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I remember the first time I ever saw Hare Krishna
devotees. I was in Denver, Colorado when I
spotted a rather odd looking group of men and women,
singing and dancing in front of a church.
They were brightly dressed and as I walked by, one
of the ladies handed me a magazine and asked for a
small donation. I also remember how later that day,
when I had to pass by again, I purposely stayed on
the other side of the street.
That was in the summer of 1969. To this day I am
still amazed at the turn of events that followed and
how seven years later, on a farm near Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania, I was initiated by the founder-acharya
(a-CHAR-ya
-
spiritual master)
of the International Society for
Krishna Consciousness, His Divine Grace A.C.
Bhaktivedanta
Swami Prabhupada
(balk-tee-vay-don-ta
Swami prob-who-POD).
Shrila
Prabhupada
©
Bhaktivedanta Book Trust
Shrila Prabhupada gave me the name, Rohini-suta
dasa, which means "the servant of God."
But, to begin with, I was born on April 29, 1946, in
upstate New York. My little brother was born a year
later. His name was Larry. At that time my father
was an Air Force pilot who had just survived
twenty-five combat missions over Nazi Germany. My
mother was Joyce and my sister's name is Ava.
Winston E. Boutelle
1920-2011
In 1948 my father received orders sending us to
Anchorage, Alaska, and for the next several years
this rugged city would be our new home.
However, at this point in history, many of the
outlying suburbs around Anchorage were still
surrounded by the raw Alaskan wilderness and it
wasn't an uncommon sight, at all, to see moose or
black bear wandering through someone's back yard.
The forest was literally right across the street
from our house.
When I reached my fifth birthday Dad gave me my
first rifle, but he said he wanted to keep it safe
for me in his bedroom. Even though I knew it was
just a BB gun, I clearly understood the danger of
pointing it at anyone. Earlier, Dad had told me that
if I did, I might accidentally shoot somebody's eye
out.
A few days later, after I found the door to my
parent's bedroom unlocked, I told my little friend
who followed me into the woods to be patient and
that soon we could both shoot my new rifle. I didn't
think Dad would be upset—besides, he did say that
the gun was mine.
Full of anticipation, in the distance I spotted a
perfect target—a magnificent telephone pole.
Standing with my friend about sixty feet away and
making positively sure that he was safely to my
side, I took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.
It was a sunny day and I can still remember seeing
the BB fly through the air, hitting the pole dead
center. I've always been a good shot.
Seconds later, however, something totally unexpected
happened that seemed to predict the many uncanny
events that would later thread themselves throughout
my life. Of course, I can appreciate this now, but
at the time all I could see was the BB flying
through the air and hitting the pole. Suddenly, with
equal accuracy, the copper BB bounced right back at
us, hitting my little friend just below his eye.
Less than an inch higher he might have been blinded.
Naturally I was very shaken, seeing my friend hurt,
but the real significance was realizing the
incredible odds against that BB ever having hit him
in the first place. How could that have happened? We
were not standing too close to the pole and I had
purposefully taken all precautions.
Although I was just a frightened, five-year-old boy,
still I would never forget this strange accident.
Even if I had been deliberately trying to bounce
that BB off the telephone pole to hit a different
target, I could have shot all day and never
succeeded. And yet, at the precise moment I had been
thinking of my friend's eye, on my very first shot
the BB did the unthinkable. Although the word
"coincidence" wouldn't become part of my vocabulary
for many years to come, I understood perfectly what
it meant. Nor would this be my last coincidence.
Many years later, during the summer of 1973, I
wanted to take my wife, Patty, on a trip to the
beach. We were living near Lucerne Valley,
California, overlooking the Mojave Desert.
The small mountain cabin we were staying in was
nestled under a beautiful pine tree and it was so
refreshing to wake up to the sweet desert air and
the sounds of chirping birds. We were living there
helping my sister and her husband, Charles Berner,
build a spiritual retreat called the
Institute of Ability.
At the time things were at a lull so I thought this
would be a good excuse to get away for the day,
seeing how she had been raised in Colorado and had
never seen the ocean. At the end of our outing,
preparing to drive back to the desert, I noticed
that the gas tank on my truck was about empty. Not
being particularly choosy I simply pulled into the
nearest station along the highway to fill up. As
soon as I stepped to the pavement, out of the blue,
a young man came running over to me and wanted to
know if I was from Colorado. He must have recognized
my license plates.
I told him yes, that we had most recently come from
Paonia, Colorado, (pop. 1200) and that we
were now living in the desert near Lucerne Valley.
Immediately he lit up like a Christmas tree,
declaring that he, too, was from Paonia. Both
of us being a little dumbfounded by this unusual
coincidence, continued to talk. I told him that a
few months back my wife and I had been in Paonia,
visiting a good friend of ours, Pat Starr—helping
her with some of her heavier chores. Again he lit
up, declaring that he and Pat were also good
friends.
