Over the course of their 56 years together, my parents accumulated a vast assortment of material “stuff”. When they both passed in 2002, my three siblings and I spent a number of days cleaning out their home in San Francisco, dividing up some of the possessions, and consigning the rest to charitable organizations like Goodwill, or in some cases to the trash heap.
That same year I divorced my first wife to be with Mazie, leaving her (1st wife) everything but my clothes and a few odds and ends that Mazie and I would need to get started. Mazie herself came with 2 duffel bags filled with clothes and note books, a beat-up computer, a bag of cooking spices, and a big Smile.
Among the items I found in the basement at the San Francisco house, an old mahogany walking cane with the head in the shape of a golf club caught my eye. My father had been an avid golfer, and the stick felt good in my hand. Since the car accident in ’84, I often use a cane to ease the weight from my shattered left heel, and my then current one was in need of a rest.
Later that day, back in Martinez, I drove with Mazie down to our usual bench near the Marina pond to feed the ducks and watch the sunset. We never knew what to expect there, but the magic was strong, and our hearts were open to letting it all in.
I decided to try out the golf cane I had picked up from my parents’ garage earlier that day, to accompany me on our evening stroll along the Marina. It was an especially beautiful late afternoon settling in over the Carquinez Straits, and we were happy to be together with a bag of bread crusts for our friends.
When we came to the train tracks that intersect the Marina entrance, the passage was blocked by a big yellow train that appeared to be stalled. We waited in line behind a few other vehicles, rolled down the windows of the car, and admired an overhanging Eucalyptus. I remarked to Mazie that I had spent most of my life impatient. I had inquired into this persistent quality over the years, dealing with it from just about every level, and yet it remained a stubborn personality trait, felt as a chronic contraction that resisted my efforts to overcome.
As I sat with Mazie waiting for the train to start up and clear the way, I gradually realized that I now felt no sense of impatience at all, contrary to my habitual pattern. In fact, I realized that I hadn’t felt that old nagging knot for quite some time. Indeed, I now saw that this impatience stitched through the fabric of my life had been nothing but an inner urgency to be with my Beloved again, even though I had no idea where or who she would turn out to be until a year ago!
Now I was perfectly happy to sit in the car all night with my Beloved if that was the way this thing wanted to unfold, just praising the wonder of that Mystery that had brought us together once again! As this realization settled in, the train began to slowly pull forward, boxcar after yellow boxcar, blowing its whistle and building up speed. It looked like we would soon be on our way until the train ground to a halt. I looked to see if the impatience would return, but this feeling of deep peace had not left.
After some time, the train began to move, but backwards this time, and of course you can probably imagine what metaphors now blossomed in the minds of two love-mas poets! Eventually, the tracks were cleared and we proceeded on to the intended destination. We parked and began walking to the pond, just as the sun was setting over the nearby hills on the bay.
As we approached our usual spot on the shore of the pond, I noticed a young girl – perhaps 7 or 8 years of age, dark-complexioned, but of no readily-identifiable nationality – happily using a golf club to make carvings in the sand near our bench. She turned to look at us, and I held up my golf club cane to show her I had one too, and she smiled such a beautifully rich, mysterious smile that it took my breath away. I sat down on the bench with Mazie, but hardly even noticed as she began feeding the friends.
I looked over to the young girl, and at that moment she returned a gaze that pierced me! I started to say something to Mazie – something about that girl not being an ordinary human – when suddenly my mind just dropped away, and I was left speechless. There were no ducks, no pond, no sunset, no hills, no Mazie and Bob, nothing! Everything was just as it was, but at the same time it was not! There was no matrix of perception, no place where anything could “mean”, no sense of self distinguished from something “else”.
It was not as if it was all happening over a length of time, as in some sort of cinematic slow motion. The whole experience itself seemed lifted somehow “out of time”. Although my eyes were wide open, the swirling crowd of seagulls circling our heads made no impression. I just stared straight ahead, trance-like, while my breath held itself somewhere. Mazie later recounted how her tongue had spontaneously curled back in yogic fashion into her throat in some kundalini effect, and also reported that a super-conscious sublimity descended upon her too, as she beheld the girl.
When we “returned to normal”, the girl was gone, but “she” had left her sand carving for us. I remember saying something to Mazie about Divine Mother, and as we inspected the sand writings, our jaws dropped open yet again. Written in the most beautiful lettering were the words