Well, I thought history was going to repeat itself, a couple days ago. I was there when the accident happened. I thought Bud was a goner and might leave us. The verdict’s not in, yet. But we’re hopeful.
It happened this way, as I remember it. It was a beautiful sunshiny morning and Bud asked me if I would be up for walking to the hospital with him. I wasn’t too keen on it, but it somehow seemed to be the thing to do.
So, we got organized and trudged over there. Bud had his hands full with papers and books, so I volunteered to carry his briefcase. We were taking our time and within just a couple blocks of the medical complex when we met up with a pair of shaggy dogs. As usual, Bud had to stop and have a discussion with them, silent though it was. Somehow, when he was finished with the two, the animals seemed to want my attention, as well. I stayed and petted them while Bud moved ahead staring into one of his books.
I got tangled up with the dogs and as I tried to break loose of them, I looked toward Bud and the hospital. Bud continued on obliviously and stepped out into the street still staring at his book. I saw the vehicle coming up fast and yelled, “Look out!” but it was all history, by then. Bud took half a step more and turned to face the oncoming car. The brakes slammed, the Suburban skidded, and there was a nasty crunch. Bud and his books went flying into the air. It was one scary sight, I’ll tell you.
Well, I got my butt in gear then. I had my tennies on and I was over there pronto. The driver was there in an instant, too. He had his cellular phone and was calling the ambulance. Bud was sprawled on the pavement with one hand -- maybe both -- holding his chest. He was all scratched up and having trouble breathing. He was even spitting up a little blood. Nonetheless, he had most of a smile on his face and mouthed the word, “Okay,” to me.
I was scared bad. All I could think of was Jean dying all alone years ago. I held his hand and covered him up with my jacket. Those crazy dogs followed me and watched during the whole episode. Maybe they knew what was going on better than I did.
Fortunately, the ambulance was there in a flash. The paramedics had him bundled up and moved to the emergency room in just a couple minutes. Still, it looked awful scary for the home team.
Well, the family assembled as we have many times before at City Medical Center. It was just ten days before Bud’s seventh birthday. The emergency team was with Bud for the longest time. Thankfully, Jim Child showed up and translated the news for us. Later on, the specialists gave the details.
Bud has a punctured lung. They had to put a tube into his chest to make things work right there. But that was only part of it. He also has what they call a “flail chest.” He broke so many ribs in the front that some of them are just floating free from the rest. He can’t breathe on his own. So, they put another tube down his throat and hooked him up to a respirator. The machine will breathe his lungs for him until the ribs heal up. At least, that’s the way I understand it.
If that isn’t enough, they had to sedate him some so he wouldn’t fight the respirator. As far as they know, he didn’t have any head or abdominal injury and his heart’s doing okay.
We know Bud’s spirit is fine. Even with all of this, he keeps a blissful shine on his face. He does have scratches and bruises all over his chest. They say they might get uglier. He may well turn green and yellow after black and blue.
So, we’ve all been hanging out at the hospital again. This is our first experience with intensive care. Fortunately, we have Jim Child and Julie Jordan with us lots of the time. Jim checks in several times a day. Julie’s here whenever she’s not in school.
Prayers and good wishes have come in from everywhere. Almost literally. We’re getting mountains of mail. Gives us something to do between our short visits into Bud’s room. They won’t let us stay long. Except for J.J. Since she’s a medical student, she can come and go much more freely.
Actually, we’re all quite hopeful. Jim and Julie believe Bud is still firmly connected to his body. Jim says, “Between our sedation and his meditation, he’s not feeling a lot of pain. At the same time, he’s obviously maintaining the flow from his deeper self to the body. He’s okay even in his pain and trauma. We have to learn to be okay in our fear and worry.”
Bud Borden never seems to be satisfied. I put his face on the cover of the Gazette a couple days ago to announce his association with the paper. It was a big spread. I pulled out all the stops. Had some clips in my other papers and on the TV stations to boot. But, that just wasn’t enough.
Borden had to go out that same day and walk in front of a car. Got all smashed up. They say he was reading a book when the accident happened. Sounds just like him.
So, he’s back on the front page, again, and will be for days. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to create another unusual publicity campaign of some sort. If he was, I wish he would’ve clued me in ahead of time. He put a real scare into me and lots of folks around the city.
I can’t quite believe that he could’ve walked right into a moving vehicle on purpose. But, he always seems to know what’s going on. He seems to have eyes in the back of his head and antennae that pick up on anything of significance happening in his radar range.
I’ll have to have a long heart to heart talk with the boy when he’s back in one piece. After all, Borden’s on the payroll now, even before he did a day’s real work.
Well in a way, he’s working for the paper, right now. Since his mishap, paper sales are way up and the newsroom has been flooded with calls. Everyone wants to know how the lad is doing.
Jim Child tells me he’s pretty bunged up, but will come through this with flying colors. I suspect he’s right. Bud may be in the hospital for a month or more, according to Jim. They have him medicated and on a respirator in the intensive care unit, now.
Prayer chains stretching from here to the Vatican have begun. All of them have the Baby Doctor’s name at the top of their lists. We even have one at the newspaper office. This is unheard-of. Everyone in the whole building is really anxious about the boy. Similar things are happening all over town as well.
Even, my wife Genny and I have done our own prayer thing. We’re not praying people, but we made an exception for Bud. She’d admired him since a long time ago. But when they met face to face for the first time recently, Genny fell in love with the boy. Said she wanted to keep him and make him part of the family.
Genny and I haven’t gotten into the reincarnation thing, yet. Maybe we’ll have to. If we do, she’ll undoubtedly get it into her head, that Borden’s our missing son. She always insists that she was supposed to have three boys.
You know this reincarnation stuff could really turn a guy’s head around a few times. How many lives have we had and how many people could we be connected to from those times?
It’s all pretty mindboggling to me. I get confused just keeping up with our four biological, chronological, sociological, and tangible children, not to mention the grandchildren. We’d have to become Mormons to keep up with all the possibilities, if we got too clued into the reincarnation business. Say, do you know if the Mormons believe in reincarnation?
So, I really don’t want to open up a fresh can of worms. Once Genny gets started on something new, there’s no stopping her. Guess she’s a little like me in that respect.
No, I haven’t had the gumption to go over to the hospital to check on Borden, yet. I don’t know as it would do him any good. And frankly, I’m afraid to see the little fellow all bruised and hooked up to those machines. I’m a big chicken where that stuff comes in.
Honestly, the hospital board room is the closest I dare to get to blood and guts. When Borden gets off the front page and recovers, the two of us may write our own column. We’ll just have to call it: “Bud and Putz.”
My life is busy. Always busy. Never more so than since I started my third year in medical school. But the last days have really been . . . I was going to say crazy, but I’m watching my words more closely these days. So, these last days have been hectic and overwhelming and frightening and -- really wonderful. Full of wonders!
That might sound strange since you know that Bud and I are an item, more or less. I was frantic when I first heard he’d been hit by a car and was in intensive care. Then, I heard the extent of his injuries and I was even more beside myself. I almost freaked.
