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Category Archives: PTSD
Joy found in everyday ‘Common’ Ground
Part III in totem series (Hawk, tiger & sparrow) Continue reading
Stop the presses, stop depression, stop!
Meditation time is right in this moment
Meditation time is right in this moment
Yucky moment leads to ease of suffering
Crazy to think suffering could ever help
‘Letting go’ provides a better ‘vision’ in life
Psychedelic green bursts of light pulse across my eye. It’s like a strobe light flashing over and over, as I “see” a colorful cascade of a lime green pigment appear before me as if it’s penetrating the eyeball itself.
It is! And, it’s called a “laser” procedure that a doctor from Presbyterian Hospital, a division of the University of Pennsylvania Hospital, Philadelphia, PA (USA), is performing on my left eye. Flash after flash of the laser erupts across the eye in lightening-like shapes. Are those the veins of the eye this magical light is brightening as it strikes?
He “lasers” through one hundred and twenty-four “spots” on two different sections of the eye, where they discovered I had a detached retina. I thought I scratched the eye with a contact lens, but was wrong. (See: lens hazard) And there I was yesterday, getting emergency treatment from VA (Veterans Administration) Hospital workers who, I believe, provide the best services in the world to needy veterans.
Okay to Surrender Yourself to Medical Treatments
I sit passively, leaning back with my head comforted by the head-rest of the chair behind me. Strange. But I am at peace. Another doctor — was it the third, fourth or fifth person I spoke to? — had coated the eye with some “numbing” liquid. It spread over the eye and apparently into whatever cavity leading to the nasal section. My breathing is clearer. So are my thoughts.
Rather, the “lack“ of thoughts, as I have totally “surrendered” to these physicians, placing the outcome not only in their hands, but those of the Fates, as my ancient Greek ancestors called that Force in the Universe. “Whatever will be, will be,” Doris Day sings in my ear. It’s easy to accept something when you have absolutely no control over that something.
I pondered this as I drove earlier from one hospital to another, wondering if I would lose sight in my eye after seeing an eye doctor at Coatesville (PA) Medical Center. He called Philadelphia to set up this emergency “drill.” What’s the worst scenario, Michael? You’ll be blind in one eye, and won’t be able to see out of the other, unless you wear a contact lens. Otherwise, the world will be a blur, an unfocused, hazy collection of unfeeling objects. Kinda like some people I know who go through life never seeking help or understanding from one another.
Calculating Risks You Take for Improvement
Ok, let’s say I “lost” the eye, I thought. That’ll cut back by 50 percent the amount of money I’d need for contacts lenses. Just buy for one, not two eyes. Won’t have to worry about scratching the glass lens on the left side of my spectacles. Couldn’t see through it anyway. And, it’s not as if I would actually be “losing” the eye, replacing a natural one with an artificial one, I find myself telling a nice and kind female hospital attendant.
You could still see both of my pretty brown eyes as I smiled your way, I added. I could blink, and the eye would respond. I’d be able to look in your direction and you’d see me looking back at you with both of my happy-to-see-you “peepers.”
Don’t forget the eye patch. A cool, black patch stretched over the eye, as I would stare you down with that sinister and menacing look of the pirate, the swashbuckler, the Omar Sharif-type character that is suave and debonair. What a new look! Might lead people to believe my 100 percent disability rating with the VA was due to the loss of the eye while in combat, and not my hearing loss and/or the PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) “gain.”
Can Eye Drops Help You Reach a Higher State?
The drops placed on my eye immediately preceding the laser incisions seemed to spread over my whole being, bringing a calm I generally only experience while in “deep” meditation. “Doctor Will,” I address the surgeon, Daniel Will, by name. “Do the eye drops make a person feel like they’ve reached Nirvana?”
“That’s a new one,” he responds with a laugh. He mentions something about “bottling” it if the stuff really caused such an effect. I “feel” him smile at my remark. And I smile. I now know that no drug is causing me to face this medical “operation” with such an evenly peaceful acceptance on my part.
