stella's monster was so realistic that some of the kids froze in their footsteps when the monster was breathing down their necks. These moments of joy for us kids didn't help Stella's reputation with my relatives. The passersby watching her screaming and chasing a bunch of misfits around the park made Stella fodder for the town's gossip on a daily basis. For us kids, Stella was always Stella and that is all that counted.

I loved hanging out with Stella at Saint Johns Lake in the fall as she made the trees come alive on her canvas of many colors. We stood in the fairy rings made of mushrooms as our wishes were granted. I knew I was in the presence of a very special being when I was with Stella. I never once heard her say anything bad about anyone even the high school girls who always made fun of her. I felt sorry for these girls. They didn't understand what they were missing. Because of her simplistic nature, Stella was easy to be around. She always knew where you were coming from, and where you were going. As a sensitive child, I always knew Stella was an angel disguised as an artist painting wings on all the children she loved.

The last time I saw Stella she was sitting crossed legged on her wall looking over the harbor. She wanted me to know that good byes were never easy amongst soul mates. Soul mates to Stella were not just two people finding each other but anything or anyone she held sacred. Grandma told me that hearts needed to be broken so feelings could be born. My feelings were born the morning Stella said it was time for her to travel around the world. With a smile and a Stella hug, she reminded me to someday share the story of the monster that loved children with the world.

Later that week I was told that Stella left early in the morning with her two faithful sheepdogs on an old bicycle she named Soul Mate. I knew in my heart that if a thousand Stellas appeared on the Earth tomorrow, their canvases of many colors would make this world a brighter place for all children to live in. May the bicycle you named Soul Mate take you safely to your journeys end my beloved friend?

After my Stella left, I still wandered back and forth between gaining spiritual wisdom and just being a kid. The Huntington golf course and country club was our back yard playground. The war games we played killing each other over, and over again would make a John Wayne movie boring. Queeney our golden retriever gave birth to a pup we named Prince in early fall. Prince had the unusual skill of fetching gulf balls off the greens while the balls were still in play. What could be more exciting to a ten year old than watching a golfer caught in a briar patch while chasing you through the woods? I learned more curse words from these golfers, than a kid needed to hear. Prince provided us with an endless supply of golf balls we used as hand grenades. The enemy hiding in the sand traps didn't have a chance. Most of the kids I grew up with would eventually go to Viet Nam where the hand grenades were real and the golfers carried guns.

Our winter months were spent ice skating on the local ponds and walking on the harbor. I loved walking on water. One evening a tugboat started breaking the ice so an oil delivery could get to the tanks next to Community Beach. The exploding sounds of frozen ice waves moving in our direction was warning us to run to shore. The captain must have seen us on the ice as he frantically blew the tugboat's horn while not realizing we made it to shore in the dark. The state police, coastguard and fire department were all set in motion to recover the frozen bodies, not realizing we all went to a friend's house. When we got home the next morning, all of our parents were relieved to know that their child had not drowned in the icy water. They asked us if we knew the kids who were walking on the ice. Since we were all good Catholics, we lied.

**Teenage Years**

In my teenage years, I learned the basic skills of carpentry from a custom builder named Howard Philips. He was a gentle and good man who talked about his beautiful children all the time. My summer vacations working for him were filled with the smell of sawdust and the sounds of hammers building homes for future families. I found a sense of freedom I had never felt before through the magic of working and creating with my hands. And as I grew older, the experience provided me a way of making an honest living.

I kept busy during my teenage years by just being a teenager. The girls surrounding me always thought of me as their spiritual brother, but I fantasized for a romantic fling. Eventually, at a more mature age, I found more romance than I could handle.

I did not follow my beautiful brother Johnny, or my closest cousin Charlie, and childhood friends to Vietnam. I failed my physical at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn because of a severe case of acne on my back that I had developed at the age of seventeen. "You will never be able to carry a pack," the doctor said. Mysteriously, six months later, the acne disappeared.

My teenage years, gave my two thousand year old soul the freedom to be a Son of God. I started light traveling again. On one of these trips, I found myself in another dimension where thousands of wingless spirits were waiting to do spiritual warfare on the Earth. These highly evolved souls will eventually become Children of the Light and forever erase the negative side of humanity's darkness, shedding light on this suffering world.

The Children of the Light will manifest love and raise the consciousness of all living creatures including Mother Nature herself, making this world one less cancerous cell in the All- Loving Body of the most absolute creator. This extraordinary generation of spiritual Avatars will bring the universal force we call soul into the minds and hearts of the walking dead.

The other reason these brave spiritual warriors are coming into this dreaded world, is to bear witness to the lack of fairness for all and to deliver their message: "All for One and One for All." Not the "all for me and none for you" attitude. These children will create a spiritual bank of compassion devoted to cure the cancer of greed.

Be careful children of the stars. Bringing heaven's light into Man's illusion is a dangerous task. The monster you will be facing is not under your bed or hiding in the closet. The monster you will be facing in your lifetime is written on the walls of persecution in words of greed, fear, guilt, and judgment. This negative energy of destruction will destroy your soul's purpose and turn you into dust for the burial urn to hold if your not careful. The monumental task you are about to perform among the living dead will be your rapture into the heart of the all-absolute creator of endlessness. Find the magic hiding in this strange experience we call Life and call on the magician to appear. This world is your classroom wanting to teach you everything Mother Earth has to give you. Be in this world Star children but tread lightly. Through out my teenage years, my light traveling took me to India, Tibet, and to my aboriginal teachers in Australia. My Native American warriors taught me how to shape shift. Entering into the bodies of animals was easier and more peaceful than entering the bodies of humans.

I would spend many years with these ancient holders of wisdom, learning the Tao Te Ching and using the same method of teaching, the Essenes used to teach the Christ consciousness to their fellowship.

When not light traveling around the globe acquiring universal wisdom, you could always find me cutting the neighbor's lawn, cleaning yards or just playing pinball in the game room at bowling alley in

Huntington.

**Young Adult**

*********

**The Tin Man**

My twenties, like my teen years, gave me every opportunity to always be my self, while living in a world constantly wanting me to be something else. This next phase of my life was the most important time of my life. With the law of attraction on my side, I met the teachers and people who gave me myself by letting me be myself.

I was now an adult. Well, at least I was trying to be an adult. I started my own home improvement company. In the late sixties, I started subcontracting for a siding company in the Bronx. I was a 'Tin Man'. The eight-inch aluminum siding being installed all over Queens, Staten Island and Brooklyn came in three colors: White, Green, and Pink. Picking up my work schedule for the week was always an experience. Dozens of Cadillac's, each a different Color were parked in front of the office off Laconia Ave in the Bronx. The sales representatives who owned these cars were Jewish, Irish, African American, Italian, Spanish, or Asian, each assigned to sell aluminum siding to their own ethnic group. The phones in the office were ringing non-stop, eighteen hours a day. These Guys could sell anything. "Yes even the Brooklyn Bridge." One technique they used was sending one salesman into a neighborhood with a high price under one of their company names. If they didn't seal the deal, they would send another salesmen to the same customer a week later using a different company name and offer the job at the original price they wanted. It always worked.

I remember my first job as if it were yesterday. It was in a black community section of Queens. During my long working days, I would hear the radios on the open window sills playing Sam Cook, Wilson Picket, Marvin Gay and Jackie Wilson just to name a few, singing songs to all the young lonely hearts waiting to be loved.

**Simeon**

The Friday night tent setups in the vacant lots turning the Queen's nights into revivals awakening the fervor of all those in attendance intrigued me. I was on the way home from work on a hot and muggy evening in the Saint Albans section of Queens when I first met the preacher. The small crowd he was preaching to, and curious passersby seeking to be saved from their ever-ending world of sin were not disappointed. The ripped tent he set up was patched in different colors. Through one of the holes at the top of the Tent, I could see a star fading in and out of the clouds trying to stay alive just like the preacher's message fading in and out of the clouded minds of his congregation. A rainbow of prayers, gospel music and song filled the evening air. I was surprised to see the vacant lot so clean and spotless around the tent: no old tires, broken wine bottles, or beer cans were to be found on this preacher's hallowed ground. 'Unusual,' I thought. I have passed by these lots every day for years. Most of the time, they are trashed with everything and anything you can imagine. The only pollution anywhere that night was the smell of jet fuel lingering in the warm air from the planes landing at JFK. As I looked through the open flap of the tent I saw a young Southern Baptist minister standing on an old wooden crate bringing the Lord to every lost soul waiting for the rapture to happen. The enthusiasm and joy he brought to these sinners could be felt for miles around. His John the Baptist way of preaching fire and brimstone was electrifying. I could hear his voice ringing out in a ghostly fashion, bouncing off every alley wall and street in Queens that steamy summer night.

As I stood outside the tent, I made the decision to enter the temple of the Lord and listen to the words the messenger was delivering. The feeling of spiritual fire filled the tent and all those awakened by the Lord's word. The fire of opportunity, crucifying all those to the Cross-of spiritual fulfillment was roaming the streets of Queens that night. I never had a problem giving up my body Illusion to the all-loving spirit of fire. I have been there many times in many lifetimes myself. As the night progressed, I watched as the preacher's ancient ritual of baptism raised the spirits of all those in the tent of many colors.

I spent many summer nights listening to the masters of words selling their wares of love, but none preached the Lord's words like Simeon. As I got up to leave, I noticed the preacher was wearing a ring on his left hand with the planet Earth engraved on the face in shades of blue and green. It was the only concrete thing about him. I knew I would never forget the message the preacher delivered on that small patch of dirt in Queens one summer night.

The following week as I passed the same vacant lot there wasn't a soul in sight except an old man picking up empty beer cans. I stopped to say hello. "I see the preacher and his tent are gone from the prayer reveille that was held here last Friday night." I said to him.

"Oh yea, I was told the original Preacher never showed up. I am not sure; it may just be coincidental, but another young preacher came out of nowhere. And from what I heard, he did a good job bringing the word of the lord to his people." The old man just shook his head wishing he hadn't missed the preacher with the message.

As the old man held the rake in his left hand, I noticed he had the same exact ring I had seen on the preacher's hand. "Excuse me for asking. But where did you get that beautiful ring?" I asked.

"My great grandfather gave it to his son, who gave it my dad, who then gave it to me. I have kept it on this finger practically all my life, talking it off only a few times. I didn't want to misplace it or worse, lose it. Eventually it will go to my son. My great grandfather had the ring made. He was a Baptist preacher during the Civil War. From what I have been told, he helped bring the lord to many of the wounded soldiers who came home broken souls from the battlefields."

"What was his name?" I asked.

"My Dad said it was a biblical name, Simeon," he replied.

Most of the time, traveling into Queens and the Bronx was uneventful. Other times, it was mystical. As you may know, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. These experiences I had in my lifetime with people like Simeon, brought me closer to my Father Mother God. Even now, as I am writing, the temple of many colors is rising in the east giving vision to all those blinded by their nights of darkness.

**The Turtle and the Solider**

I was drinking my first cup of coffee when a robin landed in front of me. I sat watching the little bird's head tilt towards the ground listening for any movement just below the surface, maybe to catch a worm or two.

I thought about how wonderful it was that nature's grocery store could provide such a variety of food for all creatures to eat, day and night, on this magical planet Earth.

My ride on the Long Island expressway to Queens that morning was routine. Traffic was moving slowly, common for this time of day, and maybe it was a good thing. When I got to my exit, I saw a box turtle in the middle of the ramp on his way to the other side. It was a busy off-ramp with trucks and cars zooming by. My heart started to race, as I had to make a split decision.

"To stop or not to stop", that was the question.

It did not look like anyone else was going to stop, so I found a spot where I could get in and out of my truck without being run over. This little guy didn't have a clue what kind of damage a five thousand pound car could do to a pint sized turtle.

As I started getting out of my truck, a police officer pulled up next to me with his lights flashing and got out of his car.

"Oh, great, here comes the ticket," I said to myself. "This cop will think I am crazy if I tell him what I am about to do."

Without saying a word, he stood there looking at me as if he had just seen a ghost. Before I could explain what I was doing, he was in the middle of the ramp flagging down traffic and putting flares in the road. He motioned me to go ahead and get the turtle out of the road. I could not believe what was happening, he was actually helping me save this turtle. I grabbed the little guy and safely put him in my truck.

The officer walked up and shook my hand. He told that while he was shaving that morning his son said he would be visit him today.

"Whenever my son would see a turtle on the road, he would yell 'stop, Daddy!' I would always stop, letting him grab the turtle and take it to a safe place. When I pulled up, saw the turtle, and realized what you were trying to do, I immediately felt the presence of my son. He died one year ago today in Vietnam. He told me he would be with me today and he was. From now on, every time I drive onto this ramp I will always remember this day and the presence of my son's spirit. Thank you young man for stopping, when no one else had the courage to."

"Thank you, sir, for helping."

**See God Yet?**

The lights decorating Main Street in the town of Huntington and the Christmas music that filled the evening air gave me a warm feeling of community and family. The weather forecasters were predicting at least two feet of snow. I loved how the New York blizzards could paralyze the daily routines of the Long Island commuters, stopping time and bringing them all into the now. It did not matter who you were or where you were going, we all became the same for a short moment in time: Equal spirits trapped in a white blanket of purity we call snow.

I stopped at St Patrick's church to light some candles. I did this occasionally, saying a prayer and then making a wish for all those compassionate beings that were making a difference in the world. The challenge I had that day was in trying to light a candle. Every time I tried, the candles would go out: Nothing, not even a spark. Maybe that day I didn't have to pray to God or even make a wish. Maybe God would take a break from whatever Gods do and come talk to me for once? Be careful what you wish for, Sandy, God might actually be listening; I really was not worried, growing up Catholic, I knew that God never listened to sinners.