But, I told myself, “Julie, you have to pull yourself together.” I had to go see him.
So, I did just that. I took some deep breaths and just tuned in and tried to get into that state of mind I see Bud in so often. He never told me about it or gave me lessons, but I had seen him do it often enough to get the idea. I learn mostly by osmosis.
Besides, I have a few of my own tricks from here and there, inside and outside. I’m more than a match for that Borden character.
But when I went into his room in ICU, I was shocked with all the tubes and monitors, and the respirator and his poor beaten chest. I started to shake and began to cry.
But, I stopped short. I told myself, “You can handle this.”
At the same time, I heard Bud’s voice, like it was coming over a microphone into my head, “Right, Julie. You can handle this. But, I need your help.”
No, I told you I’m not psycho and I wasn’t hallucinating. I swear he was talking to me through the ethers even while he was on the ventilator with a tube down his throat and all doped up.
No, it wasn’t anything that anyone else would’ve heard. It was an inner sort of thing. Actually, it’s happened several times. But, that was the most powerful one.
He must’ve known I was coming and was somehow ready for me. From that very moment, I was at ease and knew what to do to help my Bud.
I told you that I’m good with my hands. Good hands, good body, you know.
Well, the hands haven’t been used very much in school except for taking class notes and doing routine examinations in the clinics and hospitals. The only time we’ve had a chance to do anything out of the ordinary with our hands was when Bud and his group gave some special trainings for us.
Honestly, there wasn’t much new for me. It was all pretty basic. But, Bud was sweet enough to let me lead and teach a couple of the followup classes. I loved it and the other students really thanked me for what little we could do in a few hours. I may be a teacher some day. Who knows?
So, I went to work immediately. When I did, I realized how much I missed touching peoples’ bodies for therapy and energy transfer and that sort of thing. Medically, we just touch to get some quick in-and-out information. That doesn’t work very well for me. When I hang up my shingle, I’ll have to do it differently. I’m not sure quite how, yet.
So, I’ve touched and worked with him in as many ways as seemed right for the moment. Even from the first, I realized that Bud is really wide awake -- in some strange way -- in the midst of his injury and the artificial breathing and the medication.
He’s just right there. It’s hard to explain. It’s just like he’s present with me whenever I walk into the room. He knows what I’m doing and he somehow even guides me. At least, I think he does. I’m not real sure on that one.
I know he’s not asleep. I know he’s not unconscious. I know he’s not oversedated. Yet, he never opens his eyes. He doesn’t move, really. There’s just some part of him that’s awake and present with me when I’m in the room. It never fails.
Nobody else seems to notice, really. But, Bud and I have quite a different connection. Besides, I have my own radar, so to speak. I can’t prove this to anyone. But, it’s true.
I do get one fairly direct confirmation that Bud’s okay. He squeezes my hand, just barely, whenever I come into his room and whenever I leave. It’s not a physical squeeze. I mean it’s not something I physically feel. It’s an energetic impression.
But, I tell you it’s been enough to keep me going.
So, I do these different kinds of body and energy work with him. His body has really been quite broken up. Lots of rib fractures and displacements. His lung was punctured. But, that’s really minor over the long run.
I set out from the beginning to coax his bodily forces back into alignment. To bring his energy template into better flow so that the tissues can be rebuilt and laid back down upon them.
I’ve never worked with anyone so seriously injured and so close to the trauma. But, the response has been amazing. Really!
Another thing I’ve done since the very first day has been to anoint his body with neem oil. I’ve done it very gently and carefully at least twice a day. This wonderful East Indian oil has returned his torn skin almost to normal in no time. He has hardly a scratch and only a few small bruises left.
The medical staff say he’s making a remarkably fast recovery. His skin is almost clear and his rib cage is already knitting back together. They’re tapering his medication and talking about weaning him from the respirator. It’s really great.
The staff’s only question seems to be about his level of consciousness. Since he’s neither fought the respirator nor opened his eyes, they still think he’s in a coma. We’ll have to convince them otherwise.
My question is about his injury. You know Bud and his symbols. If he were looking down on this body, he’d sure have questions about why and how this thing happened. Well, I’ve got my own.
Why did his chest get so torn up? Just that part of his body. Nothing else. Sure, that’s quite enough. But, it could easily have been different. After all, he was thrown quite some distance onto the pavement but there were no scratches or fractures except to his chest region. You tell me.
Right. Bud should tell me.
And, another thing. Why doesn’t he open his eyes and start waking up? What’s he waiting for, anyway?
The news just bowled me over. I mean Bud Borden’s accident. I’m touchy about such things. I let my own pains and problems run me, sometimes. But when others who are close to me get sick or hurt, I’m even worse.
At first, I was really shocked and scared for him. Maybe, I shouldn’t have been, after all that’s happened over the past few years. Just a natural female reaction, I suppose.
But, I did get worried over the severity of his injuries and the fact that he was in intensive care and stayed there for days. He had to be in quite a lot of pain and discomfort. I could almost feel the pain from his broken body in my own flesh. Actually, it was more than almost.
Then, there was that nagging remark in his last letter: “See you soon.” Bud always means what he says. Those words stuck with me. He told me I’d be seeing him in the near future. I thought that meant he’d make a trip up my way to see me. But, he hadn’t said that he was coming to Montana. He just mentioned seeing me.
Finally, I remembered the box. When that came to mind, I knew I had to drive down to see him.
So, I’d done my Sherlock Holmes work and knew how to proceed. Just following the leads would make things work out right, I assured myself.
I didn’t tell anyone I was going or coming. Maybe I should have. I just closed up my house. Fortunately, I could get away without any problem.
I got on the road and drove down in a day. When I arrived, I went straight to the hospital intensive care. I just introduced myself and met all of Bud’s family. They knew about me only vaguely, but I knew all about them.
Grandpa Nate was so nice to me. Actually, everybody was. Nate remembered me from years ago when I did my errand for Bud and brought that special box to him. He quickly invited me to stay at his and Bud’s house.
I didn’t see Bud that night. I just went home with Nate and told him specifically why I had driven down. He didn’t bat an eyelash. Nate said, “Honestly, nothing surprises me anymore. Besides, we’ve been waiting for something to happen. Bud seems to be biding his time, too. Maybe that’s why you’re here.”
Nate had all sorts of questions to ask me. I answered as best I could, although I didn’t really go into the most important part of the story.
I did tell him, “That box contains a special substance. Bud said it would have amazing healing properties under the proper circumstances. I have to think these might be the ones.”
Nate didn’t ask for details. “Sounds good,” Nate said, “works for me. What do we do?”
Cake and Ice Cream
Let me tell you, that Borden continues to put me through the ringer. This last round has been the toughest in most ways. For a short time, I was afraid we were going to lose the little fella.
Wrong! Thankfully so. He’s made an amazing recovery. Really unheard-of.
Just a few days ago, he was completely busted up. Not real medical and scientific, but quite descriptive. Lung punctured and rib cage torn apart. Multiple contusions and abrasions and fractures and so on. Requiring a ventilator to aerate his lungs. It certainly looked serious. Very serious for the home team.
