Treasure of the Mind. J. Michaels

Father’s presence offered

      Through old blue truck diplomat

      Finally presenting simple love

      Adversary to hate and desolation

      Soothing my soul in parity

      With hope lost and forgotten

      Wayne’s Secret

      I never called Wayne again. I didn’t need to. A few days after our last meeting, without any prior arrangement, I simply walked back into the Gemini and there he was again, at the same table, watching me walk in as if he fully expected me to be there at precisely that point in time. “You’re a little late but that’s okay. I just asked Carla to bring us some fresh coffee. Sit down my friend and let’s help you find your way home.” Wayne is such a complex but yet simple man, right to the heart of the matter before the first cup of coffee had been delivered.

      So again we talked. Our first meeting had been all about what I was feeling and where my head was at; an outpouring of controlled grief, followed by an attempted synthesis of feelings and thoughts. How I felt and what I thought about how I felt seemed to be what was prompted to emerge. But now we talked about healing. Wayne had helped me through a rough patch a few years ago and the same words he used then that helped so much again surfaced in conversation.

      “Lean into the pain, Michael. You know what lies on the other side of it. It’s the same. It’s just a lot more pain this time.” At that moment, I suddenly realized how afraid of that pain I truly was. He was right of course, but I didn’t know if I could survive this one, even with his help.

      “I don’t know buddy. I don’t know if I can do it. I may die in the process.”

      “You know, I might agree with that except for one thing. The one thing is that, as you and I both know, there is no death. I know it consciously and you know it in your heart. The problem is that your heart is shut down right now and you’re afraid to go there.”

      I had no idea what the hell he was talking about but I trusted him and his wisdom. “Tell me what I should do dear friend. I’m lost and all I can see is shadows,” I uttered in a weak and defeated tone.

      “I can’t help you,” he said simply. In that moment, I lost what hope I had managed to summon and I wanted to fade into oblivion. Our time together had given me a glimmer of optimism and the promise of some sliver of happiness returning to my dark and battered soul. “I can’t help you. But I know someone who can,” I heard from the dark abyss I had so quickly started to sink back into. Those last few words brought me back and I looked at Wayne and he was smiling again; that same caring, knowing, impish grin.

      “Don’t ever do that to me again or I will kick your old, grey-haired ass,” I responded. We both laughed out loud in a mixture of pain, hope, and friendship. We laughed so loud that everyone seated near us stopped what they were doing and smiled along. Damn, it felt good. It had been so long since I really felt like laughing.

      “I know a very special man. You may not know this, but I’m not a carpenter anymore. I’m a therapist. I do individual counseling and I run a men’s group on Tuesday nights. I still teach meditation which, by the way, you could probably use.”

      “So, if that’s the case, why are you recommending me to someone else?” I said, even more confused by the sharp turn of events.

      “Because he can help you and what you need is beyond my skills,” he replied. “This man is responsible for changing my life and he inspired me to become a therapist.”

      My first thought was oh yeah, another therapist with his walls filled with diplomas and certifications, declaring to the world how wise and caring he is. “But you’re the best therapist I know and I didn’t even know you were one,” I countered. Wayne paused, and then looked up at me with compassion like I have rarely seen one human being have for another.

      “My dear friend and brother, I care about you enough to not be your therapist. I care about you enough that I could never live with myself if I tried and failed. Solomon will not fail you. I trust him even more than you trust me. If you give him a chance, he will help you recover your lost soul. He will show you the way home.”

      I was still dazed by Wayne’s unwillingness to come to my aid. Our talks had given me hope again and now he was blowing me off. But I did trust him and I knew that he was truly a good man. If it had been anyone else I would have ignored him and went my own way, no matter how doomed it was. “I’ll try it,” I finally replied. Wayne smiled, a look of relief and completion taking over his face. “So where’s this super therapist located?” I asked half-heartedly.

      “California, sunny southern California,” he replied. “Do you like the ocean?” he added.

      “We’ll see,” I said.

      Pain is the devil’s handmaiden

      A weapon to impale upon

      Fear, its lowly sidekick

      Misdirecting to games of aversion

      To avoid the immutable destruction

      Yet love hides nothing

      And tolerates no secrets

      Refusing to leave pain unattended

      Nor avoids fear’s deceptions

      Love sends angels to attend us

      If we but yield and pray

      There to bring us home again

      No matter how hazardous the way

      Listen well to fair angel

      And follow where he leads

      From depths of despair and suffering

      Pay attention to Heaven’s plea

      Carlsbad by the Sea

      I had never been to Carlsbad. In fact, the only Carlsbad I had ever heard of was in New Mexico. As the United Airbus skimmed over the top of downtown skyscrapers and touched down on the runway in gorgeous San Diego, I couldn’t help thinking about what kind of man could have had such an impact on a person I considered to be wise beyond his years and circumstance. I guess I would soon find out.

      Carlsbad, as it turns out, is a beautiful coastal village right on historic Highway 101, about thirty miles north of San Diego. As I exited Interstate 5 and steered towards the ocean, the peace and beauty of the place somehow soothed my troubled mind and made me feel oddly at home. I was starting to understand why Wayne spoke so affectionately about this place. But if it was as special as it appeared, why had he come back to Colorado?

      As I turned onto the 101, I was almost overwhelmed by the brilliant sun, the cool ocean breezes, the breaking waves, and all the happy people walking around. Outside of the usual crowd events, I had never seen so many people outside before and they all seemed to be very pleased with where they were. This place was already starting to pierce that heart armor Wayne had accused me of having and I had a vague sense of the possibility of healing.

      The Carlsbad Inn is an older hotel located about a block from the ocean. It lacks the business feel of a Marriott or the touristy trappings of the stereotypical Sea Breeze type of lodging. It holds the same charm as the town itself, unpretentious in a way unlike how most people think of southern California. Wayne had recommended the Inn and it fit him, a quality place with grace and style but not conscious of it; a relaxed, easy-going lodge that fit perfectly into its surreal like environment. I parked the rental car in front of the hotel right across the street from a quaint little coffee shop and removed my lone suitcase from the trunk. I didn’t plan on staying long but I felt I owed it to Wayne to see what this Solomon guy was all about. Little did I know what I was about to get myself into.

      After unpacking and getting settled in my room, I decided to take a walk along the beach. It was a weekday in September so the beach wouldn’t be as crowded and I needed to clear my mind of all the thoughts that had been racing through