That evening, I stopped at Eleanor's, a little bar in East Norwich, to have a couple of beers. Jim Morrison was singing 'Light My Fire' on the jukebox. "Hey Jim," I said while standing at the jukebox. "I could have used you earlier to light my candles."

Bobby yelled across the bar, "Hey Sandy, talking to yourself again?"

"No, just talking to the Doors," I replied.

There were only six people at the bar. I sat at my favorite chair near the side window. It was a week before Christmas and the snow was coming down, nine to ten inches on the ground already. As I looked out the front window, I noticed a figure walking through the blinding snow towards the front door. The door flew open by itself, making way for a tall, gray-haired man coming in from the freezing wind and snow. Then, without any logical reason, the door closed behind him the same way: by itself. To my amazement, he was dressed only in Bermuda shorts and a Hawiian shirt with sandals that looked like something Jesus would have worn in the desert.

I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing: eighteen degrees out, and in walks this guy looking like some hippie beach comber just flying in from the California coast. He sat down on the wall bench near the front door. Except for Camille, who was sitting next to me, and I, he seemed invisible to the noisy evening crowd at the bar. Even Big Joe, the nighttime bouncer that usually asked for ID from everyone, was oblivious to this man's presence.

As he looked in my direction, he made a strange almost mechanical gesture with his hand, pointing towards the cigarette machine he said "See God yet?"

"Excuse me do you, want cigarettes?"

"Yes, see God yet?"

I had the strangest feeling he might be speaking in a foreign language. Eventually, I realized there was more here than just a foreign language. So, without any hesitation, I bought him a pack of cigarettes.

He thanked me with a smile and jet black eyes that were terrifying, mystifying and innocent at the same time. Spiritual energy was fluttering around him. His presence filled the bar with a beautiful blue light that surrounded his body and eventually followed him out the door. Mesmerized by what had just taken place, I sat for a few seconds thinking that I should have at least, asked the old man if he needed a ride.

I opened the door. The snow had drifted a foot high against the door, and not a footprint could be seen in either direction. The old man went out the same way he came in: a complete Mystery. "See God Yet?"

**What just happened here?**

Dad had been retired for a few years when he was elected Fire chief of the local volunteer Fire department. Born under the sign of Taurus, he was down to earth and always grounded. I often thought that he had picked an occupation in the aviation field to give him the freedom of flight. His mathematical background and precision mind as a machinist and troubleshooter always gave him the answers of how things worked. Now me on the other hand, I was a free spirited child and always wanted to know why. Guess what? There were no whys in Dads world, only concrete answers.

Can you feel the friction in the air between father and son? For dad, the word 'why' only existed in the world of unsolved mysteries and the unknown. Dad definitely did not believe in ghosts or unnatural phenomenon. If it was not visible to him, it didn't exist. This is why what happened to Dad and some of his fire fighting friends one evening during one of their emergency responses was irreplaceable. On that night, Dad's entire belief system of how things were done changed to "What just happened here?"

The car was almost cut in half, wrapped around the tree. It was a horrific scene. Dad was surprised to see a young man sitting on the guardrail, shivering in the cold night. As Dad wrapped a blanket around him, the young man asked for a cigarette and a light.

"Were their any passengers in the car?" Dad asked.

"No sir, I was the only one in the car."

Dad was glad there were no passengers. While the Jaws of Life was reshaping the mangled car, a body appeared to be pinned to the back seat. Dad was shocked as he saw the face of the same man he had just left on the guardrail being pulled from the wreckage. Dad turned to question the young man. He was gone and an empty blanket and lit cigarette lay on the ground next to the guardrail.

Dad could find no rational explanation for what had happened. There were many theories about that awful night. The only one that made any sense came out of the mouth of one of the local priests. His explanation was. "Maybe his death was so violent and fast that his spirit didn't realize the body that held his soul was gone." Toward the end of Dad's life, we became good friends and even though he persisted on how things were done, I always brought up the story of "What just happened here?"

**The Farmer**

I was sitting at the bar when the door opened to Dr He's pizza restaurant. There in the fading sunlight a figure stood alone. His thin and weary body had a mystical presence about it. His entire being was surrounded by an aura of blue light and a legion of angels. He looked straight at me and tipped his cap. For one reason or another, I felt it was a gesture of respect on his part. Slowly moving to one of the wall booths, this old soul sat quietly and ordered dinner. I was curious about why all this spiritual energy was fluttering around this simple down to earth man. He was sitting with his back to me, and without turning around, he waved his arm silently, motioning me to join him. I was amazed at his ability to capture my every thought in this overcrowded room of lost souls.

"Sit young man I could use some company to share dinner with and a little about my life's story."

His name was jimmy and I appreciated his invitation and his humble presence. He explained War, as unavoidable because of the unconscious dark side of man's nature. His relationship with people was simple. He saw everyone as an open book with a story waiting to be told. The old man knew how to listen and made me feel every word I spoke was important.

With a smile, he said, "From the moment I was born, my eyes saw nature as spirit made visible. Sandy, I had a chance to visit an old friend in the hospital one day. He lay there with all kinds of tubes and gadgets protruding out of his motionless body. My old dog left this world with more dignity then he did. Do you know what young man? When I leave this world, I want to die either on a tractor, mending fences or chopping wood. I want the Sun to capture my soul and replace these old arms with wings. If death can grant me that one wish, then and only then my Soul's journey in the circle of time will have been completed."

I parted my newfound spiritual friend never to see him again. Just weeks later while passing Jimmy's old Homestead I noticed the line of cars parked along the road in front of the house.

"What's going on?" I asked a couple as they were crossing the road.

"We're here for Jimmy's memorial."

"What? Oh no," I said. " How did he die?" I inquired.

"Chopping wood right over there."

I was elated. With a smile I blurted out, "Yes!" I was so happy he died that way.

In shock and disbelief, they misinterpreted my words and thought I was delighted that Jimmy had died.

"No, no. Wait a minute. I don't mean that I am happy that Jimmy died. It is the way he died." I explained to them the conversation we had about his wish in the way he wanted to leave this world. They were both overjoyed with my explanation and walked away a lot happier knowing the farmer got his wish.

Rest in peace my newfound friend.

**Ansei**

*********

**Meeting Ansei**

Meeting Ansei, one of the most extraordinary beings that ever entered my life, came out of nowhere one spring morning on the Long Island Expressway. My inner voice spoke, "Simplicity to the intellectual mind can be confusion, open your heart today, Sandy, and love will follow." I heard that voice from time to time. It came and went whenever I seemed to need it. I really needed it that day.

It was May and a soft rain was falling. I was on my way to the Bronx to pick up a check for a job I had finished in Queens. Heading into the city, my front right tire went flat. "Oh great! Just what I need today." I pulled over right under the sign for the Cross Island Expressway ramp, concluding that this was not going to be good. No one ever stops on this stretch of highway to help, not even the police. To make the situation worse, I had no money in my wallet, the gas tank was on empty and I had no spare tire. As the warm May sun came gently through my window, I lay back and fell into a deep and leisurely sleep for how long, I really don't know.

I was awakened by a group of Harleys passing by, making that wonderful sound only Harleys can make. I opened my eyes, and was surprised to see a young Oriental man jacking up my truck. He had black hair down to his shoulders and was dressed in a simple blue work uniform. He looked as if he was enjoying what he was doing while singing a song.

Out of pure curiosity, I got out of my truck to observe this unusual act of kindness being performed by a total stranger. A beautiful white V W bus was parked about an inch from my back bumper shining in the morning sun. As I approached to see what he was doing, I kept on repeating to myself what Grandma once shared with me as a child: "There will be times in your life when you will face certain difficult situations. You will be allowed to close your mind, yet, at the same time, always remember to keep an heart open, no matter what." Today was definitely a day for open-heart surgery.

He was sitting on the ground crossed-legged with a tire patch kit a battery operated air compressor by his side. I didn't say a word, but watched him go about his work with such grace and beauty as if some invisible puppeteer was directing every movement.

While lost in my thoughts I noticed his neck and hands were severely burned, but this did not seem to hinder his ability to get the job done. He wore an Omega watch that had only a minute hand hanging off his left wrist. The hour hand was missing, which suggested to me that this ancient soul was living in the now. The tools he used barely touched his hands as if to spare him the pain I was certain he was feeling. His actions were telling me a story about him. I was in the presence of a great warrior, from another place in time.

Upon finishing the task he had started, he walked to his Van without saying a word, as if I didn't exist.

"Maybe I am still asleep and this is all a dream," I thought. Well, even if this is a dream, I knew one thing. If I did not make it to the office to be paid, I was not going anywhere.

"Excuse me," I started to ask him what time it was.

Before I could say a word, he looked at me with a smile and said, "Dreamtime."

"Who is this guy? I thought. Where did he come from? Nobody stops to help on the Long Island Expressway, much less fix a flat tire.

"Don't make this world real. You will only hurt yourself by doing so, "a voice softly said. I introduced myself and without saying another word, he handed me a business card made of bamboo. There was a circle in the center of the card with the Ying-Yang symbol, but at the same time looked more like the number "69."

His name was Ansei. He proceeded to give me a twenty-dollar bill and promised that we would meet again in the future. As I stood there wondering how he knew I needed gas money, this panther on the hunt disappeared in the morning sun.

Ansei kept his word. We did meet again and spent many years weaving in and out of each other's lives. Ansei became my loyal friend, my teacher, and spiritual father. He would always emphasize that we were all reflections of each other in this mirror we call time.

**All in a Day's Work**

The year was flying by. It was September. My baby girl was on the way and I needed my truck empty to pick up a baby crib over the weekend. There was a store in Huntington Station called Hush-A-Bye that sold all kinds of baby items. That morning while heading into Queens to drop off some equipment, I felt a spiritual presence enter the cab of my truck. 'Wow, what's going on here?' There was magic in the air. My Angels were flying all around me. As I was approaching my exit ramp, a white station wagon came out of nowhere, cutting me off, pushing me onto the side of the Expressway.

The car was loaded with children of all sizes and shapes. They were smiling, laughing and waving their arms as if they were a part of this 'cut him off the road conspiracy'. Who are these people? The white car started to slow down, forcing me to stop two inches from his bumper. I was mad and a little shaken up.

The driver's door flew open; out stepped Ansei laughing. "Sandman no beat me up."

It must have been obvious to him that I was mad. I was glad it was Ansei and not some nut job looking for a fight on this beautiful New York morning.

"Why you work on Saturday?"

Before I could say a word, I was surrounded by a bunch of little people. I felt like Dorothy in munchkin land. Their smiles were contagious. His family, he acknowledges, with eyes expressing Joy, Love, and Compassion.

He said, "I am taking my wife and children to visit some friends in Great Neck. I saw your truck and wanted to say hello."

"Thanks, Ansei for slowing me down. I needed that to wake me up."

"Good to live in moment Sandman."

"You're right Ansei, but at the same time living in a world of constant distraction... its not that easy."

"Do one good thing every day Sandman. Then you find self-living in the moment."

"Thanks Boss."

"Hey, Sandman. Maybe next weekend you help Joe and me move some furniture in Queens. Half-day work." Sometimes these half-day moving escapades took twelve hours, I thought to myself.

"Sure, I would love to." As he was driving off, I thought this man so real that he made everything around him feel unreal.

I dropped my equipment off. My truck was clean and empty: symbolic of the way I was feeling. Maybe today I could start working on living in the moment by filling my life with some magical meaning. Besides, a new life was about to arrive in my world: a little girl named Beth.

On the way, home I stopped at the Eleanor's for a couple of beers. John the bartender was sitting at the end of the bar, writing down lines of poetry. Manny, the old timer, who was a fixture at the bar, was playing black jack with Mel the owner who also worked the night shift bartending. I often thought of this bar as a roadside church where John the Bartender was baptizing everyone who walked through the front door with a shot whiskey, and a cold draft beer. I had the feeling that all who entered here were actors on stage trying to cheat death by playing one more hand of cards in their Shakespeare play they called life.

The following Friday, I called Joe to find out where we would meet the next day. He said at the Farmer's Boulevard yard.

I got there about eight. There were a couple of Nippon workers practicing some kind of martial art moves.

"Wow, where are you guys taking Karate lessons?" I asked.

"We're studying at one of Ansei's schools."

"Ansei knows Karate?" They both started to laugh.

"He is an Eighth-degree Black Belt. Where have you been?"

I was surprised and excited at the same time. I was in deep thought and heard a voice say "no need know everything, Sandman, just know self." At that moment, Ansei pulled his truck into the yard, barely fitting through the gate. Earlier Joe and I flipped a coin to see who would ride shotgun. Joe won. As we left the yard, I could feel the truck sprouting wings flying us across the universe then landing back in Queens. It was a peaceful ride into Queens that morning.

While stopped at a red light, a homeless man started washing the windshield. Ansei sat at the light that had turned green, ignoring the cars behind us honking their horns, until this angel, dressed in rags, was finished. Joe rolled down his window.

"Hey you. Here is five bucks, go buy lunch."

What a nice thing for Joe to do, I thought.

Then a thunderous voice yelled "No give him money, make him weak."

Joe looked at Ansei with that. 'What am I doing wrong face?' Then took a deep breath kept the five bucks and rolled up the window. He didn't talk to Ansei for the rest of the day. I couldn't believe what just happened.

I will never forget the expression on the homeless man's face as Joe rolled up his window without giving him the money. I knew Ansei had something up his sleeve. The teacher in him was always they're waiting for the student to appear. I just didn't know what the lesson was today.

For the short time I had known Ansei, I knew one thing: it was never in his nature to consciously hurt any one. He could read where your strengths and weaknesses were like a worn out book. Then help open each page of your mind and take you some place you have never been before. Ansei's kindness and compassion for other human being was unparalleled.