This was all very strange, meeting this wandering
soul, at this particular spot, out of all the
millions of people in California. The odds of us
meeting at all were incalculable. In addition, if I
had stopped at a different gas station or had pulled
in five minutes earlier (or five minutes later),
chances are we would have never met. But this wasn't
a miracle, or anything like that—or was it?
I also told him that while working on Pat's farm I
had repaired the leaky roof on her root cellar. The
young man then proceeded to tell me that he was the
person who had originally dug Pat's root cellar,
years ago. After I filled my gas tank and said
goodbye, I drove off, trying to explain to my wife
what had just happened.
Three years later, after Patty and I had separated,
I was living in an abandoned garage that I had
converted into a bicycle shop. This was in
Saratoga Springs, New York, and again I came in
touch with the twilight zone. I was living right
inside the garage, itself, rent free, taking my
showers at the YMCA, next door. It was a great
arrangement and my shop stood beautifully situated
on a bluff overlooking the park. Because of its
concealed location I felt like I was living in the
country rather than in the middle of a city.
Earlier that summer I had decided to strictly follow
the teachings of Professor Arnold Ehret and his,
Mucousless Diet Healing System.
Combining my daily regimen with morning runs in the
park, I felt great and full of vitality. But
eventually after several months of following my
rigorous diet I went back to my normal eating
habits. To complement my routine I also read every
spiritual book from India that I could get my hands
on. I especially enjoyed reading, The
Autobiography of a Yogi, by
Paramahansa
Yogananda
(pa-ra-ma-hon-sa yo-ga-non-da),
and Krishna, the Supreme Personality of Godhead,
by His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Prabhupada.
I have always had a special fondness for ice cream
and directly across the street from my shop was
Friendly's ice cream store. I also have a tendency
to go overboard. During one particular eating binge,
I guess I must have consumed four or five double-dip
cones. I love ice cream and I can eat a lot of it. Needless to say I felt
pretty glazed over by the time I polished off the
last one. Then, as I stood watching the store close,
once again I became overwhelmed with an acute desire
for sweets. But for some peculiar reason my craving
switched from ice cream to chocolate chip cookies.
Not the fancy kind, but the inexpensive ones in the
blue and white boxes that they sell in upstate New
York. Trying to figure out where I could buy some, I
immediately became disheartened when I realized how
late it was and that all the stores were
closed—except for Price Chopper.
For a moment I thought about walking there, but it
was too far and much too late. Nor did I feel like
going to the trouble of walking across the street,
taking a bike out of my shop, and getting there that
way. Becoming very frustrated, my feelings began to
get the best of me and in great despair I started
walking down the sidewalk. But I didn't get very
far.
Slowly nearing the end of the block, with the desire
for the cookies totally consuming me, I just stopped
walking, closed my eyes, and in an instant I
completely merged with the desire for those
chocolate chip cookies. Altogether I must have
remained there for sixty seconds.
Beginning to move again, I crossed over the quiet
intersection and began walking past a deserted gas
station. But again I didn't get very far because all
at once I noticed a box on the dimly lit sidewalk.
Full of curiosity, I walked over to it and gently
nudged it with my shoe. To my complete surprise the
object felt like it had something in it. There was
very little light and not having the slightest clue
as to what it was, I bent over to take a closer
look.
Picking it up with my hand instantly confirmed in my
mind that, indeed, it was full of something. But
never in a million years was I prepared for the
sight I saw when I turned it over. It was the exact
box of chocolate chip cookies I had been
craving—brand-new and unopened.
But at that same instant, like a bolt of divine
lightning, it struck me that this was far beyond any
ordinary coincidence and that I was experiencing the
most incredible moment in my life. I remember
running all the way back to my bicycle shop. With
the box in hand, sitting on the ground crouched up
against the door, I slowly ate the most delicious
cookies I have ever tasted. I didn't come out
for three days.
"Where in the heck is Fischer, Texas?"
I had just finished with my dentist appointment in
San Antonio and noticed that it was difficult
to talk because my lip was still considerably numb.
With me was my lovely three-year-old daughter,
Julia. I always enjoyed her pleasant company and had
asked her to come along for the ride. Patrick, her
baby brother, had to stay home with his mother,
Brigitte. Although our ranch was nearly seventy
miles north of San Antonio, I liked Doctor
Wachtendorf so much I didn't want to look for a new
dentist in San Marcos, where we were then
living. After getting back onto I-35 to head
home, I decided on the spur of the moment to get off
the freeway and visit a newly opened flea market in
New Braunfels. I was curious to see what it
was like.