Well, Bud got maximum medical management and great care. No one could’ve asked for more. Besides, the whole town and country, maybe, were praying for his recovery. And, the CeeTeam came in everyday to do some laying-on-of-hands.
We could tell that, even though Bud was not quite conscious, he knew we were working on him. He was right there with us in some subtle way. I have to think he even guided our hands, at times. We could tell day by day that progress was being made.
I have to admit that probably the major aid to his recovery has been his woman friend. Jordan’s been with him almost night and day. Whenever she’s not required on MS4 duties, Julie’s been in the unit rubbing Bud’s body with oil and doing her energy work. She’s been working to restructure Bud’s subtle body using a combination of oriental massage and western techniques to release forces from the accident which got jammed into Bud’s little body and to draw his meridians back into a near normal pattern. Julie says, “Bud’s energy body was all bent out of shape.” She’s taught the Cee Team quite a few things.
Well, amazing things have happened. Within a week, Bud’s chest tube was out and his lung reinflated. Actually, that was no big deal. The big deal was the repair of his ribs. In the same time period, his X-rays showed complete and perfect healing. The ribs came back into perfect alignment. No kidding! The pictures don’t show any evidence of the previous fracture. The radiologists have been stunned, to say the least. This is really quite miraculous!
Now, I have to tell you this sort of thing just doesn’t happen. Sometimes, broken legs and arms heal in close to perfect alignment when properly set. But honestly, there’s no known way to set rib fractures. There’s no brace or cast for such. Even if there was, such a device wouldn’t bring a constantly moving chest cage into exact alignment.
My answer is simple, though most of the docs won’t buy it. After all these years, they still haven’t gotten to know Borden like Dave and Marty and a few others have.
The answer is simple, like I said. J.J. and the Cee Team did our energy work.
Especially J.J. I’m sure Bud was in on it plus who knows what other agencies affect such healing activities. We tuned in to the flow and vector of the accident, the way the chest wall received the impact of the car. We followed it into Bud’s body and energy field. Then, we coaxed it to release the force that was stored there and let the natural patterns return.
I’m sure that our efforts weren’t perfect because we don’t have clear perception of the mechanism. We can’t quite “see” what we’re doing. We’re just feeling our way around for the time being.
But, the results speak for themselves. The bodily forces seemed to follow our intentions. And, voila. It was really quite amazing. Really amazing!
So, Bud’s body made this grand recovery. He was disconnected from the ventilator and breathing almost perfectly thereafter. But, he wouldn’t wake up. We were in another quandary.
I should tell you we finally got some blood from old Bud, seven years overdue. If it’s like it was when he was born, we didn’t miss anything. He’s got red blood and normal everything. Nothing unusual from the standpoint of his blood studies.
Back to Bud’s continued “unconscious” state. The neurologists had no clue. No one else did either. I was merely reminded of the times I’ve seen him in deep meditation.
I have to tell you that I believe he was meditating through this whole episode. Even though he was unarousable, I could sense some vital presence in the room -- above, around, within Bud - which was more or less in control of his body and life. It felt like the presence was just vibrating at some deep level, biding time in a timeless place. We medical folks were largely bit players in his short but riveting outer drama.
Our friend Julie did have a clue. She thought Bud was waiting on something or someone before he’d wake. Don’t know how she came to that conclusion but events proved her to be right.
Yesterday started out to be a sad and mopey one. It was Bud’s seventh birthday. We should’ve been celebrating, but he was still in his “coma.”
Well, it was mid-afternoon and I took a moment to drift by intensive care and on down to Bud’s room. I found Julie there. She was bright as usual, but a little teary at the same time.
We were standing next to Bud’s bed. Julie sighed deeply and said, “Bud won’t let this special occasion -- his seventh birthday -- pass without doing something awesome.”
At that very moment, Nate walked in with a middle-aged woman who was new to me. He introduced Helen Hood and said she had driven 600 miles the previous day to see her friend, Bud.
Helen held a small box in her hands. She merely announced, “These are the bodily remains -- the ashes -- of the Bud I used to know. He told me they would have special healing powers. When I heard the new Bud was gravely injured I was sure I should come here and tell you. That’s my part. You have to decide what to do with them.”
Well, we were back to the clue stage. I was clueless, but gooseflesh was breaking out all over my epidermis. Nate grinned, Helen smiled, and Julie beamed. We all knew something was about to happen.
Julie spoke up. “I know a little about the sacred ash. It’s called vibhutti in India. I just have to imagine that Buddha Bud needs some ash made from an old Indian of sorts and Indian oil to make an Indian paste.”
She quickly stirred up a paste while we watched and the room began to vibrate. One of those ubiquitous crowds began to assemble.
Julie took the paste and made a round spot of it on Bud’s forehead and another on his chest. Then she poured a few pinches of the dust into a cup of water. After it was stirred up, we all helped her get the solution down Bud’s throat.
The moment was set. A high speed hum was racing around the room by then. We four made a healing circle with Bud in the circuit as the intensive care bunch moved in behind us.
Julie J. said, “See that ash being absorbed into Bud’s circulation and combining with the light which pours out from our hearts and mouths.”
In the next instant, we were all intoning a most glorious “OM.” Actually, three resonant OMs. It felt like the ceiling and walls of the room might give way and our bodies float into space. It was another magical moment.
Just as our third chant died away, a fourth great “OM” rang out. First, it just seemed to come from the very fixtures in the room. I swear. But in another, Bud’s mouth was open and sending out his most distinctive chant.
We all stared in amazed delight as the sound trailed off. Then Bud yawned deeply, opened his eyes, and said, “Where’s the cake and ice cream?”
Jolly good to be with you, Mr. Rich, one more time. Our friend Bud Borden has been at it, again, has he? Well, I am hardly surprised.
The fellow obviously has nine lives. Even though he has professed to be a reincarnated dog, Borden still may have more of the qualities of the proverbial transmigrating cat.
But, really, Dr. Borden might want me to say a few words about the evidence which suggests that we all have multiple and continuing lives. This idea is hardly limited, as some try to suggest, to Hindus and Parsees.
Not so. The belief has been and continues to be held by the most sophisticated of thinkers in all of the major disciplines. From Socrates and Plato and Pythagoras to Nietzsche and Thoreau and Einstein, metempsychosis has had its adherents. Sometimes, it appears that only the most rigid of churchmen and equally materialistic of scientists have been unwilling to consider or accept the proposition.
Still, the majority of the world’s religions allow for the belief while the remainder have esoteric branches that appreciate the phenomenon of palingenesis. The scientific community, in general, has been slow to pay attention to reincarnation. Nonetheless, there have been numerous studies in India and America which quite clearly support repeated lives.
Dr. Ian Stevenson, professor of psychiatry at your University of Virginia, has done extensive research in this area. Stevenson has investigated nearly 2000 cases of spontaneous remembrances of previous lives. These have come from all over the world but usually from children. Stevenson has found a high degree of accuracy of memory among these cases. While the University of Virginia Press has published several volumes of his studies, Dr. Stevenson, the astute scientist that he is, is still merely willing to say that his researches only “suggest” the possibility of reincarnation.