Must be the advice someone suggested I follow, and that is, to apply the self-administrated procedure of “letting go,” day after day.
It will help to improve anyone’s vision.
My ‘Right Speech’ May Have Wronged You
Veterans’ PTSD helped at Omega lands
Pictures, statues and other works of art often capture the beauty of the soul as people seek peace and love through different spiritual paths. Omega Institute provided all of that for a group of US veterans at a retreat this past Fall. Below are a few photos that may have captured the spirit of meditation, and that is, “Being in the Moment.”
Mindfulness Awareness Grows at Omega institute off Hudson River
I have no idea who this couple was, as I shot them resting on a bench looking at two others in the boat sailing past them. Our PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) group, at the Omega Institute for a 5-day workshop of intense meditation, conducted a ceremony on the shore of the lake when I snuck away and saw the Autumn waterway watchers.
Meditation Quilt, dining room, Omega Institute
This quilt was one of four hanging from rafters in the dining hall. Each “patch” measured 12-by-12 inches and depicted various spiritual symbols.
“Sanctuary Bell”, at the top of Omega Institute
I left the group to seek solitude in the “Sanctuary” at the top of the hill overlooking the grounds of the retreat in the Hudson River valley some 100 miles outside of New York City. This bell symbolized the “calling” many of us received and responded to while here. Grateful that some still lingers.
Balancing Rocks, Omega “Sanctuary”
A small pond held many wonders if one simply took time to see. Look at this rock formation. What a balance. You and nature. You and the Self within.
USA Veteran PTSD “Enlightenment”
The Rev. Claude AnShin Thomas, an ordained Buddhist monk, sets fire to messages that veterans wrote, hoping to “detach” themselves from an activity that triggers their PTSD. The group met on the shores of the Omega Institute lake, forming a circle around the former infantryman who years later studied Buddhism in Vietnam, and returned to America to help PTSD sufferers world-wide.
Buddhist Monk performing a ceremony
Letting go. One attachment by another. Step by step. Day by day. All burning away until possibly reaching “Nirvana,” which literally means “extinguishing” or “blowing out” all the fires of desire.
Buddhist Altar, PTSD Retreat
Meditation started at 7 a.m. and continued through 9 p.m. with silence the entire day, even at mealtime. The silence was most welcome while seated in the hall with 50 veterans, some family members and friends all seeking healing from war and its aftermath.
Idols of all shapes and sizes greeted us at the Omega Institute October 25, 2009. The one of the Elephant deity Genesha was one of my favorites. The more than 3-foot-tall statue greeted all to the sauna who were seeking relaxation and a little detoxification.
For more photos, see Love found ‘idol-Ing’ at Omega Institute
For stories on Omega Institute see below:
For Story on “Idols” see: No American Idols portrayed in my home
Women Know the Help Boys Need in War
Gratitude Given Freely Can Grow on You
Want to feel good? Pick out five things each day to show your gratitude. Write ’em down. But, don’t try to fake it. You really gotta look for some thing in your life, some person, some reason that, deep down inside, you can say “makes me grateful.”
That’s a message I got from a fellow named Bill Stauffer who addressed a group of like-minded people who were seeking some spiritual insights this morning. Continue reading
Saigon lady serves up smile & forgiveness
A Mouse Senses Freedom Thru Meditation
Meditation lets my energy flow from within
On road to Peace, I found some “Bhuddies”
For the first time in my life I attended a Buddhist gathering knowing that I wanted to learn more about meditation and the teachings about compassion and loving kindness.
I entered the room and was instructed to remove my shoes which were placed in a small hallway. I then walked into the center with my hands closed in a prayer and my eyes wide open for whatever I could behold.
Then, I fell to my knees, slowly crawled along a mat, and “scrunched” my bottom onto a firm, six-inch pillow. Tucked my legs beneath my raised body and closed my eyes, ready for this Service.