He was taking Joe and I somewhere that morning I just didn't know where. With all the tension in the air sitting I felt like a grill cheese sandwich waiting to be grilled sitting between these two men that morning. When we got back to the trucking yard Ansei patted me on my head the same way I would pet my animals and said "no worry Sandman good medicine for Joe." Two weeks later at the same red light, the same homeless man started washing the windshield just like. But this time when he was finished, Ansei rolled down his window and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. " Berry good job."

Joe was furious. I could feel his body vibrating as he punched the dashboard twice. "You said not to give him any money!"

Then in a gentle quiet voice, Ansei said, " Joe, you have own mind. Use it."

Joe was ashamed, he knew at the time it was wrong not to give this man the money, but didn't listen to his heart. What I learned from Ansei that day I have kept in my own heart all my life. He taught both of us that the world is a place made up of many minds, but the only important mind is your God self. If you can be yourself in a world that constantly forces you to be anything else, then you have accomplished removing fear out of every day life. When this is done, you will have the freedom of being in this world but not of this world. We were so lucky to walk the same ground that Ansei so lightly treaded.

The next time I saw Ansei, he was performing in front of a hundred people with Bo staff in hand, sending out a whirlwind of magic in his Holy arena of Karate. In the world of martial arts, there was no greater warrior then Ansei.

**Star**

Mike and I were doing a siding job off the Cross Bronx Expressway. We were working two stories up on the side of an apartment building overlooking the expressway, when we heard horn blaring, tires screeching and people yelling in the far distance. From where we were standing on the scaffold, I could see a dog running up the ramp. His ears were crunched tight to his head, as he looked back every chance he got. I could hear him thinking aloud " Who are these people who are so into themselves that they won't stop, or at least slow, down for a little guy like me?"

He was brownish black with a small white patch on his forehead that was almost invisible to the eye through all the grease and dirt that the streets of the Bronx baptized him with. I watched him slow down as he reached the top of the ramp still looking back.

He walked through the front yard gate where we were working, found a shady spot in the corner of the yard, and went to sleep. I am sure he was traumatized and exhausted from his trip across the Cross Bronx Expressway. I was glad he felt safe enough to fall asleep that fast. It was my favorite time of day: lunchtime. I ran out and picked up three Italian heroes: one for Mike, one for me, and one, of course, for the pup.

I knew he must be hungry, so he got his sandwich first. To my surprise, he was not interested in eating right away. "What's going on boy? Would it be easier to eat if I cut it in half?" I asked. Without another word, he jumped up, barked and spun around in a circle. Interesting, I thought. "Hey Mike, this dog is either a mind reader, or he speaks English perfectly," I said.

Mike started laughing. "Sandy, you are the only person I know that talks to animals who then actually talk back!"

What happened next brought tears to my eyes. The pup picked up half of his hero, and through the steel picket fence gave it to the old dog that was watching us.

Every morning for the rest of the week, this dog would meet us at the gate. Every day he would continue to share his food with his newfound friend.

"In my lifetime, I have seen humans beings treat each other with less kindness then this dog."

That Friday, as we left the job in my rear view mirror I could see pup running after my truck. This was something he had never done before. There was part of me that wished I had taken him home. On Monday when we got to the job, the pup was nowhere in sight. I could not eat lunch that day, but in honor of pup, I bought the old dog next door a hero. I guess during our absence over the weekend, he just drifted away. I felt bad about the decision I made leaving my little friend in the savage jungle they call the Bronx.

For the next couple of weeks, I lit candles in front of my St Francis statue and sent out the white light of protection so nothing would happen to my little friend. We finished our project that week. I thought I would never see the pup again.

In June, I was driving towards Farmers Boulevard, when I spotted Ansei coming out the back door of a butcher's shop. "Hey, Sandman, follow me", he said. I had no idea where we were going, so I just started driving.

It didn't matter to me where Ansei was going; I would follow my trusted friend anywhere in the universe. Ten minutes later, we pulled up to a chain link gate and drove into the Farmer's Boulevard yard filled with trucks and cargo containers from Kennedy Airport.

Peering out of a makeshift doghouse wagging his tail was pup. As he started running towards me, I noticed a beautiful white star on his forehead.

"I washed him inside and out," Ansei said with a huge smile.

I couldn't believe it. Ansei said he had spotted the dog on Gun Hill road Running in and out of traffic.

He already had a dog, but picked him up anyway. I started to thank him, in broken English he said, "No need nothing, Sandman, have already everything." That day we decided to named the pup Star.

"Sandman, take rest, no work today. Spend time with dog."

"That's a good idea, Ansei." I felt drained and good at the same time, forgetting who I was and remembering who I was not.

There was magic in the air. I took Star out for lunch. We parked off Rockaway Boulevard, watching planes land at Kennedy Airport and enjoying our lunch together.

I really enjoyed the short time I spent with Star that summer. I eventually found him a good home with my friend John who had as much respect for animals as I did. I knew Star would be safe in his hands.

Whenever I got the chance to visit Star, I always brought him an Italian hero. Star lived to the ripe old age of sixteen never worrying again about the egotistical people driving their polluting, killing machines that almost took his life that beautiful summer day on the streets of the Bronx.

You will never be forgotten as long as my heart is still beating. May you grant me the honor of meeting you again, sweet boy.

**My Guardian Angels**

Fall was already here. Mike and I were working a roofing job off Springfield Boulevard.

I left my job little early in search of Ansei. It didn't take long, he found me first. He wanted to talk. "Sandman, good I see you today. I want you be careful this week." He emphasized the words be careful.'

For one reason or another, he would always appear when something was about to happen. As always, I took his advice, thanked him for the warning and reassured my friend I would be all right.

It was late Friday when we finished up. Don called from the office asking if I could meet Teddy in Queens to help him measure a siding job off Jamaica Avenue. "Sure, "I said reluctantly.

"Thanks Sandy. Oh, I am not sure why I am telling you this, but please be careful today," he said. My guardian angels were out in full force today, helping my friends get the message across.

By the time Teddy and I finish measuring the job, it was already getting dark. Teddy said good night. "Hey, Sandy, be careful. See you next week:"

That night I stopped at Mc Dee's for a large coffee and then headed for my truck. While walking across the parking lot to cross the street, two young men approached me and entered my space. One had a knife. "Give me your money or else," one of them said to me. I guess all the warnings I had gotten that day were actually manifesting themselves in the forms of two boys no older then sixteen. I probably could have used my hot coffee as a weapon, but for some reason I really wasn't threatened. Plus, a hot cup of coffee could inflict everlasting scars.

Because this had happened a few times before, I never kept more than a hundred dollars on me, and I gave them what I had in my wallet and pockets. Then, as I watched them silently slipped away into the Queens night, I gave them my blessing. In a way, I was glad that they robbed me and not some crazy who could have turned the situation around. I never reported the incident or any other I experienced while working in the city. I knew they would never catch these kids anyway, and the cops hated doing the paperwork more then they wanted to arrest these kids. The forty dollars plus change they got and the assault with a deadly weapon could have landed these kids behind bars for a long time.

That night, I sent out the white light to surround these young men, hoping they would not hurt anyone in the future or be hurt themselves. It must have worked. Years later I actually recognized one of these kids working in a store on Queens Boulevard.

**The Giant**

Ansei used everything in the outside world to teach. He blessed me with his teaching skills one Sunday morning. I met him at his apartment off 108th street. He needed a hand with a moving job in Queens. As I approached the huge blue box truck that was parked in front of his apartment complex, a voice rang out, "Jump in. Easy day today, Sandman."

When we got to our location, there were no parking spaces. The church parking lot was packed and spilling out into the street. As we drove around looking for a parking spot there was only one option: A old alleyway on the side of the building where the family lived that we were going to move. We parked right outside their front door. It should have been an easy move.

As we started to load the truck, I noticed that whenever someone was approaching the alleyway, they would immediately cross over to the other side of the street. I am not quite sure, but I think even the cats and dogs did the same. Oh well, maybe it was just my imagination. In the distance, I could hear the church choir singing hymns. On the other side of the truck, Ansei was packing boxes and singing like a nightingale. His singing was so loud that he was drowning out the church choir.

For the rest of my life I will never forget what happened in that alleyway. From the second floor window, a loud voice shouted out, "Hey, you down there!"

"Cut the damn noise out and stop singing that Chinese crap! Don't you know its Sunday?

As I looked up, I saw the most unsightly looking, ugly human being hanging out the window. This person looked like he had been through a meat grinder.

I walked over to Ansei and asked him if I should move the truck now that there were some empty spaces in the street. Not a word. He didn't even turn around. He just kept on singing louder and louder. All this time I am thinking that if this psychopath comes down here, who knows what he is capable of doing?

"Hey Moto. I have killed so many of your kind in wartime that it wouldn't bother me to kill one more, you little Jap ass." This lunatic was screaming out the window at the top of his lungs. I wasn't sure, but if Ansei did not stop singing, I had a feeling all hell would break loose.

Sure enough, the ground started to shake; he was coming down the stairs. When he stepped out of the doorway, my God, he looked abnormally immense.

Ansei had his back to the giant and was still singing. As I watched in horror, the big baboon wrapped his tree trunk arms around Ansei, and like some wild beast made an ungodly sound. I was not sure what happened next, but suddenly the giant was lying on his back.

"Oh yea," he screamed. "You're finished now, chink," The punches started coming left then right. Ansei blocked each blow with the accurate precision of a warrior in battle; the giant was getting frustrated.

I was getting excited watching David beat Goliath. No sooner did my thoughts of Ansei winning come out into the ethers, when Ansei just stared at me and let his guard down. Even the giant didn't know what was happening. He started hitting Ansei repeatedly. It felt like a lifetime watching Ansei taking punches, but it only lasted for a few seconds.

"Have you had enough? "The giant asked. Ansei was still not defending himself.

The giant was tiring and started to look physically worn out. You could almost hear him questioning himself, "Why am I hurting this man who from the very start was just defending himself, not striking back once?"

I had the feeling that the giant was starting to realize that every punch he was delivering was coming from his own guilt and fear. By absorbing every punch the giant threw, Ansei was freeing him of all the pain he had locked up inside over years. The teacher of compassion was in action again.

I knew that with all his Martial Arts training, Ansei could have taken this old vet down in a second. Instead, he gave him the opportunity to redeem himself. With a look of disbelief and his head hanging in shame, the giant in his own way apologized, and quietly went back upstairs. For the rest of the day, Ansei kept on singing.

While driving home that evening, I asked Ansei if at any time during the fight he was afraid of the giant. He laughed at my description of this old vet.

"Sandman," he said. "This man's experiences in life killed his spirit. All I did was raise some hope out of that dead body of his, and give him a chance to live again."

"Just like Jesus did with Lazarus? "I asked.

Ansei laughed at that. "Answer to your question, was I afraid during the fight? No afraid sandman. Where there is love, there is no fear. Where there is fear there is no love."

"I like that, Ansei. Those words make life worth living."

My experience with Ansei was so exhausting and over whelming, I went to sleep early.

**The Death of a Friend**

On my way to work one morning, I noticed Ansei's van parked on the side of the diner off Farmers Boulevard in Queens. It was always an adventure being with him; you never knew where he was coming from because the teacher was always present.

As I entered the diner, I was hit with an overwhelming feeling of sadness. Everything was a blur. The people in the diner seemed like talking statues, their language sounded foreign and strange.

My friend Ansei sat in one of the booths in the back of the diner. I did not recognize him at first. He was dressed in a suit too small for his physique. I had the feeling he was telling the world: "You can't fit the universe into one small body." Then, with a smile and a look of compassion, he told me a friend of his was shot in an armed robbery this past week. She was a student at one of his Dojos.

He apologized for the sadness that filled the diner, but at the same time needed to grieve in his own way for the loss of a friend. I was upset for my friend and could not describe in words what I was thinking, so I sat with my Ansei in silence. He gestured for me to pour some tea for him and a cup for myself.

Without any hesitation, he drank the tea down in one gulp. I started to do the same and the skin on my lips started to blister; the tea was scalding hot. As I sat there with this indescribable look of pain, Ansei smiled, and through some kind of telepathy that he frequently used he said, "Sandman, when there is no guilt or fear to be found in the heart, there will be no pain in the body.

I must still have a lot of guilt and fear in my heart because my freaking lips hurt like hell. To this day, I still don't know how he drank that tea without blinking an eye.

Over the years, my close observation of Ansei reminded me of John the Baptist when I saw John in the desert. John also had a way of using the body to create conscious awareness: by teaching in the scorching desert sun, fasting, with a constant diet of only locust and honey.

I will share one thing with you about Ansei; He would never have you do something while teaching you unless he did it first. As the teacher, he would always remind me to do one act of kindness day. His generosity towards all life forms was beyond kindness. He saw the world as a Universal Airport where souls could rest for a while, then prepare themselves for their final journey into the heart of their God Self.

**Jim Wax half Man half God**

I was driving down Roosevelt Avenue near 25A in the Jackson Heights area when, out of nowhere, flashing lights came up behind me. It was Ansei and a young man maybe in his mid thirties. I pulled over and parked.

Before I could even open the door Ansei was knocking on my window. "Hey, Sandman you busy today?"

Man, how did he get out of his truck that fast? It was as if he materialized out of nowhere. He did this quite often, on a number of occasions. I never question him about these phenomena because I knew words had their limitations. I sometimes wondered if he could split his essence and be in two places at once.

"My friend Jim and I need your help today. Much better three then two."

"Oh, I get it the Father, Son, And Holy Ghost."

"Jesus Christ Sandman you have good imagination."

How could I refuse? It was always an adventure, almost magical being with him. Sandy you get in on drivers side." As I slid over to the middle, I introduced myself. Not a sound came out of this young man.

As the truck started to roll, Jim said, "See that fly on the dashboard?"

"Yea."

"I can make him disappear."

"No, you can't."

"Watch closely." Then with the speed of a leopard, Jim rolled down the window and the fly flew out. Ansei started laughing so hard that all three of us started laughing and could not stop. In between the laughing, Jim said that that trick had taken him years to prefect.

