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 (spiritual master) of the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada. 

My little brother, Larry, was born a year later. In 1948 my father received orders sending us to Anchorage, Alaska, and for the next several years this growing 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 for members of 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, 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. 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.

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. 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.

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.

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. One afternoon we were cleaning the place when over the radio came on a song, called, "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 past it 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. 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 young, 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 sixty 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 more familiar with 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 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 a snowy-white cloud, 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.