Uncanny coincidences kept cropping up yesterday as I attended a gathering of one of those “Meet-Up” groups.
Got eerie, downright mystical-like, if you know what I mean.
Started out with flowers I brought for the meeting, mostly young professionals with a few gray-haired types to make me feel more at home. They were purple. They matched the “motif” of this consciousness-raising event. Rufiya, the host, pointed to posters matching “to a “T” their color and “flower-like” design. The posters were plastered on walls announcing the three-day “Congress” the group held with some 1,200 other internet plug-in participants worldwide, according to the keynote speaker, Dr. Michael Laitman, who spoke live from a site in the Middle East.
Sat next to an 11-year-old named Adam. Asked me what we could have in common when a topic popped up: paintball guns! Someone had mentioned the Vietnam War, and his face lit up when I asked him if he knew anything about guns. Next thing you know, we’re discussing things I learned from my son, Nicholas, when he was Adam’s age. “You know you can freeze the balls, and shoot pesky pigeons,” I said. Chatting more, we touched on “smoking” and how his dad lit up cigars. “He’s a doctor,” he said. “Could be worse,” I countered. “He could have been a lawyer.”
“”Are you a lawyer?” Adam followed up. “Yes, a public defender here in Philadelphia.” Hadn’t planned to tell anyone of my earlier work, but felt I could talk with this youngster, particularly when he asked me what my worse cases may have been like. Told him about some homicides. One, a woman who struck a bicyclist with her car, had fled the scene. Police stopped her as she turned one corner and then another, in what her Defense (Me) said was an effort to pull a “U-turn” to come back to the scene of the crime, where you’re required to stop, particularly when someone is injured. “What happened to the person on the bicycle?” the 11-year-old asked, not quite understanding what the word homicide may have meant. “He died,” I answered. “The jury found her guilty, and she went to jail.”
He nodded his head. You can’t run away from problems in life, I said, and added the verdict was probably justified despite my efforts to “get her off.” He seems to understand the second case better. It involved a man arguing with a fellow passenger on a bus who ended up killing him near the rear door exit. The two had stood and yelled at each other, when the victim had actually gotten off, only to step back onto the bus, where he fell backward as my client pushed him. Struck the ground head first, cracking his skull. “He didn’t mean to do it,” I said of the defendant. “But the judge found him guilty of something called involuntary manslaughter. He said each of us is accountable for our actions, even though we may not mean to cause such harm.”
Another youngster I met was A 19-year-old long-haired fellow named Anthony who reminded me of my son, Nicholas, because of the striking similarities. Both went to a trade school (like me, I might add), studied auto mechanics, and grew hair way beyond shoulder length in keeping with their dreams of one day becoming rock & roll stars. Both play the guitar, (Nick the lead guitar, and Anthony, the bass) and both sing (Nick sings lead, while Anthony does backup like I did).
Two women who were a little bit older, Tamila and Cora originally from Azerbaijan, told me they were “called” to the spiritual path by the lure of the Sufi, the Islamic sect that got me looking further within. They also followed the path of the Buddha for several years, just as I have started six months ago.
It got spooky when a fellow my age and completely blind knew of an incident 40 years ago that I was telling the group to show how “tough” the section of the city where I grew up was. “Big Dave was killed in a drive-by shooting outside of his house,” I told some 20 people gathered for dinner. No sooner had I mentioned this, when Michael, a person with one of the keenest intellects I’ve met in years, pinpointed the exact location of the shooting.
“Twenty-seventh and Parish streets,” he said, staring in my direction with eyes that saw more than anyone at the table. How he knew, I never really figured out. Just like all these coincidences that really weren’t “coincidences” kept appearing throughout the day. Something’s “afoot,” I told Rufiya, explaining that I intend to return and investigate this Meet-Up a lot more. Buy into it, and weigh the scale of merits, so to speak. Might have a lot to teach me over the next six months or so.
‘We are all connected’ is not a cliche. It’s the most true thing you can say, if you are still stuck with the ‘we’ concept. Even that is too much of a barrier to what is real… that we are each other, that there is no separation.
Once we reach out to the world and begin to make more connections with people who are also trying to wake up, things like this happen more and more. Inevitable.
You miss the train and see a person you had wanted to get back in touch with…
You get a job right when you need one…
You meet someone at the only time in four years on either side of right now, who is indispensable the next day in making something vital to your life work.
It’s truly amazing, and the internet is making it happen more and more. Instant communication makes those final boundaries only boundaries of the mind. Time and Distance are no longer an issue.
This era is truly astounding.
It’s like the “Creator” had this planned, and all we have to do is “open” our selves to . . . I don’t know, the “spiritual side,” be it through the path of the Sufi, the Kababalah, or Buddhism, not to mention the more mainstream avenues like Shamanism, Crystal-healing or channeling with Earth and Spirit.
Uh oh, got my “religions” mixed up. Meant Christianity, Judaism, Muslim and Hindu.
“I” must get out of the way. My “ego” must shrink as the small “me” chants Sanscript, Latin or maybe an English prayer I recenlty learned, “There is none else besides Him.”
What a way to go through Life!
As always, my Buddha brethren (sister, actually), I bow to the wisdom and compassion your wings brought to my humble abode. If I could, I’d “buy” you as a friend, but only if I could manfiest in Ohio. (Which actually could be next month, come to think of it. Cleveland, hasn’t moved out, has it?)
Ah lucky lucky you to find such connections and intersections all in one group and in one meeting. If I were you, I’d certainly go again simply out of curiosity regarding not just making more connections but–whatever else you might learn from these.
I really enjoyed your writing in this piece. You drew me and gave me a seat in the storystelling circle. Thank you.
Thank you, my wise one, aka, 47 White Buffalo. I am now encouraged to say I hope to go on a shamanistic journey soon.
Will read some Kabbalah before hand, and smuggle in a crystal and a Buddhist chant before taking my seat.
Glad you enjoyed the circle of of story-telling. I loved every moment and am gratified you could visit a while.
Feeling One With All