Another ten years had passed by. As I will explain
later, I had already lived as a monk for nearly five
years with the Hare Krishna devotees but was
now taking a different path, remarried and making my
living manufacturing picture frames and Southwest
furniture out of old barnwood. My gallery was
located at another flea market, just down the road,
but I was wondering if this one might prove to be a
better location. Soon realizing that it wasn't,
Julia and I got back into our Dodge Townwagon
to continue our journey home.
But then, as little girls often announce, she said
she wanted something to drink. Spotting a Stop N'
Go, I pulled up to the convenience store and left
Julia in the truck while I got us both some milk.
Standing in line at the checkout counter I noticed a
stack of local newspapers—so I bought one—hoping
that I might find a house to rent that was closer to
my art gallery and further away from my in-laws.
Back in the truck I turned to the classifieds and
while Julia drank her milk, I found a promising ad:
"Charming country house for rent in
Fischer. $350.00 a month. Please call for
information."
The unexpected trip to Fischer took us about
forty-five minutes, twice over the Guadalupe
River, past Canyon Lake, and deep into
the beautiful hill country that makes this part of
Texas so famous.
During the drive I kept thinking how lucky I was to
have found such a great deal that somebody else
hadn't already scooped up. Furthermore, the old lady
on the phone said there was a building behind the
house that might be converted into the workshop I
needed.
Later I would tell my new friends in Canyon Lake
that this was the most mystical place I had ever
lived. From the moment Julia and I crawled under the
wire gate to look at the little house, I could
hardly believe my eyes.
Built by German settlers in the 1800s out of native
stone, the old homestead had originally been the
site of Fischer's first, one-room
schoolhouse. Now it was a dream come true, as if I
were touring an old estate that belonged in one of
those glossy country magazines.
The house as it looks
today, 23 years later
photo by: The Author
It was also one of the few houses in all that part
of Texas with a basement. Down there sat an antique
wood furnace and I quickly realized that I could
heat the entire place with the wood scraps left over
from my business. There was even a small sun room
attached to the house, perfect for plants and
reading. And in back of the house was the workshop
the landlord's wife had mentioned over the phone,
also made out of beautiful stone. Here was the shop
I had always wanted.
Workshop can be seen in the distance; sunroom
is where the large window is.
photo by: The Author
The house sat on about five acres of land, including
a rolling orchard. From there you could look off
into the distance and see a small sliver of
Canyon Lake, about ten miles away. There was
also a garden with plenty of rich soil, a stone well
house and a picnic table sitting under three large
shade trees. In fact, there were at least a dozen
large oak trees on the property. They surrounded the
house on all four sides and created a very cozy
feeling.
23 years later, the garden appears abandoned.
photo by: The Author
While I was in the workshop trying to picture how I
could arrange my tools, Julia went outside to
explore. Full of excitement she came running back to
get me because, she said, there were cows outside.
Sure enough, behind the well house, on the other
side of the picket fence, with their beautiful faces
looking at us, stood six Herefords surrounded by
their frightened calves. These were the largest cows
I had ever seen in my life, next to the Brown Swiss
dairy cows on our Hare Krishna farm in Pennsylvania.
Oh, how we would come to love those dear and gentle
creatures!
The mystical part is that during the year and a half
I lived in that charming old house, time and time
again Lord Krishna would directly intervene in my
life and encourage me to remember Him.
For instance, one morning I got up bright and early
and decided to take a short hike, about an hour
before Tyrone was due to arrive. I had hired him to
help me and he turned out not only to be a very
talented employee, but a good friend, as well.
Coming back down the hill I spotted an unusual rock
and discovered it to be a small crystal, about an
inch long. Although I had never personally placed a
whole lot of faith in crystals, I appreciated that
others did, so I decided to keep it.
Approaching the house, I could see through the trees
that Tyrone had already driven up in his pickup,
bringing with him his little boy, Shane, and their
yellow Labrador, Sarah. As we all said hello, I
stretched out my arm to show them the beautiful
crystal I had in my hand. About an hour later my
friend, Joe Hayes, came driving up. As I walked out
of the workshop to greet him, he unexpectedly
stretched out his arm, showing me a crystal someone
had just given him. We were both delighted by this
wonderful coincidence.
Though originally from Houston, Joe is the
owner of The Shanty—the hottest rock-and-roll bar in
Canyon Lake and "the place" to rent river
tubes in the summer. One afternoon we were cleaning
the place when over the radio came on this song, "Don't Worry, Be Happy." While it
was playing, I told Joe how much I liked it. After a
few minutes the song stopped playing. Joe reached
over the bar, turned the radio off, and flipped on
the jukebox. All at once the same song started
playing and I remarked how that was nice, that I got
to hear the song again. I thought he had played it
on purpose because I had just mentioned how much I
liked it. But no, instead Joe told me that he had
just let the machine, containing more than five
hundred songs, randomly pick whatever it wanted.