Yes, proof is still waiting to appear for reincarnation as well as for many other phenomena which we take quite for granted, yet not having clear scientific understanding. We still don’t understand electricity terribly well, but we have learned how to make good use of it. I do think we might follow a similar pattern with the theory of rebirth and continuing lives.
I have always admired Voltaire’s words: “It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection.” I think our French friend summed up the whole issue quite well.
Our American friend, Bud Borden, seems to be making his own case for reincarnation and resurrection. Do wish him well for me and tell him that I am most happy that he’s back again.
I may be irresistible, but that Borden is remarkable. Simply remarkable!
One week, he’s preparing to come to work with us at the paper. The next, he’s gravely injured. And the next, or practically so, he’s healed, recovered, restored. Whatever you want to call it.
It’s been barely two weeks since the accident and the boy is coming to work today. I could use Child’s word, “Amazing.” But, I’ll use my own, “Remarkable!”
I know there were a whole host of factors that fed into his rapid recovery. I certainly would like him to talk about it in the paper, but, honestly, I’m not quite sure what he has in mind to do. We’ve talked about several possibilities, but he hasn’t committed himself to any. Maybe he’ll “enlighten” me today.
If nothing else, I might be able to do another interview with him like I did for the TV station years ago, shortly after he was born. I’d really like to know what effect the public’s prayer had on him and all that laying-on-of-hands that people did. Not to mention this “sacred ash.”
Now, I’ve been in the media long enough to run across an incredible array of nostrums and cures. I remember when Desai, the Prime Minister of India, drank his own urine and proclaimed it as a preventive and cure-all.
Well, it looks like Borden beat even that old coot. Bud swallows his own ashes, rises from a coma and reports to work a week later.
I understand that woman in Montana we’d tried to locate for an interview drove down here and suggested that Borden’s ashes might have some magical healing properties. I wonder what the market is for human ashes. You think they would have to come from someone extraordinary like our Baby Doctor to be saleable?
Still, those ashes weren’t retrieved from a crematorium because Borden never died in the usual sense so as to go through such a thing. They were picked up after Borden spontaneously lit up and burnt away. No one actually saw the conflagration, but his neighbor was told ahead of time what to expect and where to find his remains.
She followed his directions to the letter and found his ashes in a little pile on a concrete slab at a deserted mountain ranch. He left her some trinkets and a good-bye note. I have no reason to disbelieve the story, incredible as it is.
Nevertheless, it takes a whole lot of work to swallow, maybe like a solution of ashes and water. Now we have The Rest of the Story, I trust.
It seems like I used to live with fear. Like it was my partner. Long before I had the accident. Sometimes, I wonder if my fears drew my injury to me. When I was growing up, I was always worrying that I would have a fall here or a trauma there.
Job says, “What I feared has come upon me.” I can sympathize with old Job. I was in his predicament for too long.
I was almost, but not quite, like the fellow who gave up tobacco after many years of chainsmoking. His fears overtook him and he became a fire-breathing, anti-smoking fanatic to the point that he lectured anyone and everyone about the evils of the weed.
Initially, he just berated friends and relatives, “Smoking is terrible. An evil danger to you. If you don’t stop, you’ll get cancer.”
Eventually, he carried his warnings to people on the street. The man would walk up to a total stranger, tear the cigarette out of his mouth and stamp it out with his foot, saying, “You better stop. Smoking will give you cancer. Mark my word.”
The fellow did the same thing for years to hundreds of people without warning. He always stamped the cigarettes into the ground, saying, “You’ll get cancer, if you don’t stop smoking.”
The story goes that the man got cancer of the foot.
Well, I’ve had my share of fears, and I suspect that I’ll have a few more before my time is up. But, I’m doing my best to look at them and put them in their proper places. Stamp them out, if needed.
Bud taught me some important lessons about fear when I was in the music group with him. Fear is really insidious and comes in so many forms. We often don’t realize what we’re afraid of. Instead, we use other names like caution and protection and defense and safety, and so on, when we might just as well use the word fear.
If we did, our fears would be in front of us and easier to examine. Unfortunately, too many of our fears are hidden in darkness and we’re good at keeping them that way. Bring them out into the light and they can just wither away like the ghosts that they really are.
Well, Bud helped me begin to recognize my fears so that I could break through some of them. They’re not all gone, by any means. But, I’m more aware of them now.
And, I’m ready, willing, and able to take them on when they show their faces. At least, most of the time. I ain’t perfect, yet.
But, I’m improving day by day. My first steps were followed with others, physical and emotional -- and, really more important than those -- spiritual. My body is not back to normal -- or average, yet -- but, I’m learning and growing in lots of ways. My willingness has gotten me a good distance down the road.
Got me out of the wheelchair and into a new job. I now work at the Rocky Mountain Gazette. I do computers, here. It’s been a great place to work with opportunities to learn showing up all the time. Besides, Bud Borden is here now. How neat can it get?
I see him just about everyday. We have lunch together, sometimes. We invariably talk about substantial things. He’s a real gold mine of information and encouragement. Better than that he’s a terrific listener. Every time we talk -- or even when I just see him to say hello -- I feel like something positive has rubbed off on me. Maybe a little of me has rubbed off on him, too. I trust it’s positive.
I want to tell you that one of the greatest things Bud has done for me -- even more than helping me walk -- is to help me consider death and mortality. When Bud was all torn up in the hospital a couple months ago, I spent some time worrying about him. I even got involved in the prayer group here at the newspaper.
But, I caught myself along the way and came to some realizations. The first was a simple one. Bud got himself in and out of bodies just a few years ago. I figured he’d do it again, if that was the way the scenario was written.
The next followed on that. We all get ourselves in and out of bodies every now and then. Maybe not quite so often as Bud Borden does. Bud once told me that we’ve all been born and died too many times to count. He said, “They all get to be a blur when you have a chance to look at the big picture.”
Well, I haven’t seen that movie, yet, or if I did, I must’ve fallen asleep in it. But, I do believe what he told me.
I’m convinced that life goes on and on. There’s no stopping it. Fear won’t do it. Fear can, at worst, produce a temporary bug in the Big Program.
On the other hand, love is God’s great debugger. It makes the cycles of life run according to the program. There’s no doubt about it. Fear is the question, but love is the answer.
We’ve heard many times that the love of a mother is the closest thing to God’s. I’m really no authority on the subject, but I do believe a mother’s love ranks high on the Almighty’s All-Time Top Ten List.
Once I met Ella James, it didn’t take me long to see that she was meant to be one of God’s finest gifts to children. Problem was that she had forgotten her gift. Ella had, like so many people, been called away from her major purpose for being here.
She had held various jobs over the years and taken care of her sister after her own children grew up and her husband died. I’m sure that Ella did all of her work with as much spirit and love as she could muster. But the longer we live, the harder it is to maintain our level of interest. That is, unless we’re really about our Father’s business.