They started chanting. About 25 other souls who appeared here after braving a rainy Sunday morning, were speaking a foreign language in this, the Chenrezig Tibetan Buddhist Center of Philadelphia. An Asian man wearing a brown “monk’s” robe led the Prayer Service. He sat in the Lotus position on a platform some 10-to-12 inches above a white painted wooded floor. He smiled often. And spoke the Tibetan language as well as English, someone told me later.
About ten people sat in chairs, possibly to prevent any stress to bad backs. The rest of us sat on the comfortable pillows that rested above red, padded mats measuring some 2-by-3 feet. Candles were lighted toward the front of the center. There was a slight smell of incense; I was told that someone had lit, but then extinguished a stick, because another suffered from allergy to the scent.
Each of us were provided a red-covered “prayer” book, containing some 50 pages of various prayers and chants in both English and possibly Sanskrit and/or Tibet. Pictures of Buddhist deities as well as one of the Dalai Llama headed some pages. A larger picture of the Dalai Llama rested in what I called a “guru-like” posture behind the Philadelphian spiritual guide.
Somebody mentioned how fortunate “we” were because the spiritual leader, Losang Samten, planned to perform a “tea ceremony.” Great, I thought. I heard of this in my earlier practice with mindfulness meditation the past year, but never witnessed or took part in one. Fellow practitioners were “once-a-week meditators” and seemed to simply “tolerate” the Dharma presentations our Zen teacher mixed in with “body scans,” “sitting” sessions, and the occasional “walking meditations.”
How did I — a red-blooded U.S. veteran, one awarded a bronze star for fighting for flag, mom’s apple pie and everything American — end up bowing to a bunch of Buddhists? What beckoned me to mingle with fellow Philadelphians who not only helped support a spiritual leader to guide them toward “Enlightenment,” but to teach of a spiritual movement created twenty-five hundred years ago by a prince who exchanged riches for the life of a beggar in trying to end mankind’s suffering?
Synchronicity. Stuff like this happens, according to the psychologist, Dr. Carl Jung. And, coincidence has nothing to do with it. I planned to have lunch at a “Spaghetti Warehouse” with my first and only gathering of a “Meet Up” Group up the street from the Buddhist center. We were to “tour” or simply “attend” the Buddhist service and then discuss the activity over food and possibly a drink.
I never made it for spaghetti. Never got a chance to formally introduce myself to the “Meet Up” people. I simply stayed for the Buddhist semi-annual meeting with the permission of one of the group’s officers who allowed me, a non-member, First Generation Greek-American, to see the “behind-the-scenes” goings-on of full-fledged Buddhist followers.
I quickly learned they were no more different from you and I.
Please see Part II, –Meditation lets my energy flow
Why We Want No More War Anniversaries
PTSD Anquish Served up at Bread Store
Terrorists force VA to strip vet of dignity
The Terrorists Won.
They pushed my face into the dirt. Made me low crawl through those metal detectors. Violated me like no prison incarceration could ever have make me feel.
Continue reading
Finally, Light Shines on My Mutiny Quash
I lied to my platoon to prevent a Mutiny from bursting to a head some 40 years ago.
Today, I granted myself forgiveness. I cleansed a wound that never seemed to heal until now.
Finally, Light Shines on My Mutiny Quash
I lied to my platoon to prevent a mutiny from bursting to a head some 40 years ago.
Today, I granted myself forgiveness. I cleansed a wound that never seemed to heal until now.
I served as a First Lieutenant in Vietnam and was relieved of my command of an infantry platoon just two hours before getting orders to appear at a helicopter base port. Taken by surprise, I met the battalion commander, who asked me to help avoid a military “disaster” from developing any further. My platoon of some 25 soldiers, grunts, as we liked being called, had refused to board the ships that would fly them into the “field” to patrol and engage the enemy. Most of the men sat on the heliport, reclining on their backpacks, disobeying all orders to climb aboard.
A day earlier, several members of the second squad were medivaced to a hospital after being ambushed by the Viet Cong. I had assigned a sergeant with some 10 years of experience to lead the squad. Unfortunately, he was “new in-country” and may not have had time to become acclimatized to the situation. In other words, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do in a war zone yet.