Spurred on by these unusual events, we began talking
about the supernatural nature of coincidences and
later, whenever something odd would occur we would
tell each other about it.
Our little stone house was located in a remote area
of Canyon Lake, and if more than ten cars a
day drove by, I would have been greatly surprised.
Because we didn't own a washing machine, once a week
I would drive into town with the kids to do our
laundry (eighteen miles away). The most
extraordinary thing is that on two different
occasions, inside the same Laundromat, I met someone
who had lived in our little house when they were a
child. The first time this happened I thought to
myself how that was really wild, to meet anybody at
all who even knew that our place existed, not to
mention having lived in it.
Because the house had been built about two hundred
yards away from Cranes Mill Road, hidden down a long
driveway under a canopy of trees, several times
visitors would drive by looking for us and not even
see the place.
"Hidden down a long driveway"
photo by: The Author
A few weeks later when I met the second person, who
described sliding down the cement chute that led
into the basement when she was a little girl, that
really blew my mind. Remember, the house was close
to twenty miles away from that Laundromat.
Hoping to increase sales, I had moved my business,
The Blue Ribbon Gallery, into a much larger space at
Bussey's Flea Market, located about forty miles from
Fischer. One afternoon, around two o'clock, a
young couple came in and before long we struck up a
conversation. It turned out that they were from
Austin and were out enjoying a long Sunday
drive. When they noticed the flea market they
decided to stretch their legs, eager to see what
bargains they could find. It also just so happened
that they, too, were in the art business, owning a
wholesale mat-cutting shop. In a friendly way they
asked me where I lived and I told them in Fischer.
"Oh, I know where Fischer is,"
said the young man.
Now that in itself was almost a miracle, if you know
anything about Fischer. He then asked me if I
knew the lady on Cranes Mill Road, whose house was
located on the bend. Yes, I knew the house very
well, but I had never met the owners, only having
waved at them a few times while passing by. He then
told me that this same lady used to baby-sit him
when he was just a child—when his family had lived
in Fischer, Texas. Growing more suspicious by
the second, I asked him,
"Exactly where did you live in Fischer?"
"Oh, just down the hill from her, in this charming
little stone house."
I almost fell over speechless. In less than three
months he was the third person I had met who had
lived in my house!
Also during this time, for about two months, a good
friend of mine and his wife stayed with us, living
in their trailer which they parked in the shade.
Sunanda is a famous vegetarian chef in the Hare
Krishna movement. As it happened, for various
reasons he and his wife left Fischer and
moved to New York City—leaving behind their
brand-new trailer. He told me that he would try to
sell it as quickly as possible.
Six months later, while they were living on Long
Island, he placed an ad for it in the Austin
American Statesman. Later I tried to visualize
all this: There was my friend sitting in his living
room in New York, who picks up his telephone and
places an ad with this newspaper in Austin. A
copy of the paper was then sold to a fellow in
Round Rock, which is located about twenty miles
north of Austin. That evening, around seven
o'clock, my telephone rang and it was this man in
Round Rock asking about the trailer he had just
read about in the classifieds. He wanted to know if
it was still for sale, and if so where he could see
it.
Because Fischer consists of only a few
run-down houses and an old post office (and they're
not even on the main road), I told him of the more
general and well-known area that we lived in,
Canyon Lake. But then he asked just where on
Canyon Lake, because he obviously knew that it
was a big lake with several small communities
nestled along its shores. So I told him that,
actually, I lived near Fischer, just a mile
from the post office, on Cranes Mill Road.
"Oh
yes,"
he said, explaining that he was quite
familiar with the road.
To be perfectly honest, I was more than a little
skeptical at his reply and quickly dismissed it,
thinking to myself that this was highly unlikely.
After all, our road wasn't even marked on any of the
area maps. Perhaps, I thought, he was confused and
meant Old Cranes Mill Road, located on the other
side of the lake and much better know to the
public. Besides, this man was calling from a large
city, at least eighty miles away, while I was
sitting in the middle of the Texas "boonies." Lo and
behold, it turned out that his sister owned the land
right next door! He bought the trailer.
Although I am usually quite happy, after a very long
and difficult time, brought on by the loss of my
dear wife and two lovely children (I'll explain
later), I found myself sitting on a log in the front
yard. I was completely brokenhearted. Longing for
God, I thought of Lord Krishna. I felt such great
sorrow. "Please, my dear Lord, can You somehow let me know
that You hear my prayers?"
Without hesitation my attention was suddenly drawn
upward, where above me, in snowy-white clouds, I saw
three little figures holding hands. I was quite
astonished, but there was no doubt in my mind as to
what I had seen or that this blessed sight was
anything else but Lord Krishna's divine answer. But
just as quickly as the little figures appeared, they
disappeared, and no matter how hard I looked up into
that cloud I couldn't find them again.
