To Live in Innocence

"Etty was no innocent."

She was simply loath to add another iota of hatred to a world already reeling with abominations.

She writes, "The absence of hatred in no way implies the absence of moral indignation."

"Optimism is not necessarily blind. It is neither weak nor naïve. It can be tough and pure and earned just as clearly as any brooding existential despair."

—Charles P Pierce sportswriter

The men in our group called her the "Italian Stallion." "Katie" was a neurologist at our prestigious medical center. "Gloria" Katie scolded in that Italian accent, "what is the matter with you? Why don’t you just write 'Take advantage of me' and tape it on your forehead. Being nice doesn’t work in a foreign country." My only rebuttal would be in the living.

We had a two and a half hour wait at the airport in New Delhi before taking off for Katmandu. Ahead of us in line a young woman examined the luggage she had retrieved from baggage claim. It was torn, ripped by a sharp blade. Her most valuable possessions were missing. As I observed I was given the evil eye by my group that I might absorb the truth of their warnings.

With me I have brought a paper bag filled with Minnesota Vikings baseball hats. They were to be used as thank you gifts for the Sherpas. In the jostling and confusion I left the bag on the counter. Twenty minutes later a middle aged man approached me in a distant part of the airport, "Excuse me madam, I believe these are yours." Sometimes living without guile is the safest way to travel.

The old curmudgeon in our group considered himself a savvy world traveler. "John" was just as generous with his advice as Katie. "Gloria, we’ve got to watch you all the time. These people will see that smile and think they can take you for a buck. You are a sitting duck for all kinds of crime." I smiled patiently as my philosophy was always to see the spark of God in another. Others live out of our vision, they respond in kind to our view of their integrity, and of their value. I truly belived that my thoughts created my reality.

Giving ourselves time to adjust to the altitude, we visited many shops in Katmandu. In one shop I found several dozen singing bowls. Enchanted I sat on the floor with one of the clerks. I forgot all else but the sound of those bowls as I played each one, searching for the perfect tone. Finally my group intervened, urging me to make my purchase as they were ready to move on. The clerk asked that I not pay. He would continue to play the bowls listening for the perfect tone. That evening he would come to my hotel and sell me the best that he had found.

True to his word my shopkeeper arrived. He gave me the three bowls I had picked earlier then presented me with three additional bowls. They were obviously very old with many nicks, copper gone green and covered by years of dust. "I was happy with your love of our bowls and went to the temple to speak to the Lama. We have many singing bowls in the temple which have been used for worship but some have not been used for generations. I told him that you had much reverence for our bowls and that I was certain you would give an offering to the temple were you to receive some that have been used in worship."

The next morning at breakfast I was the object of much humor as they all assured me that I had been taken to the cleaners and if not, then I was carrying precious artifacts out of the country and would be retained at customs and most likely thrown into jail . Laughing uproariously at their own fine sense of caution and sophistication, they made me sound the fool. But I knew. I knew that the finest gifts come from a place of love and mutual regard.

We were constantly jostled as we waited in line at the airport in Katmandu. I was counting the Nepalese money left between us that I might use it as a tip for the gentleman who had attached himself to us as helper and guide through the airport. There was little room to stand. More than a hundred people were ahead of us with other lines shoving and pushing about us. As I counted the money Katie hissed, "Put that away you fool, do you not see that he is watching you?!" I responded that it was not a problem to me that he could count his tip. With that our "guide" tapped me on the shoulder and said, "Follow me" Within seconds we stood at the front of the line and were escorted through customs.

In New Delhi, I had 12 hours to wait before the departure of my next flight. Katie and Chris were to stay at a conference center where they were to present a lecture to the doctors of India. Resting in their rooms we decided to visit the Red Fort. The three of us took an open air taxi. At one particular stop light we were rushed by a group of beggars. Chris, with the big heart, gave a large tip to the emaciated man who asked him for assistance. A beautiful young girl came to my side of the taxi. Rather than begging she laid her head in my lap and searched my eyes. I could only look deep into her face and feel an overwhelming love and regard for her. Katie was filled with disgust. "Can you believe the tricks they have been taught to coax money from visitors?" My heart has never left that beautiful young lady in ragged clothing.

As we reached the Red Fort there were several hundred in line ahead of us. Chris navigated our group over to some men who were obviously in charge. Within moments we had paid our money and were inside. Those who waited were not upset; they knew we had paid five times what they would pay. For us, the $5.00 admission seemed a small thing.

I was not in the Fort for two minutes when I felt an immense love and peace fill my being. At that time I knew nothing of the history of the British and India. All I knew was that this place spoke of a deep and beautiful spirit. Only later did I come to understand that one man of peace, one man who carried the energy of love had "conquered the British empire." As I walked in that state of mind I noted that people began to stop and stare at me. Many walked backwards. If I had been the only "blonde" visitor that day I would not have felt it so unusual but the Red Fort was filled with European visitors.