Our superior officer blamed me, the man in charge, and for the second time in my young military career, I found myself removed from my command. I was devastated the first time, and I view that period as the lowest moment of my life. I felt lower than dirt and less useful than the ground below. At least dirt could be used to grow things and offer a structure to build on, I believed then.
This time, however, my being sacked hurt far less. I knew I had done everything to ensure the well-being of my platoon, and instill in each member an esprit de corps that carried over into their individual lives. They learned to live for each other, to work as a unit, to place the needs of the platoon over their own.
It came as no shock when I heard they refused to go to the field! It was a mutiny, pure and simple. They protested what they believed was an outrageous act committed against them: the removal of their leader, Lieutenant Michael J Contos, yours truly.
(See Part 2 My Mutiny Quash)
Healing Technique Sparks Family Fall Out
“Unclean spirits!” The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Across my face.
Besides being rejected, I felt lightning had just stuck the ground beneath me. I detected fear and the raising of a drawbridge that would block out all light, no matter where the Source originated.
PTSD Raises a Monster Head from a Toilet
Put a straitjacket on me.
Hide me in a padded room.
Get me away from people.
All those I can harm by PTSD.
PTSD therapy often comes from survivors
“Opening up” to a stranger is, at best, difficult to do. Confiding your “war zone” fears with a non-veteran can be worse, unless PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) serves as a bond between a brother and a sister.
That’s how I have come to view my own shortcomings through the eyes and experiences of “trauma survivors” who faced similar life-altering devastations, but who are now finally able to talk about it for the benefit of all . . .
You’ll see by these comments below that there is no discrimination between man and woman when it comes to PTSD. It is an equal opportunity offender. 
Finally! By One survivor
- “I ran into a therapist back in 2005 who was very unethical. Between her and her clients, I was put through hell on her online forum.
- “Well, I found out a couple of months or so ago, that some of her clients were filing complaints against her. And not just her clients, but even another very reputable therapist is filing a complaint on behalf of several of her former clients. Apparently, they went to him after they left her and what they shared with him about her methods so concerned him that he felt he had to file.”
————
After reading the Blog Post I only had one thing to say:
Wow!
How a therapist could hurt someone is beyond my way of thinking.
Don’t people go into that profession to actually “help” other people?
I don’t know; sometimes people with PTSD can learn more from others with the same problems. Not so much that misery likes company, but you’re able find out that your own behavior isn’t so out of whack. The trauma is forcing so many others like us to seek help. Both men and women . . . for a lot of different reasons.
Reading about acts of healing and how to help others can, in itself, help us. But only if we face up to our condition.
I keep trying every day, having some little successes here and there, knowing I’ll probably have this devil called PTSD with me for the duration of my tour here on Planet Earth.
Good luck,
Michael J
Will Vietnam PTSD trap ever set me free?
What do anger, dreams, PTSD, and “Letting Go“ of one’s past have to do with each other? They’re all part of a discussion on vetting our emotions through dreams to deal with our conscious selves. Join me and another Michael J in our recent comments to his post: Practicing for the Bardo by Urbansannyasin
Continue readingDresden calls Kurt Vonnegut Jr. to Blog
Despite Road Rage, Light Shines on PTSD
Unable to curb my road rage today, I finally grasped a thread of my PTSD and traced it back to its source.
Continue reading‘One Step Back’ leads to ‘Two Forward’
Ever learn about yourself while giving heartfelt advice to someone else?
My kid served as a mirror this morning, as I discussed why he should not quit on his “tech” teacher at school.
It ain’t easy admitting that you, the parent, may need the same sage advice as the child. Worse yet, is trying to reason with a 17-year-old. They are so smart, they know practically everything to know in this world.
Three Positives Trump Anger Every Time
Trying to Make Amends for Vietnam War
How do you say you’re sorry to a people whose country you bombed in the name of peace and democracy?