I knew already that I would be balancing myself on the high wire of life that day, with these two spirits helping me cross over to the other side without a net. Jim put his arm around my shoulders. "With us, you don't need a net Sandy. We would never let you fall."

How did he know what I was thinking? Sitting between these two men, I could have died right there on the spot without any fear, never looking back at whom I may have been on this Sphere disguised as my real home we call Earth. That morning I felt like a lightning rod between two electrical thunderstorms, being charged with spiritual currents that only Gods angels could deliver. We drove towards the Bronx until we got to Tremont Avenue. I did not know this side of town very well never worked in the area much. The neighborhood was pretty run down.

As Ansei pulled his truck up to the sidewalk, I noticed a man, a woman and five children with all of their furniture, clothing, and some toys near the steps in the front yard.

Ansei said, "They are being evicted."

"I don't understand."

"No time to try and understand now Sandman, we have work to do." That morning we loaded everything on to the truck, finishing just in time as the taxi pulled up.

The entire family got in and followed us across town to Woodside Queens where we unloaded everything and left them in their new dwelling.

"Hey Ansei, how long did you know these people?"

He replied "Two days."

Only two days? It seems he passed them the other day on the way to Hunts Point, stopped and arranged to help them today.

Jim in some kind of southern drawl said, "Too much suffering in this world. You cannot help everyone, but when someone enters your circle of life, you must help." On the way back to my truck, Jim talked about being in your own movie, writing your own script, directing, and then producing the conscious results that are needed. If you are the outside observer of the body that your spirit lives in, then this outside observer consciously becomes the God force sent to set this spirit free through self-observation.

"What happens when the spirit becomes free?"

"Nothing. You are the same as before except you have the ability and freedom to be in two places at once. Heaven and Hell, experiencing a free spirit in the body of a dead person."

"Are you saying that this body sitting next to you is actually dead until I free my spirit through self-observation?" "

"You could say that Sandy."

"So, everyone I meet in this lifetime is the walking dead?"

"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. The shadows in this scenario are the walking dead we meet in life. A body without a spirit is the tomb of Lazarus. Jesus did not raise Lazarus from the dead he raised the God spirit from within. Awaking the dead form at the same time."

"Thank you Jim. I think you just answered my Ansei and Chiou materializing Phenomena."

"That is just it Sandy. It is not a Phenomenon at all. But you're right. As a human being you have the potential to evolve into the image of your God. Being everyway at once." "You mean that saying about being made in the image of God is actually true."

"You could say that."

I looked at Ansei. His eyes turned as black as the midnight sky. "Jimmy and I go back a long time. He was the first to open his heart, giving both of us the ability to become one, an extension of each other in the holy arena of Karate. We know how to be alone in a world of lonely souls."

Jim said, "When you use life, you are alone. When you need life, you become lonely."

We finally got back to my truck. It was late. "See you later Boss. Good night Jim. Where will you be going tonight?"

"Nowhere. There is no place to go." He laughed, shook my hand and disappeared into the Queens' night. Whenever Jim would come to New York, I tried to see him. I saw him on most of his trips here to New York and crazy yet magical moments, with him.

**The Storm**

It was 3:00 a.m. when a cool breeze from the harbor entered my attic bedroom. The air was full of electricity fluttering about like a legion of restless angels. My nighttime freedom messengers were always there for me, delivering my unstamped spiritual mail. That morning as I was making coffee, I decided to sit and meditate for a while before going to work. I only do this occasionally.

There was something in the air. My being was in turmoil making me uncomfortable. As I closed my eyes, I saw a wax figure melting in the desert sun. In the distance, there was a storm brewing: a black wall of lighting and rainfall centered in the middle of a beautiful double rainbow.

I wondered what this meant.

On the way to work, I could feel everyone and everything around me becoming an extension of my own spirit. I was automatically being cradled and protected in this family of Universal Love. As I approached the Long Island Expressway, I could see that traffic was at a standstill, there was an accident just a few hundred yards ahead.

While passing the two cars involved in the crash, there was a young man bleeding from a head wound. He looked a little bit like Jim Wax. As I passed him, he gave me the peace sign ensuring me that everything was all right. A strange feeling filled my entire body.

I felt happy, yet sad at the same time.

Why did I just see someone who looked like jimmy? I guess Ansei was right when he said I think too much. I felt Jimmy's presence all that day. So, I immediately sent out the white healing light to keep him safe from harm.

On my way into Queens, I was thinking: if I hadn't stopped to meditate before leaving the house, I could have been that young man. Does fate really exist or does everything just happen? Talking to Chiou about death one time he said. "Knowing how to live will teach you how to die without fear."

I personally always thought death was just a free ticket back home.

That day I left my job early to go say hello to Ansei, hoping he would be at the Farmer's Boulevard yard. When I got to the trucking yard, I asked one of the workers if he had seen Ansei around. "I have not seen him for a few days. I was told a good friend of his was shot."

"Who?"

"You know that young man that comes to visit from Ohio?"

"Oh no, not Jim Wax?"

"Yes that is him."

"Is he alright?"

"I heard he is alive but in critical condition."

That evening I talked to one of Ansei's Black Belt students, he said that Jim was going to live and he was out of intensive care.

"What happened?" I asked.

"We're not sure. I heard some rumors that Jim was trying to help someone who was in a fight. He was shot in the process."

There's that strange timing of fate coming into someone's world again, picking them to play the part of winner or loser, creating havoc for all those who love and care about them. I was overjoyed to hear that Jim was doing fine. Now I knew what my premonition of the double rainbow was telling me.

I also felt sick to my stomach hearing that my spiritual brother could have been killed. The next time I saw Jim, He looked straight into my eyes and said with a wink and a smile. "Sandy, if you ever really want to live in the moment, go out and get yourself shot."

"What was that like?"

"I felt as helpless as a one legged blind man in an ass kicking contest. All I remember is lying on my back trying to stop my soul from leaving my physical body. The vibrations were incredible. It felt like every cell in my body wanted to take flight pulling the life force in difference directions."

"What were you thinking?"

"There was a part of me that wanted to experience every second of what was happening, but at the same time, I really didn't want to leave this world just yet. I was hoping someone was on the phone calling an ambulance, but all I was hearing in the background were people yelling and screaming. "Someone get help!"

"How are you doing now?"

He smiled. "Thanks for asking." Then in that good old southern Baptist preacher drawl he would use from time to time. "I am all right. I was shot in the part of my body that was negative anyway. Sandy, in the name of the good almighty God, I swear, standing in front of you is the new and positive Jimmy Wax." Minus the negative thoughts." We both started laughing at his attempt of imitating a good old southern Baptist minister for at lease ten minutes.

"When I do finally die, it will be in the same state I was born in", he told me.

I wasn't sure what he meant by that. Was it the physical state of Virginia where he was born or the state of his being, when he came into this world?

If Jim died that day, I really believe the Earth's heart would have skipped a beat and the storm of sorrow would have flooded the entire desert.

Peace

**Chiou**

*********

**A Teacher**

I met Chiou in Manhattan's Chinatown when I was in my twenties. He looked about seventy years old, but would argue that he was a hundred and twenty. I never questioned his age because Chiou was timeless. I wondered if he was a missing link to all the hidden knowledge in the soul of humanity.

One night during dinner, we talked for hours about the laws of creation and the uniqueness of man's potential to conquer the flesh, not through war, but through spiritual compassion and the ability to experience and see each other as the same spiritual energy separated only by different human forms. Chiou asked me what I saw when I was looking at him.

"Oh come on Chiou. I see you as you are", was my reply.

"What if I told you my body was just a mental picture my soul was projecting at this moment in time? That you and I are just thoughts of each other, trying to make something real out of something that never existed, mental images of non-existing life forms using the flesh to make God visible in human forms. I know you know these things, Sandy."

"You are right Chiou, it does sound so familiar to me."

"Because of the curiosity you acquired as a child, you were given the ability to ask the right questions. In return, you were always given the right answers."

Chiou, like Jesus, could really get you questioning everything. This loving, humble being was also a spiritual angelic warrior. His sword was made of unconditional love for all those looking for a spiritual fight. He said that everything we have been experiencing from childhood to adulthood is only an illusion in appearances through the five senses.

As evening progressed, I asked Chiou. "Why do people who meditate always suggest you needed to go inside yourself to find yourself?" I always wondered where "inside" was and exactly, "what needed to be found."

Chiou became quiet for a moment. In a serious voice started to explain that real meditating is becoming a part of nothing and everything at the same time. He said that trying to be in the now was impossible because there is no now in real meditation only absolute emptiness.

"Are you saying there is no point in people practicing meditation?"

"No, my son, absolutely not. What I am saying is that the 'now' they describe in meditation is the last door you open before meeting your God. If you practice meditation through out your daily rituals, the possibility of opening this door and experiencing absolute emptiness is inevitable. When this actually happens you can enter in and out of this illusion we call time. My definition of the last door opened through meditation would be 'Light traveling.' Remember, Sandman, our perceptions can be blindfolded by the way things appear to the five senses, and that is why taking time out from the drudgery conditions of life to meditate is so important."

He spoke of a spiritual sixth-sense energy that if created in the body could heal all of humanity's diseases. This sixth-sense presence is when two become one, and the presence of God is manifested. I had experienced the sixth sense Chiou was talking about. I acquired it through many incarnations, giving me the freedom to light travel. At the same time I needed to stay grounded in a body to fertilize and nourish my soul, while manifesting love in a world based on insanity.

**Chiou and the Hawks**

As I was driving towards Queens one morning, I heard Chiou's voice coming in loud and clear. Maybe Chiou needed my help. I decided to take the day off and visit my all-loving friend. When I got to Chinatown, I saw Chiou sitting on a bench motionless. I had never seen him look so distressed before.

As I approached him he yelled, "No one will help! No one will help!"

"Calm down, Chiou. What's going on?"

"No one would help me. One man said I would get rabies; another woman grabbed her children and ran across the street screaming, 'Those things spread diseases.' A man dressed as a priest just looked at me and said. 'Toss them in the dumpster.' "

"What are you talking about?"

"Sandy, the window washers knocked this bird's nest off the top of that ledge yesterday, and I found it on the sidewalk."

"Chiou, where are the birds? Are the okay?" I could not believe how upset he was; it was almost comical. "Where are the birds and their nest?" I asked again.

"They are right here in the cardboard box. I stayed with them all night." I opened the box and looking up at me were two very small baby hawks. I knew from my childhood experiences with birds that these little guys needed their mother to survive. As I looked up, I could see the mother hawk on the ledge, watching our every move.

"Chiou, there's the mother hawk up on the ledge. Everything is going to be all right."

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Chiou asked.

As soon as he said 'we', I knew I was in trouble. I thought my adventure with the turtle was dangerous until I looked up at the ledge three stories high. I did have a forty-foot ladder on one of my jobs in Queens. The ladder would definitely reach the ledge and I could save my friend from having a heart attack. I still could not believe how upset Chiou was.

When I finally got back with the ladder, we decided to put the nest on the side of the building where there were no windows; a good spot where it would be out of the way of the window washers.

I set the ladder in position and Chiou found some old crates in one of the dumpsters in the alley. The crates were perfect for the job; I screwed them to the siding about six inches above the ledge to avoid making holes in the flashing. Plus, I installed them where you could not see them from the ground. While Chiou was footing the ladder, an older man approached him and wanted to know what were we repairing on his building.

Oh man, I knew it. Both of us were going to be arrested and thrown in jail for vandalizing this old guys property.

I looked down at both men conversing back and forth. Chiou was pointing up at me saying something to the old man. Oh Christ, I hope Chiou doesn't tell him what I am doing up here.

All of a sudden, the old man started laughing and yelled up, "Be careful young man don't fall. Also, thank you for the good work you are doing. Send me your bill. I will take care of it personally."

When I finally got down off the ladder, I asked Chiou, "What the hell did you say to him?"

"I told him the truth."

"You did what?" Then I remembered Chiou was not catholic and he didn't lie. "You mean we are not going to jail?"

"No jail today Sandman. No, he knew about the hawks He said they have been nesting there for years, having their babies for generations. They reminded him of his childhood when growing up in the country. He always felt it was a good Omen that the hawks picked his building to nest on."

I thought about Chiou that day, wondering how this man of great wisdom and knowledge could become so hysterical over a couple of baby hawks. Only much later in my life did I realize that men like Chiou and Ansei were teaching me that all things are connected. When one of us is in pain, all of us are in pain. To this day, I still think about the way Chiou handled the whole hawk situation with sympathy and compassion.

This gentle man with a warrior soul was surrounded by so much kindness you could not help feeling loved when in his presence. I saw another side of Chiou that day. "The sales clerks in him." It took courage, dealing with the owner of the building under very difficult circumstances. Not only did Chiou keep us out of jail, but also made one old man a very happy camper.

**The Magician**

I was glad the hawks were safe, and for a good deed done, Chiou bought me dinner that evening in New York's Chinatown. While sipping tea, Chiou asked me if I knew who the magician was that created us the day we were born.

"I'm not sure, Chiou. Mom and Dad?"

Chiou laughed. "What if I told you that neither Mother Nature nor God created you but a universal substance that fell from God's grace known as the Fallen Angels? These fallen Angels had no choice but to create a nucleus of living nerve cells to survive, a physical body. These wingless angels needed a phantom body to work out their future existence by using cell tissue to create a higher vibration of spirit.

"The spiritual fission they used created a lighter being body. This light energy was then able to enter and exit dense material with ease. Eventually, through this spiritual metamorphosis of cell division, these phantom bodies will help create, a third being body that eventually became the soul.

"This whole spiritual process starts with this sleeping seed we call the Astral body. We all were given this seed at birth. You have heard of astral projection?"

