Pilgrimages

The streets of San Francisco were completely still. No lights showed in any of the houses which climb the city's hills; everyone, it appeared, was asleep. I walked quietly, the heavy soles of my hiking boots making little sound on the sidewalk. I was on a pilgrimage.

In San Francisco there is a well-known hill, Mt. Davidson, with a stone cross at its summit. Every year on Easter morning, the various Christian denominations throughout the city co-sponsored an Easter Sunrise worship service at the top of this hill. And I was walking there, through the dark streets.

I had timed the walk during the day a few days before, so I would know just how early to start my trek in order to arrive in time for the service. It was early, all right -- around 4:30 a.m.

Somehow I felt this was an important gesture for me -- a kind of acknowledgment of the stirrings begun by reading C.S. Lewis and the theologians I had discovered in my religious studies class at Lone Mountain. I was developing a new interest in mainstream Christianity.

* * *

That summer, or perhaps a summer or two later, I found myself in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, intrigued by an announcement of a re-enactment of a festival from India.

Perhaps you remember the Hare Krishna devotees, prominent in the 1970s, who wore bright gold robes and chanted wherever they went. This organization, more formally known as the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON), was sponsoring a version of the Ratha Jatra (or Rath Yatra). This fesitval is huge in India; more than a million pilgrims travel to Jagannath Puri, a temple in Orissa dedicated to the god Jagannath, identified with Krishna.

The Rathotsavam (or "driving the chariots") carries wooden images of Jagannath and his brother and sister in giant carts, called by the British "juggernauts" because it was difficult to pronounce the deity's Hindu name. I checked assorted Internet resources today to find out more about this festival; my knowledge at the time was quite vague. One source says that the great juggernauts carry the images a distance of approximately two miles to the sea (which is what happened in Golden Gate Park, where the procession ended at the Pacific Ocean). Another source says that the juggernauts proceed from the Jagannath Puri temple to another temple approximately two miles away, which represents Jagannath's visit to an aunt.

In India, the juggernauts are built of wood and are incredibly heavy, requiring many, many priests and devotees to pull them along with ropes and endangering the life of of anyone who accidentally gets in the way. In Golden Gate Park, the wheeled juggernauts were constructed of heavy cardboard, so it wasn't as laborious to pull or push them. They were, however, as highly decorated as those in India and extremely colorful.

The procession had a powerful effect. Everyone was chanting "Hare Krishna, Krishna, Krishna," and I joined in. Suddenly, I was running alongside one of the chariots, grabbing hold of the side, and beginning to push along with the gold-robed Hare Krishna devotees and other onlookers. It was exhilarating.

That day, and ever since, I have felt that by pushing the juggernaut, I was somehow fulfilling something, though I don't know what. In some mysterious way, this fulfillment, too, must have been a preparation for what was to come.

Lost and Found

My beloved cat, Francisco, disappeared last week.

I adopted him three years ago, and apparently he had had a rough life until then. He was cautious about being touched (not a "lap cat," by any means), bit and scratched on occasion, and never purred. I showered him with affection. Since I live alone, I talked to him constantly, and he reciprocated by listening and wagging the tip of his tail in an oddly dog-like fashion. He gradually became more affectionate, rubbing a lot against my legs, joining me in bed. And, he learned to purr.

From the time he didn't show up for supper, I was concerned. He adored going outside and found ways to shoot around or between my legs when I tried to keep him in. But when he did get out, he never left the property around my apartment. He loved to roll in the dust of the parking lot, chew on long grass, poke around in an old rock wall, and hang out on a flight of wooden steps nearby. But that was as far as he went; he was never out of eyesight. And -- again, somewhat dog-like -- he would come when called, albeit often slowly, strolling nonchalantly along as though no one had really called him.

I walked around the neighborhood, calling and calling. No Francisco. When he was gone all night, I began to despair, fearing he was dead.

I recalled a thought by Dr. Wayne Dyer, who said in one of his books that fear is "false expectations appearing real." Kenneth G. Mills frequently pointed out that when you think you feel fear, know that you have access to "the Father's ear."

I made and posted signs all around the neighborhood, though without much enthusiasm. I prayed for Francisco, asking the Power we call God to take care of him, as He does all His little ones, to make sure that Francisco didn't suffer, and to bring him home.

I acknowledged my gratitude that Francisco had experienced a great deal of love for three years, and that God in his mercy had somehow made it so that I did not have to see a small dead form. And gradually, I became grateful that there was the possibility of adopting another cat, of finding newness. This was at times comforting, though all of Francisco's endearing little quirks were often on my mind.

