It was in the beginning of the seventies and I was coming off a rough past decade, with a future painted in olive drab green (US Army) not of my own choosing. I was still in my "Hamlet" stage of life, where things often didn't work out for the best. Canada seemed a cold, dreary place, with little hope for returning home for quite a while. My parents, both veterans of World War II, probably wouldn't be making any trips up North, either. I'd been reading Burroughs' The Naked Lunch and actually thought it was damned funny compared to what I was going through. And I was too honest to try the medical tricks and definitely not into the political stuff. I had my membership in the Universal Life Church, but couldn't suppress a smile when I put the word Reverend before my name. A rock and the hard place.
There I was with a graduate fellowship, living abroad, having my last fling with civilian life, or possibly this life. It was a good and interesting time, but in keeping with my Hamlet theme it had a few flaws here and there, a few holes in the fabric. Some of them were big enough to drive a truck through. The year was 1970, and I was in Pôrto Alegre, Brasil sporadically attending Catholic University. The country was under a heavy-duty military dictatorship, the kind where people who don't like the government and say something about it tend to disappear without a trace.
In the normal course of events, our small group of Americans living in Brasil came into contact with the local spiritual movements. We learned of Umbanda, white magic, through a visit to a local temple. This eventually led to my encounter with a fortune teller. We arranged the visit. An acquaintance who had some interest in the proceedings went along out of curiosity.
I really don't know how long I was there. For me it was just a moment. We started out chatting a little bit. She asked me what I wanted to know. I told her I had questions about my future. She started turning tarot cards over. By the time she got to the third card, a wave of bright light passed through me. All the questions that I had formed in my mind were answered.
The flash left as promptly as it had arrived. Absolutely stunned, I staggered to my feet. I smiled at the lady and thanked her. She smiled back. My acquaintance reminded me that I needed to pay the fortune teller's fee before leaving. I did so, and we left.
I'd had my first shot at The Question.
The answers provided were
mostly good. I'd get through the war and service alive and
sound, marry, know the happiness I had yet to experience, build
up a reasonable nest egg, live a long life.
There were a lot of
things I didn't ask. The questions keep coming. I'd like to know how
the kids are going to turn out and what I
can and should do to help them.
I've only seen that light once
since, and that time the questions came to me and I had to
provide the answers. I wanted to stay in the light but was told I had
to return. I was still a work in progress. I still am,
thirty-five years later. That second trip sent me onto a slightly more
sophisticated existence. There are no questions. There are only
answers. Say Amen somebody....