"Sure Chiou. Do you know the difference between Light traveling and astral projection? I have done both many times, but if you can elaborate, a little I would appreciate, Chiou. Sometimes I need a wakeup call."

"That's alright my boy. Let me explain. In light traveling, you travel through time, and space. In Astral traveling, you enter the human DNA, a universe all of its own. This first being body, or Astral body's soul purpose is to crystallize every cell in the body creating a second being through a spiritual nuclear fission. This spiritual metamorphosis of creating a second being body through your Astral body is your inherent right as a human being. This Holy second being body will eventually become the vehicle connecting you with your soul. Once this whole process is finished, you become your own rapture in the face of death; henceforth, the resurrection from the phantom is accomplished.

"Imagine if everyone you met in life were just thoughts projected on a movie screen. If you were director and producer of your own script, how long would it take you to find an escape route from this insanity?"

"Are we really who we think we are, or just bodies labeled with names by the outside world?" I asked.

"Sandman, you have to understand that humanity is stuck in this circle of death they call home without the slightest notion of how to escape. Humanity's biggest problem is: they cannot see beyond the tip of their noses. Believe me, my boy, there are other worlds we can walk in and out of reflecting back the answers of who we are."

"Chiou, are you saying we are not the only intelligent species in the universe?"

Chiou laughed at the word 'intelligent.'

"Sandman, there are harmonious beings in all shapes and forms living on every planet and star in our solar system and far beyond. They exist according to the vibrations of their planet. These vibrations keep them invisible from each other."

"Do they ever visit us on Earth, Chiou?"

"Yes. But even when they do, we would be invisible to them as they would be to us. Sandy, their existence also has to do with them finding their place in God's universe. Let's not lose our conversations to terrestrial beings tonight. We can talk about terrestrial being another time. I would rather come back down to earth and talk about the challenges we face here, Sandman."

"Ok, Chiou, fair enough. Why do we always hurt the ones we love?"

"Good question, Sandman. If we really loved each other, we would be sharing Heaven on Earth. When the existence of this entity we call the soul has been completed in two humans simultaneously, this energy can merge and take flight as one being."

"What are you saying Chiou, that a man's soul energy can merge with a woman's soul energy and they can spend eternity together?"

"Yes, my boy. This is when two become one. There is no greater celebration in Heaven than the marriage of two souls in the presence of God."

"What happens if one of these people dies before the other one does?"

"Nothing, Sandman. Once these souls have merged while both are alive, they are spirit forever. The phantom body that was used to consummate this heavenly event is left behind to live out its existence until death. Again, Sandman, when two become one, the body left behind is just a shell. Hey, don't look so sad. Empty shells are only empty because they did their job. The whole purpose in being on this on this earth is to experience spiritual evolution through oneness."

"Chiou, what happens to those bodies that don't create a soul in their lifetime?"

"They keep coming back again in other life forms until their spiritual marriage is consummated. Like all spiritual marriages, it will eventually become a manifestation of Heaven on Earth. Your friend Jesus did this with his disciples, and those who were close to him. Because of his selfless act of love, they were spiritually bonded together through eternity. These light travelers of the past, present, and future are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. This is probably the closest definition of immortality I can come up with. The marriage between a man and woman your contemporaries participate in is just a form of kindergarten intelligence. Everything about their Earthly marriage will eventually turns to dust. The soul is not just a body. The soul is a universal energy that fills space everywhere in and out of time, a gift of immortality from the All-loving absolute.

"The only description we have been given of this extraordinary spirit of possibility is: something that takes us back to Heaven when we die. That is the furthest from the truth. The soul is Heaven on Earth waiting to become one with a kindred spirit. When two become one in this illusion of time, the presence of God will be felt."

Chiou definitely was a Universal teacher. He brought me into so many other dimensions through light traveling, giving me a little bit of insight on understanding the law of creation and how our world came about.

**The Three O'Clock Messenger**

Chiou entered my dreamscape one evening and together we light traveled. As I said earlier, light traveling would start with a high-pitched sound.

The vibrations were so intense that every cell in the body transformed into another dimension. My two thousand year old soul was light traveling again. Everything in my bedroom turned transparent, gold in color. We became universal alchemists, unleashing the secret of alchemy and changing everything into gold.

As we traveled outside the sky, the trees and grass were all transparent.

"Where are we Chiou?"

"We have just left the world of man's unconscious dream state, and entered into the realm of the soul, Sandman."

What happened next was overwhelming. The entire world turned dark and gray. Before my spiritual eye, the entire planet I knew as mother earth became isolated and barren like all other planets in the solar system.

As I was observing the terrain around me, I thought, this was a good explanation of how Jesus moved mountains: by knowing that they were never there to begin with.

Because of Chiou, the incredible experience I was having gave me the knowledge and understanding of universal law. At that moment of being in the now, I immediately realized all life on earth was just a dream created in the minds of man. Mother, father, sister, brother, were all imaginary Phantoms of man's own Illusions. Don't get me wrong. Even though, you are all phantoms in my illusion of time, I still love you all.

Because of this conscious experience, I will never criticize or judge anyone again. How can you criticize or judge something that is not real? My friend Chou was definitely a spiritual teacher traveling through the arena of time.

He was neither political nor religious. He didn't try to disguise himself in the holy robes of righteousness in the name of God. He helped me rise above the unconscious living of ordinary life that keeps us all in prison.

His gentle way of showing unconditional love is one of the reasons I am on this spiritual path today. Time with Chiou that summer and fall inspired me to live in the now.

My experiences with men like Chiou and Ansei turned my life into a book of magic, with my spirit becoming the magician.

The next time I heard from Chiou was a couple months after the Hawk incident. He actually called me from a pay phone for the first time. Telepathy was usually his calling card."

"What's going on, Chiou?" I asked him.

"Wind chime is not feeling well; his soul was trying to leave his body last night." Wind chime was Chiou's twenty-year-old Siamese cat. As I listened to the grief in Chiou's voice, I immediately stopped everything that morning to comfort my friend while he laid his loyal companion to rest.

The hardest thing in the world for anyone to do, whether man or animal, is to say goodbye forever. I was surprise to hear Chiou say that Wind chime had a soul. As a Catholic, the priest and nuns always told me that animals did not have souls. Many years later, a black phantom projected his soul into my heart and I was forever convinced that animals do have souls.

**Magic Happens**

*********

**A Dog Called Mushin**

It was All Saints day, about 4:30 a.m., when I heard barking outside my bedroom window. Even my two Scotties looked as if they had heard something. Because it was raining and sleeting that morning, I was debating on making a trip to Richmond to pick up some siding material.

The decision was easy to make when I heard barking again. It was as if I was being beckoned to make the trip. As always, I listened to my inner voice and it definitely paid off. Later that day, I was heading back to Charlottesville from Richmond, towing a trailer loaded down with siding material. It was one of those gray November days with a biting rain falling. Out of nowhere, just a few hundred feet in front of my truck, a black dog appeared, moving as if the Devil himself was chasing him down. All of a sudden, as I reached the grassy knoll on the other side of the interstate, he tumbled like a phantom, completely disappearing before my eyes.

Out of pure curiosity I pulled over to see if I could find and help this animal, but the black dog trying to show me the map into his being was nowhere in sight.

I traveled up the highway in the slow lane for another ten miles or so. A voice told me to pull over into the fast lane. As I did so, I looked down into the median ditch and saw my black apparition lying in the ditch. He appeared to be skin and bones. He looked up at me with soulful eyes and I could have sworn he asked me where I had been.

I answered him in my mind. "Please forgive me, I was not sure where you were. I knew you were here someplace when you projected your soul out of your body ten miles back. What do we do now, my old friend?"

He was a big dog with long legs. I did not have a clue how to get him up the hill and onto the bed of my truck, so I tried to flag down a couple of truckers. After a few minutes, one trucker finally stopped and said that another truck driver had radioed that someone needed help. He was a little nervous about picking the dog up. He agreed to help as long as I lifted the front and we got the dog into my truck.

I knew an animal clinic just up the road in Goochland. I had taken my Scotties there for years. I always felt that Margaret Washburn was one of the best veterinarians in the state of Virginia. When I pulled into the vet's parking lot, Margaret the owner and one of her assistants were helping another customer with their dog. She said, "Hi Sandy, what did you bring me today?" As she said this, she looked down at Mush (the name I finally gave him).

"I found him on I-64, and I think he may have been hit. Could you please look at him?"

As we started loading him on the stretcher, I heard Margaret's assistant say, "What a wonderful thing you have done, finding this dog and bringing him here."

Out of nowhere, Margaret turned and said, "Sandy didn't find this dog. This dog found Sandy."

I just stood there speechless. How did she know what had taken place and hour ago? It definitely confirmed that the black apparition I had seen was real. I left Mush in safe hands and returned to Charlottesville.

Later that day, Margaret called me. "Sandy, the dog's femur bone was broken and because of his condition, we will have to feed him intravenously for a few days before he will be strong enough for the surgery he needs."

Because of the condition he was in, she felt Mush might have been lying in that ditch for more than ten days. His body was skin and bones and he was dehydrated. I had saved fifteen hundred dollars for Christmas that year. I ask her to do all that she could to save the dog. I named him Mushin, meaning, "No mind no body.' For short, I called him Mush. With Christmas money well spent, my sweet Mush lived a long and healthy life, running the mountains of Free Union with his best friend Paco. I will never forget the day Mushin projected himself into my life; I am so grateful that I was sensitive enough that morning to have been there for this beautiful spirit.

I can still here him barking at my back door every once in a while, telling me to keep on listening to my inner voice, the voice that saved both our lives that cold November day.

True love can be found anywhere in this world, especially when you least expect it. I know one thing. Since we found each other in this lifetime, Mush, we can definitely do it again in our next life.

**The Cross on the Road (An Encounter with a Very Special Being)**

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. I spotted a figure in the distance on the highway as I drove to town. There was a green and blue aura dancing around this body. As I got closer, I saw a young man dragging a huge cross on the side of the highway. Even in my disbelief of what was happening, I slowed down and stopped to say hello.

"Where are you coming from?" I asked.

He just smiled and in a musical voice said, "Nowhere. I have always been here."

I wasn't sure if that was an answer or not. He just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. As I looked deep into his ocean green eyes, I could swear there were dolphins swimming in his pupils. As I am experiencing the essence of the world standing in front of me in the form of an old sixties hippie something strange started to happen. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like his physical body was fading in and out of the scenery where he was standing. He was actually becoming a part of everything around him. Standing next to him, the force of this energy started to pull me into another spiritual dimension. I felt every cell in my body being pulled towards the sun. Who is this person? My curiosity was greater then my fear.

"What's with the cross?" I ask.

"I am the carrier of the crucified child."

"You mean 'JESUS'?"

"No. I mean all the innocent children of the world, the children who are dying of hunger and disease, unclaimed children thrown on the garbage dump of humanity, the child who is abused and left to go through life with a broken Spirit, and the potential of finding their place in this world is lost forever. The future generation of misfits taught from birth to war on each other in the false name of patriotism. The day the power of Love is consumed by the power of hate this world, as we all know it will end in disaster. Humanity is at the stage of opportunity to either consciously raise, our Spiritual being one more step towards the evolution of completeness or to destroy the very essence of our world and spirit."

After that speech, I tried to collect my thoughts, wanting to get into this guy's head for a couple of hours. We sat together, swapping life stories. He liked the questions I was asking and answered each one with such passion and insight I felt as if I was in the presence of some universal teacher praying "OM" to the multitude.

"What can I do to ease your mind my friend?" He asked.

"Where do you go when you die?" I asked.

"The same place you go when you're born."

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is you can't die unless you were born to begin with. This whole world thing is something we made up in a dream while God was sleeping if you will. Death needs the illusion for man to thinks he is real so it can survive and hide in the unconscious mind. Remember one thing: if humanity isn't real, then death isn't real. Death is just a trick we play on ourselves to hide from the love of God. One day in the future while working on your spiritual journey you will realize your whole existence is made of the same material the universe is made of. At that moment, you will know dying is impossible. There is really no place to go when you are already there." He ended with a smile.

"Now I know why you came from nowhere." I Said. "You were always here."

"You are a good student my newfound friend. Thank you for your understanding. It gives me great hope in humanity."

The minutes turned into hours, we were running out of stories to swap.

Remembering what my Grandma once shared with me as a child, I said, "Words were invented to confuse the soul."

"That's so true. Your grandma was definitely right. Words do have their limitations."

Before this strange universal man started to leave, he laid his arms on my shoulders, and touched my forehead with his and whispered, "It was a pleasure being with you."

"I hope we meet again," I said.

Shaking my hand, he said, "Yes we will Sandy. May your journey back home be as sweet and gentle as the floating wings of the butterfly?"

I got into my truck and turned to wave goodbye. As I looked back to where he was standing, there was nothing but a whirlwind of leaves spinning musical notes in the breeze.

I drove toward town, wondering how he knew my name. I really didn't remember giving it to him. For the rest of the day I was floating on air. I wanted to share my story about the disappearing Messiah with the world; the messiah who gave me his time plus his wisdom, freely answering questions that had been on my mind since childhood.

Was it magic? Did this young man enter this world through some medieval portal? Was he sharing the purpose of creation with me? I am not sure. Maybe I wasn't ready to receive his message yet?

"When the road to life gives no direction, CREATE YOUR OWN MAP."

**Magic Happens Here**

It was wet drizzly Saturday morning as I made my way into town. I had already made plans to meet Susan at the Quest Bookshop. As I pulled into the parking lot next to the bookstore, I noticed an old black Gentleman sitting on the bench across from the Blue Moon Diner waiting for the next bus to arrive. He looked a little lost, maybe confused But was surrounded by a golden white aura.

Walking toward the bookstore, I heard a faint voice calling me. It was the old man.

"Sit down my young friend, I could use the company today."

"My pleasure Sir."