At some point, I reawakened to the fact that Love is All. It came to me that Love cannot be divided, so that first it had an object and then it didn't, for Love is all there is. Love never ceases. It cannot be lost. Over and over I repeated, "Love cannot be divided, cannot be lost. Love is All there is!" With this renewed understanding came peace, almost exhilaration.

So, I continued to wait. Francisco's little bowls of food and water, put out on the porch for him in case he came home in the middle of the night, remained untouched.

Monday was hot, so I kept my door shut. As it happened, I was sitting in my rocking chair, close to the door. Suddenly, over the noisy hum of the air conditioner, I thought I heard an odd little sound. That sounds almost like a cat, I thought. I opened the door and there was Francisco, sitting at the bottom of the stairs and meowing. When he saw me at the door, he trotted calmly up the stairs and into the house. I was flabbergasted and overjoyed.

Oddly enough, he was not bedraggled in any way, and showed no excess hunger or thirst. He obviously hadn't been wandering through the woods for the last four days. He must have walked brazenly into someone's house (as he did occasionally at my neighbor's apartment door), then somehow gotten back to my steps four days later. Odd that no one had telephoned. Well, although Francisco is extremely smart, he doesn't talk, so I guess I'll never know what adventures he had.

I do know, with great wonder and joy, that Love is All there is, and Its boundless Presence embraces always.

Orange cat silent
Sleeps gently on my table.
Love undivided.

Patterns of Serendipity

I have just come across a term from the Tibetan language: tendrel, which means both serendipity and the interdependence of all things. Very apropos to my experience in California.

Over the years, related events may occur -- "If I hadn't done this, then that wouldn't have happened." At the time an experience occurs, do we always know what caused it or where it's leading? From another, perhaps larger perspective, could it be seen that events had different relationships altogether?

Several coincidences led me to the work I was to do immediately after graduation from Lone Mountain. A mimeographed booklet of some of my poetry made its way from my English teacher to the office of the college president, to her secretary, to a woman who edited journal articles written by physicians in the Neurosurgery Department of the University of California Medical School at San Francisco. This woman was looking for an editorial assistant.

She saw and liked my poetry. In addition, I had learned to read proof and mark it up with typographic symbols while editing our high school literary magazine years before. More recently I had learned medical terminology on the job as a transcriber at the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago. Everything fit, and I was hired. All this in turn led to my ability to earn a livelihood for years to come. And, it led to something more.

One day, I received a flyer in the mail, announcing an unusual lecture series (for a medical school) -- the lectures were to explore some of the frontier territory between medicine and spirituality. The flyer was late, as the series was to begin the next morning. The first lecture was to be given by a man named Jack Schwarz, who had been studied by Elmer Green and other groundbreaking scientists in biofeedback at the Menninger Clinic. Schwarz was able to put himself into a meditative state and then push a large needle completely through his arm without pain. The wounds closed as soon as the needle was withdrawn.

Ordinarily, this wouldn't have been of particular interest to me. But an intuitive prompting nagged at me until I raced over to the medical school a few moments before the office closed for the day, to sign up for the first lecture. The woman who signed me up must have been more than a little surprised at the pennies and other loose change I used to pay the fee. I spent every cent I had on hand (no ATM's in those days!) in order to attend that lecture. This was a leap for me.

Schwarz's lecture turned out to be a wide-ranging exploration of the human body's chakras and auras, the vibrational frequencies of various colors and sounds, and the energy fields of crystals and herbal remedies. He danced from topic to topic, weaving ideas together in a fascinating fashion. I had never known about any of this material.

Schwarz also taught the audience to use mental imagery. First he asked us to imagine a school blackboard. I couldn't picture anything at all. Then I got the image of a whiteboard. He proceeded to have us draw a sheep on the board. My imagination drew a herd of buffalo. Then he asked us to have the sheep do a particular thing (I can't recall what). At first my buffalo just sat there; then suddenly they all got up and ran off the edge of the whiteboard. I really had to laugh at this exhibition of the stubbornness and contrariness I admitted were part of my personality.

Next Schwarz led us in a guided meditation. It was similar to those now found very commonly in use as healing or relaxation meditations. He asked us to imagine ourselves walking through a beautiful forest, and from there moved along to places we saw, beings we met, and the like. I was amazed to find that almost from the beginning of the meditation, I would see the images on my mental screen before Schwarz gave each instruction. I was "reading his mind"!

So what does all this mean? Schwarz had opened the door to a whole new, previously unknown area for me. Following an intuitive leading got me to this lecture, and again, as with my encounter with Christian Science, prepared me for an experience that would not manifest until more than a year later.

Intuition, serendipity, spiritual leadings, or being led by God -- call it what you will. To learn to follow such promptings regularly, even moment-to-moment, is a tremendously important skill!

A Christian Science Healing

It has been several months since I have told here any of the story of my "spiritual journey." I would like to continue it now.