What words can you use after saying that you are personally sorry for the Vietnam War and the mistakes our government made some 40 years ago?
Continue readingSafe Place Still No Guard Against PTSD
My Correspondence with a Woman with PTSD
You got it Sweetheart!
PTSD is what this Vietnam War veteran is talking about.
You also have a great talent to mine your deep reserves and present them in a way that encourages others, while also instructing us, not to mention self-medicating with the soft touches of someone who puts love around the events to give them space.
I have anger issues. Flashbacks occur when I least expect them, but usually only during stressful situations (or when the Phillies put Brad Lidge out to pitch the ninth inning). No kidding. I actually stopped watching baseball games because of my reactions.
Meditating and Blogging Help my PTSD Flare-Ups
I meditate, and now — over the past 3 weeks [since Sept 24, 2009] — I also write a post, feeling inspired to make a comment when I read something as moving as your story.
We need your voice.
I like your voice. (I may even steal some ideas from your voice, but don’t tell anyone I said that. Got a reputation to uphold, you know).
— Thanks, from Michael J Contos
————
The above comment was provided by me for a Blog post called Think’ily Broken.
The following is the Corresponding Comment
spiritsh@host301.hostmonster.com show details from an Oct 19th message to Written Whispers the Blog:
Here is the new reply:
Flashbacks are a pain in the everything- the mind, the heart- everything.
I rarely have anger, at least outwardly and obviously directed at people but since the PTSD has started coming out as badly as it has, I’ve found myself on the verge of screaming at people when I get into really stressful situations.
I’m sorry to hear that via the baseball. I had to stop watching one of my fave television shows for the same reason. I just get so into it and then I freak out when something dramatic happens.
PTSD Makes You Avoid Normal Things
Then afterwords I feel so silly after having freaked out the way I did but I just can’t help it. It seems to unfair that on top of having all this stuff affect us after it happens and we’re in safe and better places we have to literally avoid perfectly normal things because of stuff like this.
Thank you very much. I’m going to have stop by your blog very soon and leave a couple of comments myself.
(Oh, and steal away. I live to inspire so be it it gives me more to read eventually.)
Peace and once again- thank you for the great comments regarding PTSD. It made my day in more ways than you know (or maybe you do) to be reminded I’m not the only one.
————-
(The above comments were generated after reading a young woman’s struggle with PTSD on Oct. 17, 2009)
(Comments generated after reading a young woman's struggle with PTSD on Oct. 17, 2009)
When Is Using God’s Name Blasphemy?
God damn it. I forgot the lead I wanted to write here.
It was on the tip of my tongue (pen, key board key, etc.), and Christ, I lost it.
Jesus… How the hell can I ever be a successful Blogger if I am this Stupid?
Well, let’s hear it. Is this blasphemy? Am I taking the name of the Lord In Vain? Has what I said (wrote) been the basis for sin? Should it?
Release Me; I Swear I’ll Never Sin Again
Hey. Please get me out of here.
How the hell did I end up here, this empty place where no one can see me, touch me, or, more importantly, hear me?
Why am I locked up, away from the world outside this jar-like existence. Who did I piss off? What was my grievous sin?
Identity Loss Leads to New Outlook on Life
I lost my wallet.
And found a new freedom that only the loss of identity could possibly grant me.
Continue reading— Who’s to Blame For War After War? —
I Blame God for War.
I blame the Most Powerful Force in the Universe for not using its Almighty Abilities to stop war dead in its tracks.
— Some Wounds May Never Ever Heal —
The Vietnam War changed Joe.
It stripped him of all interest in leading people in any official capacity. Forever.
He has never been the same since coming Home, but he didn’t know that until years later when he was shaken awake to this harsh reality through a PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) session in Vietnam.
They called him “Philly Joe” in the US Army squad he commanded. The City of Brotherly Love was his home, and many like him took on the name of their state or city while in the service. He was a sergeant, in charge of a squad of “grunts,” infantry soldiers who canvassed the “bush,” the jungle of Vietnam, helicopter flight after helicopter flight.