"You can call me Joe."

"Okay Joe. What brings you to Charlottesville?" I asked.

"Well I just came into town, riding the Greyhound line on my way to Charleston, South Carolina. When we were told, the bus was having mechanical problems and there would be a two-hour delay before the problem would be solved. While I was sitting at the bus terminal waiting for the next bus to arrive, a strange thing happened. I saw my wife of fifty years who recently died standing on the sidewalk in front of the bus station."

"Do you know why she appeared to you today?"

"Well yes. For some reason she was pointing towards the sidewalk at something. When I got closer, I recognized it immediately. It was the cross I gave Rosa many years ago before going off to war. As I bent over to pick it up, it disappeared. I heard Rosa say 'It's time to come home, Joe.' Remember Joe this cross-brought us together in life it will never separate us in death Rosa exclaimed. I miss her so much, especially today. It would have been our fifty-second anniversary."

"I'm sorry Joe. When a loved-one dies there's no place to go except in that gift of love you shared together. Remember Joe. Death is the souls gift to life freeing us from this illusion that never happened."

As I got up and turned to say goodbye to Joe, the bench was empty. The apparition, fading in and out time on east main street was the spirit of Joe ascending back into the light, going home to his Rosa. I felt hypnotized while trying to decipher what just happened. Out of curiosity that afternoon, I went to the Greyhound bus terminal to see if, any bus was delayed this morning. The answer was no.

As I was walked into the bookstore Kathy took one glance in my direction. "Hey, is everything all right?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Well, you look as if you just seen a Ghost."

"No, I'm alright. I think someone just needed my help crossing over to the other side. The old guy I just met didn't realize he was dead yet. It took a lot of energy out of me."

"You're weird Sandy."

"I think I just need to sit for a moment Kathy. The couch in this store definitely had magical powers. Sit on it and it will put you to sleep in a second. Just as I was settling down, the front door flew open almost knocking it off its hinges. In flew a well-dressed women moving as if the devil was chasing her down. She ran straight back to the self-help section of the store and disappeared. I guess she needed one of those books that help slow you down and brings you into the moment.

I hope she finds what she's looking for. Mainly because in her rushing around, she forgot that she left two young stragglers at the front door to fend for herself. Two kids stood in the doorway completely lost searching for their Mom. They started to push each other around and argue. The boy seems to have started the fight. He was making all kinds of faces at her.

Yelling, taunting, creating all kinds of obscene jesters towards this little girl without showing any mercy what so ever. It had to be his younger sister.

"You don't know anything the little girl said. "I see them all the time."

"No there isn't any magic in the world!" he shouted. "No Wizards, elves, fairies, Leprechauns or any other stupid make believe freaks." This kid was not about to give his sister an inch. He just looked at her and said, "Get real you little jerk" as he ran off to find Mom.

The little girl was definitely a Star child. There were elves, fairies, and pixies that were dancing around her, holding their hands in an unbroken circle of light, protecting this holy child from the dark. She only needed to believe in herself, ignoring her brother, to keep them alive.

"Use your own mind," I silently whispered to her.

Just then out of nowhere a soft breeze blew through the front door ringing the hanging bell and calling out "Lily." The little girl turned around; no one was there. She looked up. A large banner hanging over the front door read. "Magic happens here."

In her excitement, arms' waving one book was knocked off the table. The title read "Magic Isn't Somewhere Magic Is You!"

Just then, Mom with her new books and wonder boy went flying out into the street. All I could hear in the distance was "Lily, come on where going to be late." Lily turned smiled and ran out the door with all her invisible friends following her.

**My Meeting with Cheyenne**

Somehow, through my martial arts connections and through the foresight and wisdom of James Wax, the sheep were guided to the shepherd. I had joined a group in Warwick, New York. The group studied the teachings of George Ivanovich Gurdeieff under the direction of one of Gurdjeff's disciples, Mr. Nyland. I was fascinated by their simplistic methods of teaching.

They called it "work on one's self," self-observation of your body, thoughts and emotions, during everyday activity. It was a kind of 'objective observation' of yourself, through the eye of your soul.

It reminded me of my childhood, growing up in a world that I never made real to begin with, so this kind of work was already easy for me to understand and follow.

This self-work method made you aware not only of your immediate surroundings, but also the universe around you. This was done by learning astrology and through certain sacred dance movements Gurdjeff had arranged for his students. These sacred dance movements brought you into now just like my martial arts did. My most memorable time spent in this group was listening to Mr. Nyland play music on his piano every Saturday evening. The music was hypnotizing at times. There were times when I felt like I was floating out into space with each note that was played. Music is definitely the sound of the soul.

One weekend, as I was leaving Warwick, and traveling toward U.S. 17, I picked up a hitchhiker in the little craft town of Sugar Loaf.

Through the open truck window I heard, "Hi, my name is Cheyenne. Thanks for the lift. My van is in the shop getting some engine work done."

I just looked at her as if she was some lost spiritual sister. "Have we met before like maybe in another lifetime?" I asked.

She laughed and said "maybe."

There was something dark and mystical about her. I could almost see her as a Mary Magdalene of the twenty first century. Is she real, or just some fairy or wood nymph flying in the realm of time, landing in the front seat of my pickup truck? I wondered what was the attraction. Why do these people keep showing up in my life?

"Hey there, could you please help me," "a voice said.

"Yea, I'm sorry." The suitcases and baskets that surrounded her needed to be loaded. "Forgive me, my mind was somewhere else."

With a smile, she said, "Yes, I know."

"Where are you headed?"

"Down to the city to sell my merchandise to some of the boutiques in Manhattan."

"What are you selling?"

"Well, I have home made candles, jewelry, some baskets, and different scented soaps. If I had my van on the road, I would probably have another ten items. The local artisans in this area and from the Adirondacks made them. The shops in the city pay more than the shops out here in the country. Plus, my real income comes from reading Astrology charts and tarot cards. I do three to four readings a day down in the city for extra money whenever I can."

On the way down to Manhattan, she talked about Shamanism, and the sacred ways of the Native American Indian.

I love the way she was dressed, the moccasins she wore, and the beaded braids in her hair and the scent of perfume called 'Taboo' that fill the cab. I had a strange feeling that this girl was never that far from being in the presence of her native ancestors every waking moment of the day. There was a light of innocence surrounding her entire body. Still, she had this kind of look as if to say 'catch me if you can.'

She was asking the world "If you capture my heart you can have all of me." She was Cherokee and grew up in Oklahoma. As a child, her Grandmother taught her about plants, herbs, and all the natural healing powers they had. She remembered that as a child, during scared dance ceremonies, the animals of the forest and plains came to speak to her about the web of life and how each and every one of us are connected in some way. "When one suffers, we all suffer, "she said.

When I heard Cheyenne's words, I could feel the presence of Chiou and Ansei.

Cheyenne was born under the sign of Cancer, a sign, which is overly sensitive to the psychic force nature, giving her the intuitive knowledge to be a good astrologer. That came in handy later on in life, as Cheyenne read my chart many times. "What are you doing in Warwick?" she asked.

I told her about the Gurjieff group and why I was there.

"Yes, I remember when they moved into this area a few years ago. The whole town was in an uproar. There was talk of some kind of occultism, even some Devil worshiping. I really had to laugh at that. Most of the group members I met, either in the town bookstore or out in the countryside, were very loving, compassionate, natural-born seekers of truth. They would do anything for anybody. Eventually this group became an asset to the people of Warwick."

I got Cheyenne to the big city that weekend and dropped her off in Greenwich Village, on the corner of Bleecker and Broadway.

"Take care, my sweet brother, I will see you again in the near future."

What's these chicks always calling me their brother? I don't want to be their brother. I would rather be their lover.

I would run into Cheyenne many times over the next couple of years. She reminded me of Chiou in many ways.

The excitement she could extract out of any ordinary situation like seeing a deer, a bear, or just a hawk flying over, was magical: always thinking they were sending some kind of spiritual message into the world for anyone who was sensitive enough to listen.

The next time I saw Cheyenne she was in her flower-painted van with the scene of a black bear painted across the front. Sitting next to her was a beautiful white half-wolf, half- dog. She was called magic. She handed me a box of hand-dipped candles, and said, May you always and forever have fire and light in your life."

After that last encounter, I never saw Cheyenne again. I was told by some of her friends that Cheyenne and Magic disappeared into the Adirondack Mountains and were never seen again.

In February of Nineteen seventy, I was hitchhiking up the California, coast on Highway 1, on my way to the west coast Gurdjeff group in Sebastopol. A flowered painted van stopped to picked me up. It was Cheyenne's van only with two new owners: a couple of hippies from upstate New York. They bought the van from a used car dealer. On the ride north to Sebastopol, I shared many stories about Cheyenne and the van they were driving. They were both amazed at our meeting this way. Was it coincidence or fate that brought us together?

What happened next even surprised me. When I mentioned Cheyenne's faithful companion Magic, who always traveled with her, they both looked stunned and almost terrified.

"What's going on?" I asked.

It seemed that ever since they bought the van in New York, a white phantom wolf would appear either lying on the floor of the van, or visiting their campsite fire whenever they stopped to rest. This phantom accompanied them for their entire trip to California. I guess Magic was still in the air after all.

Even today, whenever we are in the Adirondack area I can still feel the presence of the Cherokee woman they called Cheyenne and the white wolf she named Magic.

May you shape shift into the eagle you always wanted to be, and take flight over the mountains you loved so much.

**The Light Travelers**

*********

**Simon the Cross Carrier**

It was spring, and the birth of nature was upon us. I was feeling the presence of the all-loving creator around me. It was a Saturday night when Christ appeared at the foot of my bed. His message was simple and clear.

The light travelers I met in Galilee were here in New York. My job was to meet them one by one and relay the message Jesus bestowed on me.

I wondered whom I would meet first. On the way home from Queens, I stopped at my favorite Goodwill store in Great Neck. I usually found a good deal in this store. While walking through the front door, I noticed a beautiful picture of Our Lord Jesus hanging over the front counter.

"Is the picture of Jesus for sale?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not sure, young man," said an old but elegant looking woman, staring right through me as if I did not exist. "Wait right there, don't move. I'll be right back. Let me ask the others in the back room if Jesus is for sale."

After that completely strange scenario, I really did not think she wanted me to move from that spot, so I waited at the counter.

Four older women came rushing up to me, out of the back room. "There he is!" All eight eyes were fixed on me. I felt like a spider was about to devour me.

"Yes," one woman said. "We will sell you the painting. You are definitely the one."

"I am?" I still was not sure what was going on.

"When Simon gave us the picture to hold, he said the day would come when the right person will enter this store, and bring Jesus down. We all decided today was the day."

"Do you know Simon?' They all just looked at each other shrugging their shoulders. "We were never sure ourselves who Simon was. He would appear and disappear on different occasions." "He wandered in here one day and gave us some clothing that needed a little cleaning and this picture of Jesus."

"What did he say to you?"

"Nothing, except 'find the right one to sell the picture to.' I know one thing, young man, if you ever run into Simon you will never forget him."

" Why is that?"

"Well, he is about six feet six inches tall, and as black as the midnight sky, with eyes that will melt your heart. He usually wears a maroon poncho-like robe, with a plain rope tied around his waist. You'll sometimes see him pulling or pushing a cart filled with aluminum cans. One of our frequent customers said they saw Simon on Woodhaven Boulevard last week."

While leaving the store that evening, I realized that this was it. I was the first to know and the last to deliver the message Jesus prepared for the Galilean Light travelers.

On the way home I heard Jesus say, "When you see Simon tomorrow, listen to every word, he is saying with all your being." "I guessed that tomorrow I would finally the meet the man again, who carried the cross for Christ.

I wasn't able to sleep that night, I got out early. I didn't have a clue where I was going. I contemplated my situation. Without any doubt that, my guides would take me in the right direction. Oh yes, and right on time. While driving down Rockaway Boulevard, I saw Simon standing in one of the many vacant lots surrounding Kennedy Airport.

As I approached him, I heard a thunderous voice say, "You're late."

"No I'm not late. You're just early." My God, I had forgotten how huge Simon was. Simon handed me a beautiful apple, and then sat down on an old rubber tire.

Even though I had the mystery of the universe locked inside of me, being in the presence of this ingenious soul, I tried to get as comfortable as possible. I could feel my soul being resurrected into a higher state of consciousness. As I looked into his black, liquid eyes, I saw the eyes of Christ telling the story of life, not death. While peeling his apple, he pointed to a dead mouse near the apple peels decaying in the warm morning sun. "Sandy, most people would see a dead mouse. I see God."

"What do you mean, Simon? Please explain."

"I have always seen all creatures, plants, animals, and humans not as physical bodies, but as spiritual energy. It is the only way God can distribute Heaven's healing power in this illusion we call life. By storing, and disguising this healing energy in different physical bodies. This God force at any time can heal or even resurrect the soul from the dead body it is captured in."

The protons in my mind were fusing my thoughts together one by one. Simon could definitely confuse the hell out of you. Here, in God's junkyard, I was listening to a rag picker talk about raising the dead. What was Simon trying to say? Could raising the dead be that simple? With that thought, Simon started to laugh pointing at the mouse eating an apple peel.

What just happened here? I was not sure, but I thought I just witnessed a junkyard miracle. Though, I cannot say I was really surprised by what just happened.

The best part of this story is that the little mouse lived again in the junkyard of miracles.

"I'm glad you found me, Sandy." "I knew you would, being one of the seven sent into God's dream, I knew you would understand me."

Being with Simon under these circumstances was gratifying and a lot easier than seeing him carrying the Cross of Jesus. My universal lesson with Simon that day gave me a little more insight into the man and his purpose for coming back into this world.

We met again a few months later in an apartment off the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway.

All light travelers were present.

**Noah the Wood Carver**

It was a Saturday morning when this overwhelming feeling of kinship to everything around me started giving birth to a feeling of oneness.