I definitely needed God's help on that terrible day,
and walking over to the garden I learned that His
compassion isn't limited to just one response. As I
came near it, again my attention was unexpectedly
drawn toward the heavens and in awe I watched the
entire firmament turn a brilliant red. Then, as if
to show me His beautiful smile, stretching in a
gentle arc from north to south, stood a perfectly
painted rainbow, delicately shimmering in the
evening sky. And I couldn't even remember it having
rained that day. All of this happened within minutes
of my prayer.
With less than five months remaining before moving
to Denver, I was blessed by Lord Krishna with
two more wonderful coincidences, both occurring
while I was driving my car. Mile after mile, week
after week, in order to run my art gallery I was
spending a great deal of time in my car visiting my
different customers, buying art supplies, opening my
gallery at Bussey's, and driving back each time to
Fischer. So on the occasion of the first
incident this is what I was doing, having spent most
of the day in Austin, making the rounds to my
various accounts. Probably in the back of my mind I
was wishing I had time to cool off at Barton
Springs but it was approaching the rush hour
and I was more than a little anxious to get my last
stop out of the way and head back into the
country.
I pulled onto Sixth Street and found a parking spot
in front of Amado Pena's gallery. I was very pleased
to hear that he had recently sold two of my small
plant tables. I was also thrilled to see the new
16x20 watercolors that his gallery had recently
received from Carol Jean Green. Many people have a
favorite artist, and she is definitely mine.
Of all my business accomplishments I think that
being invited to sell my furniture at El Taller
Gallery was the highlight of my success. If not the
most prestigious art gallery in America, it was by
far the most famous in Austin. It was really
neat how a table made out of old weather-beaten wood
and rusty nails could end up looking so
beautiful—especially my later designs when I began
recessing Navajo Indian rugs into the tops and
covering them with thick glass.
With my chores finally taken care of, I was on my
way out of town, looking forward to being alone with
God. Maybe I'd even stop in Wimberley for a
grilled cheese sandwich over at the bowling alley.
In any event, I was looking forward to the drive
home.
Every moment can be constructive, if you just try.
Over those many months of driving, I had learned
that instead of just so many miles clicking off my
odometer, I could transform the time into very
rewarding moments, spent in prayer and song. These
were perfect moments for meditation, as well. In
fact, I had recently completed a casual,
three-month-long meditation while driving back and
forth between Bussey's and Fischer. This
resulted in one of the most remarkable experiences.
To this day my life is still guided by those
realizations.
Basically, I had been trying to better appreciate my
motives, which seemed intrinsically tied to values,
both conscious and subconscious. And what better way
to sort out one's values than to look at
comparisons? Like this, through constant
contemplation and with the help of the Lord, we can
then experience the many different realities that
create within us the reasons for our actions.
Take water for example. Not all water tastes the
same. In Denver, the water that comes right
out of the tap is great, compared to, say, the fishy
taste of the water in Dallas, or the oily
taste of the water in Midland. But back in
the old days before people were so well traveled or
before the advent of bottled water or water filters,
a lot of the local folks thought that their water
tasted just great, even though others, used to
drinking better water, would have immediately found
it unpleasant.
This is why this point is so powerful. We have all
seen a tasting contest on television. Comparisons
lead to value judgments, which in turn can lead to
radical and positive changes in a person's life—or
something as simple as the kind of water one chooses
to drink.
As for myself, I had become increasingly aware that
the things resting on the "altar of my heart" were
the key issues I needed to deal with. Addressing
some very basic comparisons, I was hoping to change
my life for the better, by exposing the illusions
within my mind. I was searching for answers that
were real and that I could feel within my heart. I
guess, as an American, and considering the way I was
brought up, it hasn't always been so easy for me to
just blindly accept someone else's point of view.
No, if I am going to improve, then every bit of me
needs to participate in the process, so that the
changes become real and natural.
As Shrila Prabhupada has pointed out in his book,
the Bhagavad-gita As It Is, there are two
different worlds, both created by God. The creation
we live in now has been described very accurately as
the material world, whereas the other has been
referred to as heaven, or more precisely,
Vaikuntha
(vie-coon-tha
- the spiritual world).
The word "heaven," unfortunately, has been used in
some Scriptures to indicate a divine-like region in
this material world, but something less than the
full-blown, transcendental abode of our wonderful
Lord. With this understanding, I simply wanted to
look at these two worlds and see what comparisons I
could come up with. I hoped I would then better
appreciate my own values and the consequences of
those values—namely my motives and actions—and the
objects resting on the "altar of my heart." To make
the meditation even more productive, I stuck to a
specific format that I could easily remember. Once I
defined my questions and how I would direct my line
of thought to them, the rest was easy.