Joe was the type of leader that men loved to serve with — honest and compassionate, yet firm with a no-nonsense approach when a crisis called for it. More importantly, Joe’s men followed him because each knew from experience that Joe would not ask you to do anything that he would not have done himself.
Joe Trains a Recruit to be a Machine-Gunner
That’s why Harris, a young recruit who heard of Joe’s military savvy, had asked to become a member of his squad, his “fire team.” “I made him my machine-gunner,” Joe recalled. In addition to carrying the heavy weapon, Harris packed a .45 pistol, a weapon generally handled by those not carrying an M-16.
And it happened one day that Harris had quietly approached Joe and told the sergeant he had lost the handgun. The squad was flown in by helicopter to a section where they all dismounted and slowly spread out, marching nearly half a “Klick,”(half a kilometer or 500 meters) before Harris discovered the loss and approached the sarge, confiding in him.
Joe did not want Harris to get into trouble for losing the military-issued weapon. More importantly, Joe said, he did not want the enemy to get their hands on it and use it against some GI.
Return to Enemy Territory to Retrieve Gun
And so, Joe ordered his squad to stand down and wait, as he and Harris made their way back through an untrodden path, making their way back to the landing zone (LZ).
- They found the gun!
- And the VC (Viet Cong) found them!
Joe and Harris came under fire, being shot from some small arms from some unknown direction. They moved quickly, trying to retrace their steps away from the now marked area and get to the safety of the other men.
An unseen enemy sharpshooter, who had apparently lay in wait for the Americans, hit Harris. Joe saw Harris take the shot and the sergeant propped up the “younger man.” (Joe was all of 18 years old when he directed the lives of the “kids,” those “new in-country.”) Harris struggled, but with Joe’s help, both made it back to safety.
Million-Dollar Wound Way Off Base
“You got a million-dollar wound,” Joe remembered telling Harris, as he helped to attend his wound. “You’re going home,” he added, trying his best to keep the injured soldier calm and relaxed, focused on something other than the pain that could too easily force him to go into shock. It worked. The young man’s injuries appeared to stabilize when a helicopter crew flew in to medevac him out of the field and to an Army Hospital.
. . . Where Harris died from his wound.
. . . Thus, injuring a major part of Joe’s psyche, Joe’s soul, and his outlook in early adulthood.
————–
Oh, Joe finished his tour just fine, getting out of the war zone one month short of a 12-month rotation. But he never felt the same way as he did in giving orders before the loss of Harris.
Never Give Anybody Any Orders Again
It haunted him in a way he only recently realized. You see, Joe has never sought advancement in any of the jobs or career paths he chose to follow after the war. “They wanted me to be a supervisor,” Joe said of assembly line work he once performed in a factory. Joe turned the position down cold.
Years later, while serving as a correctional officer in the prison system, Joe smiled and simply refused to follow the advice of others, urging him to “put in” for sergeant. The same thing occurred while working as a sheriff, handling prisoners to and from the courtroom where I had met him.
Why doesn’t he apply for a higher rank, a higher position? Courtroom employees wondered about Joe’s refusal to try to get more money and become a sergeant. He was qualified, and sometimes, he was actually doing the job of a superior officer.
Can’t Even Give Orders to Others at Church
The members at his Baptist Church in Philadelphia asked similar questions after Joe, time and again, politely refused to be named a deacon. He could not give an order from any official position, he said.
He could not bear the loss, the pain, the hurt of a person following his order who could fall prey to, no matter how minuscule the risk.
One will never know what life Joe would have led had he not be stricken in war. You can only imagine coming in contact with a guy like Joe.
You won’t see any of Joe’s injuries at the first meeting with him.
But they are there. They’re part of his PTSD.
And some wounds may never ever heal.
— Why Must This Path Purt So Much? —
Pain; What Good Is It?