The world was my back yard and, and I was here to play. I sat in my truck in the town of Northport with the smell of salt water coming off the harbor and the seagulls diving for food. The scenario was perfect for what was about to happen. The past and present were becoming one with the future, creating the now. My meeting with the spirits of the past was finally happening. As I Pulled into a parking space, I noticed an old man dressed as a seventeenth-century sea captain selling miniature carved statues of pirates, seamen, seabirds and other animals.

At first, I could not believe what I was seeing.

A parrot was actually taking money from his customers who waited patiently for the old sea captain to give them their change. The crowd surrounding him was getting larger by the minute.

I paid special attention to the children's reactions. They seemed to be enjoying every second of their new adventure. I could almost hear their thoughts as they marveled at how life-like the carvings were.

"Daddy, can I feed one?" A little girl asked her father.

"No, sweetheart, they're not real."

"Yes, they are!" She cried.

One little girl picked up the parrot by mistake thinking it was one of the old man's carvings. Everyone started to laugh.

"That happens to be Sally," the old man acknowledged. "Don't let her squawking fool you, she loves to be held and cuddled."

One little boy held his carved seagull tight against his chest, expecting the bird to fly away at any moment.

It was becoming a one-man carnival show. Besides the life like carvings, there were also beautifully built ships inside bottles of various types and sizes. The exhibit of carved seagulls, whales, and of course, Old Sea Captains with pipes of many sizes in their mouths were all displayed in miniature seaside settings, giving the children an almost realistic view of his life.

I wasn't sure, but there was something familiar about him. Maybe he was the next Light traveler I was to meet. The people were coming from all different directions. It didn't look as though he was having any problem attracting customers; there were dozens of loyal bodies waiting in line. The electricity in the air was overwhelming. They came from everywhere to meet the wood carver and buy his crafts. None were disappointed.

As the line got longer, I got hungrier and went to Skipper's restaurant for Lunch. Clams on the half shell, and a cold beer were on my menu. While eating lunch at the bar, I asked the bar maid about the old man.

"Oh that's just Noah. He appears every fall selling his crafts. The same people come back every year, buying the same animal statues over again."

"How come?" I asked.

"If I told you why they came back, you would probably never talk to me again."

"Try me."

"Well, mainly because the carvings seem to disappear. One child that comes for lunch frequently with his mom and dad told me his carved bird flew out the window. His parents looked embarrassed by his answer, so I didn't feel comfortable in pursuing it. Another little girl was playing with her carved dolphin on the beach when she said it jumped out of her hands into the water."

The bar maid started to look weary. "These stories go on forever."

"Wait a minute, what are you trying to say? These carvings come alive and take off on their own? Come on, give me a break."

"I am sorry. I know how crazy that must sound to you."

She raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders.

"I've been hearing these stories for years."

I was not convinced.

As I left the restaurant and headed towards my truck, the old sailor motioned to me to come over.

"Son," he said, "I will be through here in a half hour or so. Could you wait around and help me pack up?"

"Sure, oh, by the way my name is Sandy."

"My name is Noah. The last time we met, you were in Galilee playing the part of a sail maker named Israel."

"Yes, that's right. Then you must be the Noah who worked with Jesus in Joseph's carpentry shop."

"Thank you for finding me Sandy. We definitely have our work as light travelers cut out for us."

The line was down to three people and there was not another soul in sight. As I helped him load his camper, I asked if many of the same customers came back every year.

He just smiled. "I see you have been talking to the bar maid in Skipper's. My time spent with Jesus gave me the opportunity to see my carvings as my children waiting to be born. What is real is real. What is not real is not real. You can choose to believe or not believe. These children's innocence can make anything happen."

When we were finished packing, Noah handed me a beautifully carved seagull. "You don't have to do that," I said.

"Its my pleasure, Sandy. Anyway, if Nelly decides to fly away, you can always come back for Melody."

The next time I met Noah, I bought the seagull he named Melody. Please don't ask what happened to Nelly. Your guess is as good as mine.

**Nora the Bag Lady**

It was late Friday when I met her. Somewhere in the East New York, as I was coming out of one of the local bodegas, there she was: standing in the pouring rain, without a drop of water on her clothes. There was a light of protection surrounding her like a spiritual umbrella.

She immediately saw the expression on my face and knew what I was thinking. "You are trying to make me real in an unreal world. Your perception of me through blind eyes can only negate me, and the answers you are looking for.

"Who is this old chick?" I thought to myself.

"I am not old, and I am not a chick you idiot. My name is Nora and we crossed paths before in Jerusalem. I am in this world for two reasons: to feed the poor, and to light travel."

Okay you can imagine what was going through my mind. I stood there in disbelief here in front of me again, was Nora the bag lady telling me she was going to feed the world. In this lifetime, she had both eyes and a younger looking physique. I still wondered where this scenario was going.

"Nowhere," a humorous voice said. "Just step out of your body, Sandy, and enjoy the movie."

Then, like a flash of lighting, Nora grabbed my arm. She had the grip of a five hundred pound gorilla. I started to wonder if anyone on this street knew what was going on. "Stand right here, "Nora demanded.

'Yes, ma'am," I replied shakily. On one side of the sidewalk, Nora drew a cross in the dirt.

"Young man, step over onto this side of the cross, so we both can say we crossed paths in this lifetime."

She already had me under her spell. So, I did what she asked and she made our meeting official. We were spiritually married on the Holy streets of New York. "Next time we meet, she continued, "it will be in the Bronx."

As I watched her disappear down the street and around the corner, I heard a voice behind me say, "I see you met Nora." "She is a character, that is for sure."

"I have watched her bring the homeless people in these areas loaves of bread and fish for months now. It always seem she has an endless supply. One week she is here, then like a ghost disappears for a months. Go figure that."

"Where does she live?"

"I'm not sure, but one of my regulars heard she lives in Manhattan."

"Isn't that a little expensive for a bag lady?"

He just shrugged his shoulders, "I guess anything can happen in God's world of miracles." "Yea, I guess so."

On my way to the Bronx one afternoon to pick up a work order sheet for my next job, I spotted Nora while driving down Gun Hill Road. Like Simon, Nora was in one of the many vacant lots in the area at that time. She was surrounded by her bags of plenty, not only feeding the homeless, but every cat, dog, pigeon, seagull, and Bronx rat. I wanted to keep on driving, but as fate would have it, Nora turned her head and waved.

Damn, why can't I become invisible at the right moment? Will Sandy hit the gas and keep on going? Or will he, as the Lord put it, step out of his body and enjoy the movie?

That day, I decided to purchase a spiritual matinee ticket and help Nora with the sacred mission, she came into this world to accomplish.

I watched a brilliant actor work the crowds that day. She spoke many languages fluently, and could physically change her appearance whenever the occasion called for it.

I drove her around for hours through the streets of Queens, Brooklyn, and the Bronx, delivering food. Nora always landed in the right place at the right time. I loved spending every minute with Nora the Queen of Angels. She always knew exactly where to go, with her spiritual bag of plenty for the hungry. Lost souls waiting for her bags of fish and bread that never went empty.

From time to time, while working in the city, I would hear stories of a bag lady that would appear to feed the hungry and then disappear into the streets of New York. Thanks, Nora, for letting me cross your path.

**Amber Dawn**

Sitting with Chiou and having dinner late one night in New York's Chinatown, I felt light as a feather. Chiou was weaving a tapestry of knowledge and wisdom with unbelievable foresight. His lessons in consciousness gave me myself by letting me be myself. I felt as if I was in the presence of a Shaman from Asia, or a Native American medicine man. Being with Chiou always gave me a strong feeling that I was truly in the company of a great teacher. The fact that people like Chiou, and Ansei lived in my own back yard comforted me. Yes, good old New York, the center of the universe where Angels And Devils meet on the same playing field of free will and free choice, was home to many of my teachers.

I left Chiou sipping his tea. What I really needed was a hot cup of java. I found a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Greenwich Village. I always enjoyed my visits to this part of Manhattan. As I stood at the counter waiting to be served, I glanced over at this beautiful little thing smiling at me.

She was sitting at a corner table near the front door, with rings in her nose and bells on her toes. I guessed her to be somewhere in her late forties. She made a gesture for me to sit down. I picked up my coffee and joined her.

"Welcome to the New Jerusalem," she said with a smile. "My name is Amber Dawn."

I guess it was the proper name to have given to her since it was evident she was a lady of the night. We spent the rest of the evening together, sharing our life stories until sunrise. Something about her made me feel uneasy. Then, in an instant, I remembered. While looking into her beautiful green eyes, I said, "You are the young girl, Veronica, that wiped the face of Jesus."

"Yes, Sandy." I also recognized you immediately. In that lifetime, you were the sail maker they called Israel."

"Amber, my meeting with Jesus was definitely weighed on a universal scale. I have spent many years light traveling to different places in this world. My involvement with dozens of extraordinary men and women could never come close to what I felt in the presence of Jesus. Even during his crucifixion, a rainbow of angels was encircling his body that day at the base of Golgotha. Something Holy and unprecedented happened that day, and still lingers over the atmosphere of Jerusalem. God, the creator, still walks in the footsteps of all who visits the Wailing Wall."

"I met Jesus on many occasions, Sandy, while visiting my uncle Mordecai, one of Galilee's most respected Rabbis. At times Jesus would genuflect in your presence as if the universe revolved around you. He knew what you were thinking and had the answers to sooth your mind. Describing his humor would be almost impossible. He laughed at questions we made so important to our egos but out of respect, he still answered them anyway. He could make you feel like the sun was shining on a rainy day. Whenever you ate food that Jesus had blessed, you would instantly experience the Holy Communion of God and spirit. Thank you Sandy for bringing your Jesus here to me. The gratitude I am feeling inside at this moment is indescribable. I will always remember the day you helped me to my feet after I wiped the face of the Holy One."

As we left the coffee shop that morning, Amber promised we would meet again. "I will appear as a Whirling Dervish, singing a prayer of Om for the world to hear, Sandy."

As I drove off, I was still thinking of Whirling Dervishes and singing prayers of Om. I wondered what Amber had up her sleeve. Light Travelers did have a way of showing off their skills manifesting anything they wanted to in the realm of time.

Since I was in the area, I decided to pay Ansei a visit at the shipping and packing yard off Farmers Boulevard. As I approached the yard's main gate, there was a huge commotion at the far end of the yard. At least a half dozen people were shouting, waving their arms and moving back and forth. "It's a bad omen!" someone yelled.

"No, it's some kind of evil voodoo Spirit."

"What's going on?" I thought to myself.

It was only a whirlwind or sand devil. As kids, we would see these mini whirlwinds all the time. The coolest thing was the way they would appear and disappear on the sands of Jones beach. The only difference was the size of this monster; it must have been at least ten feet tall. There was a strange sound coming from the center, as if a hundred monks were praying OM.

Immediately, I could feel the presence of Amber starting to fade away as the ghost wind-dancer became invisible and entered the great void of nothingness. What a short-lived life for a whirlwind of Amber magic. "Thanks, Amber, for your unbelievable performance," I said to myself. We would see each other again in the circle of Light Travelers.

Ansei wasn't at the yard, so I headed home. On my way home a huge box truck with a dark blue cab pulled up along side of me when I was stopped at the traffic light on Hillside Avenue. It was Ansei.

"Good day to be in the marketplace, Sandman.

Hi stranger." "I was just thinking about you." I loved the way he would appear out of nowhere just when I was thinking about him.

"You maybe need this later." He said as he handed me a fire extinguisher through the window and drove off without saying another word.

Having known this man for a while, I recognized his complete sincerity towards all his spiritual family and I never questioned his actions in any way. Besides, he had this uncanny way of seeing into the future. It was just another of his traits that mystified me. I was never in his presence when he was not the teacher.

On my way home, a car was parked on the side of the Long Island Expressway. It was smoking and began to catch on fire. Guess who put the fire out.

**Israel the Jamaican**

When I first met Israel, he was docked at one of the marinas on the south shore of Long Island. He was tall, thin and clean-shaven, with dreadlocks down to his waistline.

His face had a history of one who had spent his entire life on the sea, sailing forever under the midday Sun. The leather skin and crows feet made him look much older then he was. His bright red shirt with matching bandana and white pants made him look like a wealthy merchant traveling in unknown lands standing out among his contemporaries. Even in his silence, something about his demeanor was mystifying. Every step he took was filled with this universal awareness, as If God was by his side pulling the strings of his Soul.

I thought of a seventeenth century Caribbean pirate sailing from one island to the next, searching for buried treasure. He must have read my thoughts as he looked in my direction and gave me the peace sign.

"No, mon, definitely no more treasure hunts. This lifetime I go hunting for spiritual treasures. I want to sail on the Sea of Galilee again with the Master sailor, becoming the fisherman and sail maker I was born to be."

"I see, you want to be a fisher of men."

"Yes, Mon."

I gave him the peace sign and yelled back down to him, "I'm Sandy." He yelled back, "Maybe, maybe not."

"I'm Israel."

I yell down, "Maybe, maybe not."

Interesting, I thought.

Two men just met each other without really acknowledging if maybe either one existed. I liked that concept.

He invited me on the boat. It was beautiful. Thirty-six to forty feet long, the sides were painted a midnight blue that complemented the light varnished deck that he was cleaning. Written across the stern in gold letters was 'The Ghost Healer.' I envisioned the sky-blue sails filled with ocean breeze, carrying its captain to some far off land, healing everyone in sight.

"How long will you be docked here?" I asked.

"Just for the weekend. Then I sail back Monday. I have some errands in Manhattan to take care of. Also, a visit to my Grandmother's tomorrow that is well overdue. She is a hundred years old, give or take a few years."

"Where does she live?"

"My Grandfather bought her an apartment building in Brooklyn. She lives on the third floor. He had a custom elevator built for her to give her easy access. There is also a live in nurse, Rose Marie, that takes care of her medical and personal needs."