The Father’s business for Ella James was clearly being Mother. It was Ella’s singular and unique way to give and to love. Ask any of her kids at the day care center or any of their parents.
Those children were very fortunate to have had her as an extra mother: Mother Ella. And, Ella was blessed as well, as she gave the greatest gift that was within her to give. Simple though her gift might seem to have been to the unwary eye, it was surely great in the sight of God and in the sight of Ella’s little ones.
We all need to find that special something that God has planted within us which is intended to be shared with others. When we find it, recognize it and share it, we’ll glow like Mother Ella did when she tended her kids at the day care center.
And when we do, we won’t do so much worrying or get overly-concerned with our ailments -- aches and pains, as Ella called them. We all have them. They just don’t bother us so much or seem so urgent when we’re joyfully and purposefully occupied.
You see, when we’re busy in that way, the Soul shows its radiance in our eyes, its love through our hearts, and its strength in our hands. We live with enthusiasm then, as Ella did over these last few years. And when we’re enthusiastic, we’re on fire with God. That’s exactly what the word means and that’s exactly the way we’re all meant to live: like Mother Ella.
I wish that we could all live that way. Then, we’d all die that way as Ella James did.
As we remember Ella at this memorial service, I suggest that we not think of her going to some place of rest. That certainly wouldn’t do for Ella. We should imagine -- better still, we should know -- that Ella is active and sharing her love in another realm.
God has need of mothers in heaven as on earth. The Almighty has undoubtedly found a place fitting for her loving attentions. After all, a mother’s work is never done.
I knew it was coming. I guess I should say, I knew they were coming. Bud told me ahead of time, again, that I’d have twins. He didn’t give me any other clues, just reminded me that a pattern had been set when he showed up as our first child.
So now, we’re on our third round, this time with twins. Thank goodness, we had Jean in between. She’s been so good through all of the strangenesses of our lives. But, then she’s our little Mommy.
Joey gave me a wonderful little album of Jean’s pictures plus all sorts of stories he put together. It’s the neatest thing. Grandma Jean’s in the album in several places. Everyone is so amazed by Joe’s creative effort.
They’re even more amazed that they didn’t pick up on how the two Jeans are connected. So am I. How could I have missed it? Guess you miss lots of things unless you’re looking for them.
Well, I should’ve noticed and been more observant, with Bud being around and with some of the clues that he and Joey dropped for me. But, I was spending so much of my own time and energy being little Mommy myself.
I just didn’t catch it. It’s sure there to be seen now. Everybody seems to be aware of it, even Grandpa. He’s most astonished by it. And, thrilled and baffled, all at the same time.
Nate gives both Joey and Bud grief over this one. Says that Bud disrupted everything when he showed up. Then, Jean was just so non-unusual -- if that’s a word -- until the album was spread around. Nonetheless, he thinks it’s great. His love affair with Jean continues unabated. He’s over here even more since the news was let out.
We’re all watching her grow up. Getting this double dose of Jean is a fascinating thing. Put Bud on the back burner for a while. That is until he had his accident, or whatever you call it.
That was a real shocker. Fortunately, we had Jim Child to carry us through and remind us about Bud’s unusual capacities. Still, we had to go through some worries. Could’ve been a lot tougher and longer.
On the other hand, Bud might’ve told us that we’d have to deal with something like this. He knew it was coming. Bud admitted, “I didn’t really quite know the details or the timing. I was prepared for it, kind of like inspection. You have to be prepared, but you don’t necessarily know when the commander is going to take charge.”
So now, things are quiet with Bud, again. Jean is just fine. She’s the only one who seems oblivious to all this extraordinary living. Jean is just a little kid who is her own grandma. Joey thinks we should write a song with a title like that.
I told him, “You’re the creative one and the one with time on your hands in the evening. You put it together and maybe Bud and Jean could do the performance end of it.” He may be working on it for all I know.
That leaves the twins. Well, they’re really good. But, they’re not totally normal. Whatever normal is. Can you tell me what normal is?
We had some trouble choosing names. I decided to get Joey in on this round. Bud said we’d have two boys, so that narrowed our list, and we had lots of time to consider possibilities. I told my husband right off, “We’re neither doing Joseph and John nor Jacob and Esau.” He was agreeable.
We looked into history and mythology where twins were concerned, but there were lots of twins in olden times who didn’t get along very well. So, we played with names that partners and duets had used over the years. But, Bud and Lou wouldn’t work. We had one of those on our team already. Dean and Jerry didn’t quite fit nor did Mutt and Jeff. We did always seem to come back to the J’s, though.
I wish I could tell you how we finally made our decision, but it just happened. But, we ended up like most parents of twins, I’m sure, with similar names. They aren’t J-twins, though. They’re M-twins. The boys’ names are Marcus and Michael.
Not too unusual. And, the twins aren’t too unusual. They’re pretty regular kids compared to our firstborn. They just have their own personal language which they somehow managed to learn when no one was looking. The experts say that “autonomous languages” are fairly common with twins. Maybe 40 per cent create their own form of speech and use it for a short time. It’s most common with children who are frequently left unattended.
That certainly doesn’t fit our boys. They get lots of attention, but from their first cooings we knew they were trying to talk to each other. Bud would get in with them on their conversations from time to time. No one else would even try.
Well, that seemed like another E for Extraordinary for the Borden Team. What got even weirder later on was when the boys’ words became almost understandable. They sounded like they were really talking a foreign language. “Oh, Boy!” Or maybe, I should say, “Oh, Boys!”
Bud gave us no warning. But, when we asked, he just put on his usual grin and said, “Oh, I thought you might’ve noticed by now. Marcus and Michael are speaking Latin.”
Om is Where the Heart is
I’ve been back in Montana for a few months, now. It’s been good to be back, though I loved every minute of my stay with Bud and his family. They were so kind and hospitable. Felt more like home there than any of my personal homes. It’s something special to feel a part of a family that relates and really enjoys each other.
I felt like part of the family down there. I intend to go back. They invited me to return, several times. And, Bud says he’ll be up here when things settle. It’s not clear when that’ll be, but I’m sure he’ll be back. He says, “The big city life is tough on a set of old bones, like these.”
I retorted, “But, Bud you don’t have old bones. You’ve got brand new ones. You’ve got kid bones. Remember?”
He chuckled and said, “Oh, I guess you’re right. Sometimes, I forget which lifetime I’m living. Still, I need to get to the wide open space more often. And, Montana still feels like home.”
I thought a lot about home when I was driving back to the Big Sky state. I’ve heard for years that, “Home is where the heart is.” And, that’s sure true for me. That explains why being with Bud’s bunch felt like home and just as well why I claim Montana as my home state.
Home has to do with ideas and feelings and qualities that just don’t easily fit into words. It’s pretty hard to put either home or heart or love into words. I suppose the most important things are like that. They’re beyond calculating or describing.
Sometimes, it would be nice to try, though. When I get my thinking cap on and my writing hand ready, I’ll do it. Don’t hold your breath, though.