Whenever I had to drive back and forth to Bussey's,
I'd simply use my time to answer a short series of
questions devised to look at these two worlds. Thus
I asked myself, over and over, three questions,
making sure that I was fully satisfied with my
answers. The three questions were:
"What is a pleasure in the spiritual world? What is
a pleasure in the material world? What is the
downside of the material world?"
(This last question is meant to reflect on the
answer from the second question. For instance, a
pleasure in the material world could be driving a
car. However, the downside to this pleasure is
smog.)
Altogether I came up with hundreds of good answers,
but I'll only mention the two that moved me he most
(both answers to the first question). The most
obvious pleasure in the spiritual world is that
there aren't any jerks, like me, living
there! Needless to say, this answer was especially
critical because it has thoroughly convinced me of
the complete change I need to prepare myself for.
EPHESIANS 4:22-24—"You
must give up your old way of life; you must put
aside your old self, which gets corrupted by
following illusory desires. Your mind must be
renewed by a spiritual revolution so that you can
put on the new self that has been created in God's
way, in the goodness and holiness of the truth."
(Note: This translation was spoken by the holy
Fathers Callistus and Ignatius,
translated by HELEN
BACOVCIN, The Way of A Pilgrim, Image Books,
1978, pp. 183-84.)
The other answer that impressed me is that one of
the pleasures of the spiritual world could be Shrila
Prabhupada taking all his disciples on a six
billion-year tour of the spiritual planets (in the
spiritual world). Of course, only in that eternal
realm could such a fantastic adventure be even
possible.
On that day, during my drive home, all I knew was
that I had tremendous respect for the Divinity
behind all these coincidences and that here, simply,
was another opportunity for me to reach out and be
with God. Who can predict what can happen if there
is a sincere outpouring of a person's heart toward
his All Merciful Creator?
Sometimes I would even hold my hands out and beckon
God to touch me, just as He had so many times
before. In fact, this is exactly what I had been
doing, just as I was about to enter Dripping
Springs to make my left turn onto Ranch Road 12,
toward Wimberley.
Since nothing unusual was really happening, I got a
bit upset with myself. "Now
wait a minute. This is completely ridiculous! I
don't need to ask Lord Krishna for any special sign.
Besides, I'm open to God all the time, not to
mention the fact that there is absolutely nothing on
this boring road that could possibly happen."
I had no sooner thought this when off to my right,
about two hundred feet away, in a large mound of
sand left by the highway department, I saw Jesus
Christ hanging on a cross.
Absolutely flabbergasted, I turned the Chevrolet
around as fast as I could by making two U-turns on
the highway, and parked the car in the shoulder.
With my eyes wide open and heart racing, I slid over
to the passenger seat, rolled the window down, and
stared in disbelief.
Completely naked except for a white loincloth, the
statue looked exactly like pictures I had seen of
Jesus. But the harder I looked at him, the more
confused I became. Desperately searching for a
logical explanation and remembering that Easter
Sunday was only a few days away, I finally concluded
that this had to be some sort of promotional
gimmick, thought up by one of the small churches in
town. This had to be the answer.
Still keeping my eyes on the cross, I then began to
marvel at how minutely detailed the statue was
constructed. I wondered if it was inflatable, or
made out of some kind of exotic plastic. Then to my
surprise, I noticed that its head was moving, ever
so slightly. With my mind still searching like mad
for answers, I remembered having once seen a small
ceramic dog, made so that its head could also move.
"Whoever in the world made that statue of Jesus
really did a fantastic job!"
Perhaps I am not the brightest person in the world
because suddenly it dawned on me that this wasn't a
statue, at all, but that a real man was actually
hanging there. How odd. How could I have been so
stupid? Then a car pulled alongside the cross and a
woman began pounding a sign into the ground,
announcing their Easter services in a few days. "So there's nothing unusual out here on this boring
road."
Continuing to mutter to myself, I started the car
and drove off.
Later that month I had other errands to attend to,
but this time I drove south into San Antonio
where one of my best accounts had opened a gallery
next to the Alamo. I finished delivering his order
and still had time to stop by a shop that repaired
old radios. For more than three weeks the radio in
my 1953 Chevrolet had been on the blink, and
just as I had thought, they discovered a blown tube.
Still very hot outside and wanting something cold
for the ride home, I pulled the car into a Diamond
Shamrock to gas up and buy a can of soda. When I
reached the counter to pay for everything, I noticed
a neatly-stacked display of Black Jack chewing gum.
After considerable hesitation because of the high
price, I decided to buy a pack, anyhow. It must have
been twenty years since I had even seen any Black
Jack chewing gum and I was glad it was making a
comeback.