Sometimes, it works. But sometimes it tears into my psyche, bringing with it a fear that this discomfort, this thorn will continue to haunt me, raising its head more and more as I feel the aging process more keenly and with it, an unwanted sense of my mortality, my deterioration and the inevitable end that I will someday meet. When the pain increases and I can’t steer my mind away from it, I know deep inside that the end is not so very far away!
“Thank you” for letting me serve, somehow
- Ever get more out of doing something nice for someone than that person ever expected you could possibly get?
“Don’t like this love…(crap)” she told me!
“I don’t like this love shit,” a woman I was about to meditate with whispered to me while in the circle of our six-person meditation “community.”
Veterans find joy in their own backyards
Dream reveals a key to unlocking Paradise
I dreamed I wore a dress to a training class for new lawyers learning to defend criminal defendants. No one noticed my garb. None of the other attorneys said anything, and I never felt “different” or out of place as a brand-new public defender awaiting to argue his first case in Court.
But when I left the room and took a break, a supervisor removed the dress as he and others tried to run off with what they said was “inappropriate” clothing for a man’s courtroom appearance.
Serving others helps to serve you as well
The purpose of Life is to know, love, and serve the Creator.
But how do you serve an All-Giving Entity?
I believe that “to Serve the Creator is to Serve Humanity”
What’s Love Got To Do with PTSD?
Angels Appear as Earthly Messengers
It’s just like heaven . . . Being here with you . . . You’re like an Angel . . Too good to be true. When You are near me. My heart skips a beat. I can hardly stand on. My own two feet. Because I Love You; I Love You, I Do. ‘Angel Baby’. My ‘Angel Baby’. Oh, Ooh, I Love You, Oh, Ooh, I Do . . . No One Could Love You . . . Like I Do!
— Rosie & the Originals
Angels appeared to me through a synchronicity of dreams and later, a conscious meditation, where I realized that certain people that I had met in my life served as agents of change, directing me through the hills and valleys of my present journey. Yes, I call these “messengers” angels, thank you, Dr. Carl G Jung. And you will see why!
First, let me tell you about the dream. A white-haired man dressed in a three-piece suit spoke with another man also dressed in a suit. They stood in an aisle of a train, near the seats where I sat, along with another man and a young woman.
No one appeared to know the other, but the seated passengers, myself included, were deeply engrossed in the conversation the two standing men were having. “Don’t you know me?” the taller man spoke to the white-haired, older man, who had identified himself as Socrates. I forgot if he mentioned his last name.
—————-
“I’m sure you will recognize me,” the second man, who called himself Plato, added. This man was slightly bald and started challenging the elder speaker to recall an earlier time the two spent long hours together. I don’t remember any details of their discussions, but they were profound, enlightening, and mesmerizing.
The men looked toward us, the seated passengers, as if they had interrupted some activity, but I spoke for the three of us, stating that we were keenly interested in what they had to say, and to please continue with their discourse.
Moments later, I was alone with the white-haired man. I noticed that he had a slight beard, trimmed neatly, and had a cherub-round face. Was the face German? Nordic? Or was he from some other nearby European country that provided red cheeks and a rugged look among its dwellers, I thought. He told me he had finished one book and was writing a second. He seemed cautious and concerned about my reaction when he told me about the first one, claiming some people would not warm to the subject matter or believe in its content.
“What’s the name of the book?” I asked, curious and interested in his story as I looked into his eyes to get a clearer view of this man. “The book is about Angels,” he said, initially glancing to the floor and then directly towards me, his eyes lighting up. “Those I Know, have Known, and will be Knowing,” he added with a smile.
- Before I had a chance to ask him more, whether that was the name of the title or something else related to the writing, the scene had shifted, and we were near the front of a bus, not a train, and I was getting up to exit the front door where Mr. Socrates and his fellow conversationalist continued their discussion. I nodded goodbye to all, stepped off the bus, and only realized hours later that the white-haired man was some sort of messenger, perhaps the real Socrates, and his sidekick was none other than another philosopher from 500 to 400 BC. But I wasn’t sure of his name. Until days later!
Contoveros 