"Hey, Israel, would you like a ride into the city tomorrow?"

"Sure, Mon, I would forever be grateful."

"Hey, a ride into Manhattan this weekend is just what I need."

"Okay, Sandy, on one condition: only if you let me buy breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Plus, fill up your gas tank."

"That's a deal."

On our way into the city the next morning, Israel talked about his Grandfather's collection of art and antiques that he had acquired over the years while traveling in different parts of the world. "My Grandmother has lived with this collection for many years. It has kept my Grandfather's memory alive for her all this time," Israel explained.

As we approached the building, I noticed the outside was aging fast, and the New York pollution was not helping. It had a haunted feeling written all over it.

As Israel closed the sliding iron gates of the elevator behind us, we immediately started up to the third floor. There were no buttons to press on this spiritual trip. As the door opened to the apartment, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. This place looked like a museum instead of an apartment. There were Persian rugs spread out on the floors and hanging on the walls, telling ancient stories to anyone who would listen. There were chairs with carved wings for legs waiting for some spiritual traveler to sit and fly across the universe.

There was painted Chinese pottery, blown glass ornaments, brass bowls, and silverware made for any occasion, gold jewelry and ancient manuscripts from the Middle East. There was a wood sculpture of the Buddha eight feet tall from the Holy land of India. All the planets with their astrological signs were painted in Gold on a ceiling that was midnight black. Silk, sarongs, embroidered tapestries in a thousand different colors hanging in every available space.

There were marble statues from the Greek shores of Athens, and dozens of tribal death masks from the continent Africa, hand-painted boomerangs and didgeridoos, spears and shields from the aboriginal tribes of Australia; and jewel-handled daggers from Saudi Arabia.

Mesmerized by this vast collection of art, one object really caught my eye. It was a crystal ball placed on a teak table in the center of a medicine wheel. With two Siamese cats by her side, a gray haired woman stepped out of the dark.

"Hi, son, my name is Josephine, Israel's grandmother." She startled and surprised me at the same time. "I see the world of spirits has brought you and Israel back together again. Rose Marie, please bring us some tea."

She reached over and took my hands, turning my palms in an upward position. "I see you have done a lot of spiritual house cleaning in this life time. You, like my grandson, were fortunate to have a wise and loving grandmother. The teachers in your life were just extensions of you being you.

"Even though you have inherited a long lifeline, you were also given the gift of ascension, the ability to leave the earth plain any time you want. You may not know this, Sandy, but your life had already been planned out before you were born. The higher forces needed an empty vessel to accomplish the tasks that lie ahead. The fear, guilt, and judging you were taught as a child never once entered your heart. You are a clean slate waiting for the spiritual message to be written. I know your relationships with women could have used a little more understanding on your part; let us just blame that part of your life on your Venus in Scorpio."

"Who is this woman who knows everything about me?" I wondered.

"Sandy, I am Cheyenne, Nora, Amber, Noah, Simon, and yes even you Sandy all evolving through each other by being each other. We have been blessed in the Holy flames of Baptism, fusing our souls together as one spiritual Ark."

"Forgive my ignorance, Josephine, but I don't understand a word you're saying."

"Your knowing now does not really matter Sandy. Your child like innocence towards all life forms has created a light of compassion in this world of darkness. Your spiritual door has always been open for anyone to enter. It is no coincidence that these highly evolved souls, or Light Travelers as you call them, find themselves drawn to your doorstep. "They are part of God's spiritual revolution that is now descending upon the Earth. Your message to them from Jesus will create the light energy necessary to build your Spiritual Ark. The creation of this Ark by these Light Travelers' combined energy will give refuge, and save these lost souls from the great flood of the universe. "All these beings you met in Galilee, right up to the present, are part of God's Spiritual revolution that is now descending upon this Earth."

Israel was smiling from head to toe.

"Hey, Mon, isn't my grandmother cool?"

"Yea, Israel. Destiny has a way of finding us in life's scenarios.'

Israel, his Grandmother, and I would meet with the rest of the light travelers in the near future.

**Morty O'Brien**

I met Morty O'Brien in the Bedford- Stuyvesant area off Atlantic Avenue in July. He was shooting hoops with a group of young kids.

He looked about forty-five or fifty years old; he was overweight and looked in bad shape. He stood about five feet two inches tall, looking like a dwarf amongst the kids he was playing with. While eating lunch in my truck, I couldn't help but notice that no matter where Morty was shooting from on the court, the ball would always go in.

Not only did he have the guys on the court go wild every time he made a shot, yelling, "Go, Morty, go!" but also, the crowd gathering outside the chain link fence, watching in amazement at this little nondescript person who never missed a shot.

The white wizard of Flatbush was definitely a magician on the basketball court. The crowd was cheering this little red-faced honkey as if he was the great Michael Jordan. It was the last day I would be in this area of Brooklyn, so I introduced myself.

"Hi, I am Sandy."

"How's by youts, my friend", a squeaky voice replied. "I'm Morty O'Brien."

"How did an Irish kid get a Jewish first name like Morty," I asked.

"That's easy. My Irish father fell in love, and married a beautiful Jewish girl. When I came into this world, both sides of my family decided to compromise by naming me Morty O'Brien."

"A Catholic Jew. I like that, Morty. I have been watching the way you shoot the hoops. You must play basketball a lot."

"Not really, Sandy. It is just that some of the kids in the neighborhood always want me to play on their team, so I do get plenty of practice.

"Yea, Morty, I would want you on my team to." Morty just laughed.

"If you don't play much, then what's your secret to never missing?"

"Actually, Sandy, no one has ever asked me that before. They just assume I am good. Would you like to know how it work's?"

"Sure, Morty."

"Do you see those two flies on that fence post over there?"

"No."

"Well, I can."

"Wait a minute, Morty, no one can see that far away.

I immediately walked up to the post, about thirty feet away, to see for myself. Sure enough, there were the two flies.

"How could you see those little guys from where we were standing?"

"Easy. I can project my second being at any time, and in any direction. The Ancients called it the mental body or the actual body of God."

"What are you exactly saying, Morty?"

"I can leave and re-enter my physical body at any time without anyone knowing. I have been practicing this my entire life. When I am shooting the ball, I can actually project my second being body, bringing my vision closer to the hoop. When Jesus and his disciples were caught on the Sea of Galilee in a raging storm, Jesus used his second being body to walk on water. "He perfected this spiritual body to such a high degree of intensity, that his disciples actually thought his human form walking on water. This was the same body he used to ascend back into the heart of the all loving creator."

"Morty, are you trying to say you can walk on water?"

"No, not physically. I, Morty, cannot walk on water, but my mental body can. Sandy, the first day you were here watching me shoot, I recognized you immediately."

"What do you mean?"

"I am Mordecai the Rabbi you met in Jerusalem when you were the sail maker Israel. In this lifetime, you came into world to bear witness that the love of God still exists for all those who want to find their way back home. The whole purpose of us light travelers meeting is to lift these Souls out of this monumental tragedy that is about to occur."

"What tragedy Morty?"

"A monumental catastrophe is about to occur taking the lives of thousands of people and the animal kingdom. The lost ark of resurrection must be completed before this rapture occurs. We will only have minutes to levitate souls through the Ark's portal. Any soul that has not been transported in the time allotted will just dissipate. Stardust doesn't last long in the realm of time. There will be two arks built. One will hover over Istanbul, and the other over the entire east coast of the United States. Our task as Light Travelers is to generate and transfer enough spiritual energy to help transport these levitated souls into the Ark."

**The Meeting**

When the morning news broadcast said that Istanbul was flattening by an earthquake of great magnitude, and the phenomenon happening over this city's destruction could not be explained, the meeting of Light travelers was immediately assembled. We decided to meet in one of the buildings off the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. You are all gathered here today to receive the prophetic message that one of God's sons has left. "Shortly after Istanbul is wiped off the face of this Earth, the east coat of the United States will experience the same magnitude quake. The ark of resurrection over Istanbul has saved thousands of souls from perishing. Hopefully, the Ark over the East Coast will do the same."

We were all in Manhattan the morning an earthquake of epic proportion rocked the east coast. As the Hudson river started to recede from the tsunami coming in off the south shore of Long Island, and New Jersey all went dark, except the for the light levitating us into the ark of resurrection.

'Do not fear, children of the light. You have been given the gift of pollinating each other's souls with the joy and happiness given to you at birth. When all is one, one is all."

We did not come into this world to face death alone, but to understand its purpose. My teacher Chiou once said to me, "The mind is the inventor of death, and the heart is the forerunner of immortality.'

The phantom bodies that appear on this earth we call men and women are just illusions. Illusions cannot die; they were never here to begin with. The only thing real, when awakened, is the seed of immortality we call the soul. This extraordinary being is the main character in this game, playing the part of puppeteer: pulling the strings of the walking dead from the beginning to the end until resurrection takes place. This ends with the God spirit entering the bodies of the walking dead and teaching humanity the method of freeing the soul from this sleeping seed of darkness, and merging into the light before the physical body dies.

As I awoke from my Sunday afternoon catnap, I wondered if this was just a dream, or a prophetic message from one of God's sons.

**Final Thoughts**

*********

Through long years of work on myself, I have realized that you cannot bring God into an illusion but you can bring the illusion to God. What is God's is God's. What is not God's had never existed to begin with. The imaginary world the ego has invented is a bad dream with a nightmare as its End. The vengeful God of the bible that has been passed down for thousands of years feeding guilt and fear to all the original sinners of the world is not my God. My God does not acknowledge humanity as sinners, but as sleeping souls trapped in unconscious bodies looking for a way out.

Just because a needle in a haystack is almost impossible to find, it can be found. Lost souls are like this needle waiting to be found, desperately wanting to reunite with their all-loving creator, and not just dissipate in a body that is dying by the minute.

What ever happened to the spiritual seed of immortality that was planted at birth, waiting to be born in the soil of life? I always suspected there was a message in being born up side down.

How do we help each other escape from prison when most of us do not realize we are being held captive? Did the intellectuals turn our children into educated robots in the absence of nurturing their imagination?

The whole purpose of being in this world is to liberate the soul from the tomb of death, and become one with God before the physical body dies. All who accomplish this will experience Heaven on Earth.

With the help of your feeling center and the right meditation, all doors will open, minimizing the unconscious thoughts that consume our everyday life, and giving us the time necessary to bring ourselves into the now, one breath at a time. Jesus and other highly evolved beings perfected this form of meditation to such a high degree that their spiritual Baptisms of fire eventually consumed their entire physical bodies, giving them the ability to appear and disappear into and out of time, creating a spiritual revolving door: Being anywhere at any time, whenever their presence was needed.

These young prophets, with their sensitivity to all conscious energy, read the signs in nature becoming the essence of the world. The trees, animals, water and Mother Earth herself became an extension of their own being.

"They were ready for the world, and the unseen knowledge it held."

Jesus himself accidentally became a vessel of the Christ consciousness through his acts of mercy and spiritual curiosity. At the moment when the Christ consciousness transformed the universal soul of creation through the body of Jesus, the sleeping seed of God awakened. This is when we all became spiritual mirrors, reflecting God's new Birth. With his mission accomplished, Christ brought us all one-step higher on the spiritual ladder of evolution.

When he created this new form of consciousness in the arena of time, Mother Nature could no longer keep her children in prison. The spiritual door of immortality opened for anyone to enter.

This meat-grinding slaughterhouse made of fear and anger has finally met her match. Humanity has been given a spiritual ladder to escape from her graveyard feeding frenzy of the flesh. Even though she continues to unleash her loyal foot soldiers like war, diseases, earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, and famines, we no longer need to fear her wrath because the Christ Consciousness and the spiritual work of highly evolved souls gives us an open door into eternity.

We the people now have free will and choice to either be buried alive in this graveyard of dirt, or head toward the light before darkness comes to us. The tools of freedom are all around us. Sacred prayer, the holy vibrations of certain sounds in Music turn thought into spirit, sacred dances handed down from ancient cultures all open doors for freeing the soul. Maybe simple acts of compassion, helping your self by helping someone else, a simple smile acknowledging the existence of a friend that like you will eventually die, feeling the silent presence of your soul roaming between the empty spaces of each breath you take, can raise your consciousness and the consciousness of others at the same time.

Everyday situations can be used as teachers of inner peace. Stopping at red lights and stop signs remind us to be in the now. The next time you take a bite of a fast food sandwich, try to remember the sunrise that this animal saw just a few weeks ago. Compassion is not a feeling; it is an action we take.

Like every other fifties kid, I was an all-American Roy Rogers, I Love Lucy kind of kid. Learning how to meditate in Sister Mary Trinity's catechism class would have been almost impossible. My Grandmother pointed me in the right direction. She left me with an open heart and my teachers gave me the map to follow.

Always

Sandy

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**Healing prayer from the Mother of John the Baptist**

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Oh Madre, mi a say e pardon e Santo e Domina Priestess Glorious.

Of all things God brought for these hands into the world. Allow their channel to be opened, allow their work to be done. Use me, oh Mother and Father God. Use these hands to heal others, to bring forth their hope.

Thy will be done. If it is that their body shall be whole, then make it whole. If it is that they shall leave this world, then make their leaving a blessed thing, a beautiful walking through the golden door, the gate of Heaven, and the beauty of light.

I shall do this work for all time, to heal the world of affliction, not through me, but through thy own beauty and glorious power, God forever, eternal masters eternal truth.

In the name of the Lord and Master of teaching love, I give to this world (and/or person's name) my hands so that God may use them to help and heal.

May you always be in the Light

Atova

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**About the Author**

Sandy lives in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Albemarle County, Virginia. Connect with Sandy by e-mail at SandyCharles46@gmail.com or write to him at P.O. Box 279 Free Union, VA 22940