From the gas station it was only a short distance to
the freeway. Pulling a stick of gum out of its
wrapper I remembered that my radio was now working.
I reached over and turned it on. Those old tube
radios take about thirty seconds before they warm up
to play and anxiously waiting to hear if it was
indeed fixed (just as the radio came to life), I
slipped the stick of gum in my mouth. And what was
the first thing I heard? A commercial for Black Jack
chewing gum!
Granted, some of these coincidences may not appear
to be highly spiritual. I have never had a celestial
being glimmer before my eyes and speak to me, but
really, it's just a matter of how you look at life.
At first I thought that my guardian angel was
playing tricks on me, but in time, as my knowledge
and faith in God increased, I began to see His hand
in everything around me.
Even the Lord encourages us to see Him everywhere.
He tells us,
"I am the taste of water, the light of the sun, the
ability in man, the fragrance of the earth, the heat
in fire, the intelligence of the intelligent, and
the life of all that lives."
(Note: Please refer to the seventh chapter of the
Bhagavad-gita
As It Is
for an in-depth study of the above quotations).
Also, in the sixth chapter, verse thirty
(BHAGAVAD-GITA 6.30), Lord Krishna tells
Arjuna
(are-joo-na),
"For one who sees Me everywhere and sees everything
in Me, I am never lost, nor is he ever lost to Me."
I would also have to think that trying to see the
hand of God in everything is one of the important
meanings to the Greatest Commandment, given
to us by Jesus Christ, when he said,
"To love the Lord thy God with all your mind."
Using our mind to perceive God in our lives is one
way to obey this spiritual injunction.
Or, as Father Damascene has written in the
PHILOKALIA
(FEE-lo-call-lee-a)—"Man
is to remember God at all times, in all places, and
under all circumstances. If you are making
something, you should remember the Creator of all
things; if you see light, you should remember Him
who gave it to you; if you see the heavens, the
earth, and sea and all that is in them, you should
marvel and praise God who called them all into
being; if you are clothing yourself, remember the
blessings of your Creator and praise Him for being
concerned about your well-being. In short, every
action of every day should cause you to remember and
praise God, and if you do this, then you will be
praying ceaselessly and your soul will always be
joyful."
(HELEN BACOVCIN, The Way of A Pilgrim, p. 72,
Image Books, 1978
One of the nicest books
ever written
I have a friend who lives near Austin, and he
once told me a terrific story about what happened to
him many years ago. It is a true story showing how
God touched his entire family in a most remarkable
way. I met this gentleman in 1986 at the Seventh Day
Adventist church in San Marcos where he
served as one of their pastors. He told me that when
he and his wife had been much younger, and their
children very small, they had taken off in their
Volkswagen "Bug" for a ride along the sand dunes
on Padre Island—next to the Gulf of Mexico.
After venturing miles away from the nearest town and
having thoroughly enjoyed themselves, they wanted to
return to their motel room and put their tired
children to bed. But as they turned their car
around, suddenly the engine began acting up,
refusing to hardly run. However, luck seemed to be
with them because they spotted a lighthouse.
Proceeding very slowly they were able to get the
Volkswagen off the sand and up onto a cement
driveway. No one was there but at least they felt
better. Unfortunately, even after many attempts to
restart the engine the only thing that happened was
that the battery went dead. Their only hope was to
push-start the motor. Again they were fortunate
because the driveway had a slight incline to it. So
this is what Ken and his wife tried to do, and for
what seemed like hours they pushed and pushed and
pushed, but to no avail.
Approaching 9:00 p.m., it was getting late and his
exhausted family was totally unprepared to spend the
night in the middle of nowhere. But as I mentioned,
my friend was a religious man, so gathering together
his wife and children, he told them that they only
had enough strength for one final push. However,
before trying, he wanted them to ask God for His
help.
After several minutes of prayer they slowly pushed
their little "Bug" to the top of the driveway and
with their last ounce of energy got the car going as
fast as they could. Ken told me that the engine then
started to make the strangest sound imaginable,
apparently firing on just one cylinder. Both
thankful and amazed that the engine kept running at
all, everyone piled in as quickly as possible and
slowly drove away—riding on a prayer and a cylinder.
This story isn't over yet. Just to show them that it
really was God who answered their prayers, up ahead
they saw a man with his thumb out. Naturally, Ken
was very reluctant to stop with the engine just
barely running like it was, plus the fact that his
small car was already loaded with the children, his
exhausted wife, and all their picnic supplies. But
no, something inside told him to give the stranger a
ride. Shifting into reverse, the Volkswagen
gradually backed up and they let him in. To make
room for the stranger Ken had to ask his wife to get
into the back with the kids. With everyone set, off
they went again.