I do want to try to tell you about a couple things from the trip that I’ve been pondering. You know by now about Bud’s ashes and how I got the task of collecting and delivering them to his brother, Nate. I tell you that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Well, the hardest part was really letting go of Bud. I couldn’t even think of retrieving his remains until I’d done some of that. I tell you I was a wreck for days after he told me what was coming up and what I had to do.
We’d been friends for years and I’d had a crush on him for most of that time. So when he told me he was checking out, I couldn’t -- wouldn’t believe it. Fortunately, he’d led me slowly to the announcement. Bud gave me lots of hints over the preceding months, but I didn’t want to put them together.
He told me in many different ways that his days were numbered and that he’d surely die in an explosive way. Seems to me, though he never said it in words, that he’d been given the choice of waiting to be run over or blown up, or to go out by his own plan in a Fourth of July sort of way. Which is just what he did. Believe it or not.
Bud had his whole life in order, at least with the things that really counted. When it was time for him to go, all of his affairs were taken care of, down to cleaning away the last cobweb in his house and turning out the lights. It all seemed so final. When he’d made his preparations, I guess he had no choice but to follow his plan in one way or another. He always told me, “Once you’ve put your foot to the path, there’s no turning back.”
Well, he did just that. He set the date of his departure, cleared away his belongings, and emptied his house. Bud handed me the key to pass on to the landlord at the proper time as well as giving me some things that were special to him. It was truly heartwrenching. I broke down. For that one time, he was really with me.
Eventually, he just walked off into the night. A week later, I drove to the site of his departure. His funeral pyre, of sorts. The most painful part of that whole thing was thinking of him dying all alone.
But, then, in Bud’s way of thinking, I guess it wasn’t really like dying. It was more like changing channels. Yeah, that’s it. Bud just changed channels. Hadn’t thought of it in that way before.
I must tell you after I stopped at that desolate old ranch and found his remains and cried a while, I felt okay. Actually, I knew he was with me there even without being in a body -- or in a body I could see. I really felt him holding me and telling me that he was home, for a time, but that he’d be back like he’d told me.
Well, there again, I felt at home, with Bud, for a few minutes.
And, I tell you the greatest feeling of home that I ever felt was not at that moment or at any other time in Montana or even when I was with that wonderful Borden family. No, it was, strangely enough, at City Medical Center. In the center of a city that has more people than the whole state of Montana. I tell you the truth.
I can’t explain fully. Like I said, words don’t explain the most important things in life. But, I’ll try. It was the moment when Nate took me into the intensive care unit and I presented Bud’s ashes to Jim and Julie. Actually, it wasn’t that exact moment.
It was after Julie had made the ash into an ointment and we had gotten Bud to swallow some ash in water.
Then, we began to chant. I had never done anything remotely like that. Not in this lifetime, anyway. The OMs were so strong in that little space. They almost knocked me over. When the second one was sounded, I tell you I was drawn into myself and taken to a different dimension. It was entirely beyond words. Like the most incredible dream you could dream and then some.
And in the midst of that moment, I knew for certain that I’d lived before. Many times before. I saw faces that I knew to be my own. Children and old people. Black and brown and yellow. Tall and short. Men and women. Righteous people and nasty ones. All kinds of people fighting and laughing, working and playing, living and dying.
And, most wonderfully, I somehow knew that everyone of those people was accepted and loved by the Creator. The love of God was somewhere to be found in all of those parts of me and my past. Then, I had hints of beings not yet wholly formed who I would be some time in the future. All those beings were like pearls on a string.
In an instant, I met the most beautiful creation. I can’t describe it. But, I just know it was my Soul, my true Self. The One who wears those pearls and cares for them with the deepest interest and concern.
In another instant, I was called back, “OM.”
I can tell you now, I’ve been home. My real home is deep inside. It is with God and in God. And, yes, OM is where the heart is.
City of Time
Borden put himself to work. The little fella got right to it. He went at some obvious projects like a newspaper column to answer questions on health. I suppose I should say respond to, instead of answer. Bud always says, “A person really has to find his own answers. Someone else can, at best, point the way. When the answer is found it has to be lived. We don’t fix problems, we outgrow them.”
Bud didn’t want to try to do a joint column with me, but we’ve gotten together on a weekly interview show on KBOB-TV and radio. And, guess what we called it? No, not “Bud and Putz.” It’s “Bud and Gates.”
It’s really pretty popular. We do issues, but confront them from unusual angles. Borden’s pushed me and lots of folks to be possibility thinkers. I always believed myself to be in that category, but it’s become glaringly obvious that my range of possibilities was fairly small and dictated by too many limits.
If a fella begins to limit himself, before long he cuts off possibilities right and left. So, even Rocky Mountain Hearst is going beyond hidden self-imposed limits to survey some extraordinary horizons.
I tell you people are really excited to come on the program, the first time. They get to rub elbows with Gazette Gates and the Baby Doctor. But once they get under camera and on the hot seat, lots of them have second thoughts. Most of our guests have to think twice about coming back. After their interviews, several have said things like, “This was a heckova experience. It pushed my limits more than I ever could’ve guessed. It was almost enlightening, but you might want to ask someone else next time.”
Well, Bud’s biggest project is terribly unusual. It doesn’t fit any category I’ve ever encountered before. At least in this lifetime. You might call it Community Mediation or Community Healing. But, we call it “City of Time,” which seems more than fitting. Amazingly, the name hasn’t intimidated anyone. Maybe that’s simply because Borden’s process works.
Like lots of things, City of Time is better experienced than explained second hand. But, let me give it a try.
The whole project began as a way to deal with conflicts in different areas of the city. Police, lawyers and courts don’t work for lots of problems. Often, they just make things more contentious. Our city council and ombudsman can only do so much. And, their hands are tied in lots of arenas.
So, what did our Baby Doctor do? To begin with, he didn’t have to do anything because the guy has the respect of just about everyone in the community. They know he can do things beyond the ordinary. Dr. Extraordinary, some people call him. And besides, the citizenry understands that Borden isn’t out for political or financial gain. That makes a big difference.
So, Bud has a strong starting position when conflicts reach his City of Time at the municipal center. The openings of his meetings are really quite commonplace, although the audiences are usually several times larger than most council meetings.
Borden gives a short introduction and emphasizes, “There is the real possibility in this situation for everyone to come out a winner. This is one of those win-win moments whether you can see it now or not.”
Then, he somehow settles the group into a light moment for what he calls centering. “Everyone here is equal and important in the Creator’s sight. Created in the image and likeness of a Great Power which supports the health and growth of all. The Presence of Peace and Justice and Goodness envelopes this meeting and makes all things possible in this time.”
After that moment of quiet and centering, Borden reminds the participants that, “While the following time will likely bring up pain and hurt, anger and anxiety, we can and will return to this center of peace, if needed.” I’ve seen him do that many times. The people are willing to back off whenever he asks them to.
Well, you might think this is all very simple and sweet, which it is, so far. The sweetness drifts away when people start telling their stories and looking for redress of their grievances. Tears are shed. Pain is exposed. Tempers flare.