At last telling, I was living in San Francisco and attending Lone Mountain College. I need to backtrack just a bit here. Before I moved to San Francisco, when I was living in Palo Alto, I encountered someone on a street corner who handed me a publication from the Christian Scientists. It should be noted first-off that Christian Scientists do not proselytize and that this was therefore a very unusual happening. I took it as a sign.

My response was to find a Christian Science Reading Room and to purchase a copy of Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, written by Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of Christian Science. I read it cover-to-cover, then began studying it in more detail.

At some point, I believe after I moved to San Francisco, I went again to a Reading Room to find the name of a Christian Science practitioner. Practitioners in Christian Science have completed very advanced studies in this persuasion and counsel people, most of them members of the Christian Science Church, guiding them in their understanding in such a way that a healing of a physical or mental state may take place. I chose a name from a list of practitioners and went to this gentleman, to speak more about Christian Science as much as to seek healing for any particular condition. Our meeting was fascinating.

Some months later, I was eating lunch with several other young women in the dining room at Lone Mountain. One of the women talked about a serious ear condition she was experiencing. She felt great concern, especially since the specialist who could perform the surgery she needed could not see her for several months, and she feared she would lose her hearing entirely.

I offered her my encouragement and proceeded on to the college library to listen to a recording of a piece of music we were to analyze for a humanities course. I put on the earphones and began to listen, but found I could not keep my attention focused on the music. The face of the young woman with the hearing problem crowded everything else out.

Finally, I stopped the recording and closed my eyes. I began to recite a few phrases I had memorized from Science and Health, and spoke silently as best I could in imitation of the Christian Science session I had had with the practitioner. I continued doing this until finally the woman's image faded, and then I returned to listening to the assigned music.

The next day in the cafeteria I happened to be sitting at a table next to the one where this same young woman was eating. She said to her companions, "You know, the strangest thing happened yesterday afternoon. All of a sudden there was a sound like an explosion in my ear, and now I can hear perfectly!"

I must emphasize that I don't take any personal credit for this happening. A healing like this occurs because of Truth, not person. In this shadow world we seem to occupy, many thoughts of limitation and suffering present themselves. When the omnipotence, the all-encompassing Reality of the One called God is realized, these limits can fade away.

Mary Baker Eddy gives seven synonyms for God: Mind, Spirit, Soul, Principle, Life, Truth and Love. She states in Science and Health (page 256, lines 1-8): "The finite must yield to the infinite. Advancing to a higher plane of action, thought rises from the material sense to the spiritual, from the scholastic to the inspirational, and from the mortal to the immortal. All things are created spiritually. Mind, not matter, is the creator. Love, the divine Principle, is the Father and Mother of the universe, including man."

This surprising introduction to the power of Christian Science was only one occurrence in a train of coincidences manifesting for me in California. Though I didn't see it at the time, this acquaintance with Christian Science was a preparation.

Windows of the Soul

I am grateful for the marvel of eyesight. Thirty years ago, one of my eyes suffered a retinal detachment, and a doctor in Tucson, whose name I have regretfully forgotten, did such a finely crafted repair that the sight in that eye has been quite serviceable ever since.

In the last several weeks, I have had some further work done on my eyes that has again brought me new clarity of sight. So, my gratitude is extended to another skilled doctor and his team, who perform such a delicate and sight-enhancing art.

Sight is indeed a wonder, though it is often taken for granted. It enables us to experience the astonishing beauty and intricacy of all the details that surround us at every moment.

What magic there is in color! The blue of the jay, the soft cream of a rose, a bright pink blouse, the paint-daubed palette of an artist. And how intriguing that each subtle shading represents a different frequency of light vibration.

As one always so delighted by books and libraries, I find another gift of sight -- the cosy, always fascinating world of reading.

There can be a seeming dark side to seeing. Sight is perhaps the strongest of the five senses, and as such, very seductive. What we see can so easily entrap us into identifying ourselves with the limits of three dimensions. An old cliche notes that "Seeing is believing." And this is sadly true: If you believe the world is as it appears to be, and is the only reality, then you may be locked into a confined view and miss out on realizing the Grandeur, the changeless Real beyond all earthly sights and thoughts.

Sight, of course, has many aspects. Among them is the mystery of in-sight, the flash of knowing that requires no eyes or thinking. And there are the visionaries -- mystics, poets, and leaders who have been able to share to some extent their different visions of what is, or could be, or should be.

All in all, eyesight, vision, brings much to be grateful for as it allows us to navigate and enjoy this amazing world. I encourage you to consciously rediscover sight (and all the precious senses), to appreciate, to experiment and play with its wonders, to hold it in affection and love, so that you might come to see what else there is to "see."