As for the stranger, it turned out that the young
man had been abandoned by his drunken buddies who,
like everyone else on the beach that holiday, had
been trying to enjoy the long weekend before going
back to work.
"So what kind of work do you do,"
Ken asked the young hitchhiker?
"Well, I'm a Volkswagen mechanic!"
Undoubtedly we all get excited when something very
special happens to us, such as receiving an
unexpected gift, maybe seeing an old friend for the
first time in years, or being told that we have won
something. This is only human nature and I think
the more unexpected the surprise the greater the
impression it leaves on us.
Take, for example, this incredible story that
appeared in Denver, printed in the Rocky
Mountain News, Wednesday, January 9, 1991. What
happened is that a fifth-grade student (Cetericka)
had joined in with the rest of her classmates at
Windsor Forest Elementary School, in Atlanta,
Georgia, and had written a letter to one of our
soldiers in Saudi Arabia. Eventually her little
envelope filtered its way through a mountain of
backlogged mail, finally getting tossed into a pouch
with a bunch of other letters headed for Fort
Apache, somewhere near the Kuwait border.
Remember, this was during the first Gulf War in
1991.
Bored to death like the rest of our half million
soldiers waiting for the January 15th deadline to
arrive, Army Sergeant Rory Lomas was glad to see the
unit's clerk come into the mess tent and yell out
mail call. He was hoping to get a letter from his
wife, Barbara, but instead was tossed an envelope
addressed: "To Any American Soldier."
"What the heck,"
Sgt. Lomas thought,
"any mail is better than no mail."
But what Sergeant Lomas wasn't prepared for was the
neatly penned signature at the end of the letter. It
was signed:
"Your friend in America, Cetericka
Lomas"—his daughter! You can just imagine the
look on the Sgt. face
Likewise, I'm sure that Richard Bach (author of the
novel, Jonathan Livingston Seagull) received
more than a little dose of excitement as the
incredible events unfolded for him when his rare
biplane, a 1929 Detroit-Parks P-2A Speedster,
upended in Palmyra, Wisconsin. Only eight of
these planes were ever built and because it was so
rare, to acquire the necessary part to repair the
aircraft seemed rather unlikely—or should I say,
impossible?
Observing Bach's predicament, a man who owned a
nearby hanger asked if he could help. When Bach
described the uncommon part he needed, the man
walked over to a pile of junk and pointed to the
precise piece. Richard Bach later said,
"The odds against our breaking the biplane in a
little town that happened to be home to a man with
the forty-year-old part to repair it; the odds that
he would be on the scene when the event happened;
the odds that we'd push the plane right next to his
hanger, within ten feet of the part we needed—the
odds were so high that coincidence was a foolish
answer."
(RICHARD BACH, Nothing by Chance, quoted in
Reader's Digest, August 1979, p. 118)
When we hear these delightful stories, they
irresistibly invite us to think of the hand of God
and His mysterious ways. They are like a spiritual
nudge, designed to wake us up to our real position:
God's holy servant. My good friend, Kris Carlson,
recently got a gentle reminder while down in Texas
over the 1990 Christmas holidays.
Before he left, we had been discussing some of the
coincidences I was planning to use in this
chapter. When he got back from his trip, he called
to tell me what had just happened. He was driving
with his wife and another lady, taking them into San
Antonio, when he fell into a daydream and began
thinking about an old friend that he hadn't seen in
years. His friend had a rather uncommon name:
Errol. Kris then told me that at the exact
second he thought about Errol, a car passed
him on the left, sporting one of those personalized
license plates with "ERROL" printed on it.
I once read that,
"A coincidence is God's way of
remaining anonymous."
I like this idea. In any
event, they are truly a delight to experience. They
are divine treats—spiritual magic performed by the
greatest magician of them all: Lord Krishna. No two
tastes alike, and they are spontaneously full of
humor and wonder. But above all, at least from my
perspective, a coincidence is a blessing. They are
an added surprise in my stocking. I am truly
grateful, not only because of their generous
numbers, but also to now have the opportunity to
share them with so many people.
It was a simple thing to be touched by Lord
Krishna's unlimited kindness. First I gave up
hunting (hurting animals), I became a vegetarian,
and I began chanting the Lord's Holy Names, as
recommended by Shrila Prabhupada:
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare.
I also read the book, Krishna, The Supreme
Personality of Godhead, wherein Shrila
Prabhupada comments several times that anyone who
just hears the auspicious pastimes of Lord Krishna
will be forever blessed. As I have discovered over
and over again, as long as we sincerely look for
God, He has unlimited and marvelous ways to show us
His mercy. Reach out to Him with your heart and mind. Believe
and expect His blessings, and soon you, too, will
experience His wonderful touch.
Next: Chapter 2
Trying to Grow Up
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