But our Bud Borden knows when enough is enough. He senses when it’s time to brake, stop or center. Borden somehow is able to keep track of every one of the 200 or more people in the audience. Bud has said so many times how important it is for people to speak and be heard when they’re entangled in a problem. He can tell who really needs to talk and when it’s the appropriate moment. The flow of the City of Time is almost like a well rehearsed play. But, it’s much more than that.
After the “case” has been pretty much laid out, Bud shifts the scene, so to speak. In different ways, he gets the opponents to see the conflict in the context of time. Borden proclaims and everyone believes him when he says, “The problems of this moment are rooted in yesterdays past.”
Sometimes, he says a few more words pointing people to distant times, maybe hundreds of years ago. But because some persons are uncomfortable with that kind of talk, he often just bypasses the words and brings the involved parties to the front of the hall.
It’s indeed amazing what then happens. He talks to them in a very gentle tone reiterating that the conflict will be resolved, that good will come of it, and both parties will be winners. Borden somehow manages to get the opponents to shake hands or touch, with him in the middle as a channel of some unearthly force.
Then, it’s like an electrical shock. Really! Almost every time, the men and women standing up front are shaken to their roots as they come together. And, they do come together in the City of Time. Borden draws them back in time to the moment -- this lifetime or last or long past -- when the problem originated. These citizens see themselves and their adversaries for those moments without blinders, from some larger perspective.
Immediately, they’re made new. That’s really true. I’ve been told by several participants that the City of Time was like a near death experience. The moment is very personal and extremely engaging. Though often beyond explaining, the instant is lifechanging.
It’s all downhill from that moment. The hard part is getting people to come that close to others they fear or despise. Nonetheless, there’s a long waiting list for people to bring their conflicts for resolution to the City of Time.
Once they touch the City of Time, they see things differently and become ready to compromise, to consider the other’s perspective, to give in, to ask forgiveness. All sorts of unheard-of things happen in the City of Time once people let go enough to see with new eyes.
Auld Lang Syne
Cap’n Jim, here. Won’t you join me? Let’s have a glass of Heineken to celebrate the good old times. Ah, the beer is great, but I’m not so sure about the old times. If they were so good, wouldn’t we still be there? Ah, ha, ha!
Aye, there’s the rub. Maybe part of us is indeed back there in the muck of those old times which weren’t all that good. I think that’s it, matey. We’re all a bit schizophrenic where time comes in. Part here and part there. Divided allegiances, you know. If we were fully tuned to the present moment, we’d be doing a might better than we are.
Ah, you know the present is also a lot bigger than we reckon. We aren’t yet fully attentive because we don’t seem to have all our faculties. Firing with less than full cerebral capacity, they say. That’s pretty much all of us. I think even Borden might be included in that assessment.
So, here we are two-minded and using 10 per cent or less of our brains. Then what? Then, we go and let our feelings sway us every which way with worries and cares, passions and prejudices. This creates a rather sad state of affairs and the effects can’t help but be felt in the body in the form of disease and dysfunction.
We wonder how it so happens that our bodies come down with this ailment or that. Well, the poor things are just like mules. Mules don’t do so well when given conflicting orders. Neither do our bodies.
Conflict becomes ingrained and gets the best of our mules. Somehow, it has to be overridden. Pun intended!
How do we overcome negative thinking and problems of the past which come to confuse our bodily functions in this ailment or that? Aye, now that’s a very good question, matey.
Well, here’s the long and the short of it, good friend. The short of it is forgiveness. The long of it has to do with time and the willingness to let go. Few of us are too very good at letting go.
The basic problem has to do with our trying to create God, the world, and people in our own image. Lots of time, we’re even guilty of trying to create our selves in our own image. Who do we think we are, God?
We’re all just passing figures, here. We need to practice letting go from day one. You know, “Let go and let God.”
The control thing is really so insidious. Even the dumbest of us thinks he knows more than he does. We all know so little.
There’s the Chinese saying, “He who thinks he knows, doesn’t know, and he who thinks he doesn’t know, knows.” Sip on your beer and cogitate on that one for just a moment or two.
I suppose I should stop right now while I’m ahead. I’m sure you’d agree with me if I told you I think I don’t know. Well, honestly, I do think a few other things. Whether I know or don’t know remains to be seen.
I tell you all this healing stuff is hard work. Since Borden handed over the healing department to me I’ve gotten a different view of things. He made it all look so easy and the contrast from the old ways gave me unbounded faith in the new methods.
I used to get frustrated with the medical system and its inability to address the roots of peoples’ problem. Now, to tell you the truth, I get frustrated with people being unable to address the roots of their own problems. I see too many people being unwilling to let go of the past, to forgive those who they think have done them wrong.
Folks just seem to take life too seriously. Not me though, except when I do. That’s why I took the evening off to refresh and reflect. Everybody should take time to imbibe and be philosophic, on occasion.
It’s too bad that people look at their lives as careers rather than as missions. We just get things out of proper perspective and we suffer for it in one way or another. We’re all just passing through on our way to the next destination. Would that we could be content to do our reasonable best this time and pick up the loose ends next time around.
I tell you being a so-called healer is a big chore. I have to be healing myself at the same time I’m trying to point my patients in that direction. Practice what you preach, is one of my mottoes.
I have to let go of my expectations of people and forgive them for not getting healed as quickly as I might imagine them being made whole. I must give them time and space. And, be patient. Yeah, that’s a good watchword for the physician. The physician has to be patient. And the patient has to be -- the physician.
But, bottom line, my job is to “love ‘em and let ‘em go.” I point my self and my patients toward health and healing, the truth and the Soul. The rest I just have to turn over to more Knowing Hands.
Oh, the philosophy is getting pretty thick here. I wonder if I can roust up my little buddy, the Baby Doctor. He could come over and we could have a couple milks to sober up. Then we could say good-bye to the diseases of the old times and toast the
healing of the new age. Wouldn’t that be grand?
It’s been a real struggle. I mean dealing with the tumor, trying to live my life, and working on the healing process all at the same time. Another juggling act. I suppose, as a woman, I should be able to take it in stride like all the adjustments I’ve had to make in my life.
I’m not that lucky. This has been harder than anything. Probably because this is about life and death -- my very breath. Maybe harder than that is facing my self. Meeting my fears and touching -- maybe, my very Soul.
I remember Borden telling me, “This is meant more to be a life-changing or life-expanding event than a life-threatening one.”
I forget that too often. Many times, I’ve been unnerved and driven to despair. But, I always come back. There must be some angel looking over my shoulder. Sometimes, I wonder if it isn’t the tumor itself. But, that scares me even more.
This is all so difficult to put into perspective. It doesn’t fit the medical picture at all. My husband and I have discussed the whole thing so many times. He understands it less than I do, it seems.
Let me tell you what I’ve been doing since we last talked. First, my time with Bud Borden was really affecting. Helping me “converse” with my tumor was an incredible thing. I’ve continued to do that regularly. But, those first few words were almost more than enough for me ponder for the last many months.
I need to be healed, not just to get rid of the tumor. As hard as it is to believe, I have to admit the tumor is on my side. When I’m in my right mind and not running afraid, I affirm it as my “Benign Presence.” Many times and days, that’s not the way I work. But, I return to that sense, sooner or later.
My healing work is not just talking with the tumor. I keep my diet and take a number of supplements. I exercise most every day. I practice letting go of things in my life and responsibilities at home so that my family learns to do and I learn to be. I’m involved in a couple healing groups and do daily meditation and visualization. Then every so often, I reach out for some other straw. You name it. I’ve looked at it, or tried it. But, I quickly come back to my basic program and things which ring true with my own heart.
I’ve been back to Bud Borden twice since our first visit. He mostly just asked me about my own inner direction. He did give me a valuable hint on my visualization. Even though I had been told to work on healing myself, I was still trying to visualize the tumor going away. You know, making images of white cells taking the tumor off somewhere and dumping it in the river, or some such. Well, Dr. Borden impressed on me to, “visualize your healing and wholeness. The tumor will take care of itself as time goes on. Forget your tumor in that sense. Sometimes, visualizing the body fighting disease just fixates our attention on the condition, energizes it or crystallizes it, and makes it more difficult to get on with real life and deeper healing. Your job is to picture your new self and become that being. Live your truth and your talents.”
Of course, he was right. But, it’s so hard to hold onto that idea and be responsible for my own healing. I suppose a lot of it is just growing up. We all want someone to take the pain and fear away when we get sick, don’t we? Well, I do. I still do, even though I know it won’t happen. I’m responsible.
So, another part of my work has been meditation. Tuning into my deeper Self. That hasn’t been easy, either. But, I’m moving in the right direction, I think. As I travel that road, I get hints of some expansion of consciousness. It’s all so subtle.
That’s the inside stuff. Then, there’s my art work. My visualization shows me becoming an expressive, confident artist. So, I’ve pushed myself into my studio every day -- or most every day. And, I do what I know to do. I follow the steps ahead of me.
I am becoming an artist. I do pencil and watercolor work. Mostly portraits. I like to bring out different characteristics in the people I draw. As I discover the different colors and qualities and flavors in my subjects, I seem to be affirming and saluting my own. It’s a peculiar process that’s leading me and my work into quite unusual paths.
Everyone is much impressed.
Me, I’m still learning to accept my gift. Learning to put it out there. Learning to be strong from my deeper Self. All of this brings up fears and doubts and questions. I’ve determined to face them, regardless of the consequences. I really have no choice.
So each day when I face my drawing board or easel, I realize that I’m both meeting my self and expressing my self. Each stroke of the pencil or brush moves me closer to my healing and to my new self.
Bye, Bye, B.B.
I’m free! I’m free! Or at least, I think I am.
I just graduated this past week from medical school. You can call me, Dr. Jordan, now. Thank you. Dr. Jordan. I like that.
Med school has been a totally cool experience. I’ve learned so much and done so many things. I’ve had opportunities most people don’t even dream of. Some that I didn’t even dream of.
The four years have just swept by. Now I’m packing my bags for the next stop. Residency training. Gotta have it. Just a couple more years, then I can be totally free and do my own thing.
So? I’m not totally free. But, I’ve got my degree and will have my license most any day now. Maybe we’re never totally free.
But, I have been freed in other ways. I’ve finally been able to let go of my mother. I don’t refer to her as Mama most times these days just to remind me that I am who I am -- strong and independent and healthy -- without her. It’s a good feeling. A feeling of freedom.
I love her more than ever now that I forgave her for being unwell and for just being who she was. We were a co-dependent pair. I looked back and was able to see some of the things she had to teach me.
How did I do this, you’re wondering? Well, it happened in lots of ways. Through working with psychiatric patients and listening to their terrible pains, and telling myself that I didn’t need their emotional scars. Through working with medical patients and seeing them suffer physically from past traumas which they couldn’t or wouldn’t release.
I tell you those moments sank in. No way I’m going to let this beautiful bod become diseased and get cut on because I couldn’t move out of the past.
I’ve been learning to outgrow my problems rather than trying to fix them. Takes too much energy, I tell you. Just being with the other students and going through their traumas over the last four years has grown me up. The family spirit we developed has been healing in itself, making up for things I missed in my childhood years. Life is a healing experience, if you let it be so.
The same goes -- and maybe more so -- for Bud Borden’s family. They made me one of their own. They said, “If you’re with Bud, you’re with us.” A wonderful and extraordinary group. They have an amazing act even without going on the stage.
Then, there’s the BeeCees. They’ve been my third family. They took me in, in a couple ways. Off and on, I got to share some of my body work skills with their teaching group. That was so cool!
Then over the last few months, we did music -- practiced and performed together. I became the fifth member of the group. The female singer and dancer -- and body, you know. For a short time, we became J.J. and the BeeCees.
I think I added another dimension to the group. They’re always looking for new dimensions in healing, so I also fit in the same way for their musical work. I’ll really miss that bunch.
We went out with a bang, performing at the after-graduation show. It was a blast! Our showstopper came when we did Manfred Mann’s classic tune. Bud did the lead, “There she goes, just a-walking down the street.” And, I got to shake and prance and come out, singing, “Do wah ditty ditty dum ditty do.”
So then, there’s Bud. He’s my fourth family. We made it through four years together, more or less. He’s really grown into a man. And, he’s still my man. My man! That’s saying something. We’ve covered quite a bit of time and territory together.
He’s also my friend. We made a real friendship during the days gone by. I quite believe it’ll endure for centuries to come. I think that’s really neat, don’t you?
We studied and taught, meditated and prayed together. We’ve been healers together, as well. Then, there was his accident just a few months ago. Well, we’re still not sure whether it was an accident or not.
Whatever it was, it was another totally extraordinary experience. Sometimes, I have to think he created that whole scene to bring us together and open up some new healing possibilities for the hospital workers and the BeeCees. He’s an amazing guy.
My guy and I sang together with the group and we even took dancing lessons together. We really learned to waltz. Actually, we’ve been waltzing through the last few years together. We’ve learned how to move and flow together. We are quite a couple, let me tell you.
This last week has been the topper. With graduation and parties and celebrations. Bud and I shared many parts of the week. We even got to waltz at two or three parties. Then, we went to the top of the Marriott and danced almost the whole of one night.
Don’t be too shocked, but we even found time to tango on a couple occasions. And, Bud’s been miraculously cured of his “chronic hay fever.” Lucky Bud! Lucky me!
The Baby Doctor is quite a dancer. But, he’s got one awesome partner.
I might have to say he had. We won’t be able to teach or heal or dance together for some while now. But, we’ll pick up where we left off again, some day. Don’t know where. Don’t know when.
We’ll meet again, some day. Yes, we will.
We’ve all grown up and healed over the past years. Thank goodness.
More growing to do at the next stop, can’t look back over my shoulder too much. I might get bit in the . . .
I’m outa here!
But I’ll be back.
Read Dividing: Chapter 7