Soon I found myself being confronted by people who grabbed my arm and pulled me into group photo shoots, or who begged to be photographed beside me. Katie and Chris were bemused by the activity and gladly posed by my side.

Upon my return home I asked my friend Raj what had occurred to create such an environment of acceptance by these people. His response was beautiful and reassuring. "Gloria, my people see with eyes that Americans have not learned to use. They saw love in your aura, it was the light of love that they saw about you that made them stop and stare. They wanted to stand in that light."

Perhaps that explains why in Belize a security guard at a remote temple made the sign of the cross and followed me around the museum. Hiding around corners he would peer out at me, his eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. Perhaps he too could see the love I felt at that moment…the feeling of absolute union with the Mayan people.

We were saying good-bye and thank you to the Sherpas. The members of our group handed me their leftover money and many of their belongings, asking that I divide them up as tips for the ones who had served us so well. As I worked Katie looked at me. "I don’t understand you Gloria. You are obviously very bright and yet you are much too trusting. I expected to see you used and even robbed. What causes me confusion is that I have witnessed only kindness come your way."

As we waited in line to fly back to the states, the old curmudgeon spoke, "I don’t get it Gloria. How can you be so trusting and receive only good things? How do you live in such a state of grace?" I smiled softly, I have learned John that we receive what we expect; that which we give is what we receive. As Brennan Manning writes in The Beloved Disciple, "When we take to the streets with joy, not anger, the dark forces do not know what to do with us. Look them in the eye and touch their heart. You will know the fear that drives them and you will leave them with peace." John shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs of old paradigms, making room to analyze the new.

What of my friend’s worry that I would not live safe if I did not live suspicious? I live not beseeching God’s blessings but anticipating with curiosity what will be given. When I see each moment as precious, filled with the pulsating presence of God and of God’s abundance; when I see each one I meet as an expression of God I am left with simple gratitude and faith that all will be well. And, as the Dali Lama says, "If my enemies offend me, than they have given me the gift of learning."

At 16,200 feet I had pneumonia. The congestion in my lungs exacerbated my difficulty in breathing. Thankfully we began our decent. I awoke the next morning surrounded by rugged white peaks which made midgets of our 15,000 foot mountains. As those peaks shimmered in the morning sun, I felt ownership of a joy few will ever experience. Seven hours earlier I had peered into the veil of death and now I was facing a new morning…alive, vibrantly alive.

As I looked upon the face of that mountain still far above me I recounted my struggles to climb to this height. I remembered also my struggles to comprehend God. The longer I looked upon that majestic mountain peak the more I realized the awful power that is there. The unchanging structure seemed constantly to change as the wind carried the storms across its face. Sister Wendy Becker states, "Beauty is essentially the presence of God." I looked toward the towering White Mountain above me; an ethereal light illuminated its grandeur. I saw the face of God.

I stretched out in the Yoga Sun Salutation when Lawrence approached me, "Have you always been this joyful? Do you realize that your beauty and your youth come from your attitude, not from any vitamin or antioxidant you might ingest?" How could I tell him that I was merely reflecting that upon which I gazed?

My own paradigms were to be shaken, tumbled and returned to a new position. Upon our return from the mountains one of our Sherpas invited Dr. Kenton Zaire and Dr. Chris Sill to visit in his home. Because I was walking with them on that leg of the journey I was invited to participate in the visit.

They were ready for us, bathed and dressed in their finest silks and suits. The home was a two room hovel, not much larger than a foaling stall in a horse barn. The floors were dirt and the walls a rough wood. Pictures of the Dali Lama decorated the room.

They served us Raki, a home brew that to my unaccustomed taste buds was no more appealing than rubbing alcohol. The young wife and her mother in law sat primly with their hands folded in their laps. The little one, beautiful in her spotless clothes, sat in silence and surveyed us with curious eyes. She was the only child I had seen in those mountains who did not have a runny nose.

As we chatted with the Sherpas I was filled with a sense that I did not belong in this place. In comparison to the elegance and graciousness of their spirits our western mannerisms seem somehow uncultured. While I sat with two of Mayo Clinic’s finest doctors, an anesthesiologist and a cardiac surgeon, I was struck by the fact that we did not deserve to be in the presence of these people. Our homes, worth several hundred thousand each would never carry the sacred energy of this household.

"Would you like to see our father’s temple?" they asked. I had not known that their father was the local Lama. We had been to several temples throughout Nepal but I had not seen one so small or felt one as personal as the one they now showed us. Surrounded by sacred objects and scrolls I felt the awe, reverence and prayers of each worshiper as they entered this sacred space. Returning home I found a gong which would serve to remind me of the drum which hung from the ceiling of that temple. It would forever reverberate for me the sacred vibrations of that dwelling place of the most holy, and remind me that true grace is never measured by grandiosity nor monetary accumulations.

All I had learned in the church of my youth could not prepare me for the holiness of this moment and the truth that God’s Presence rests upon each earnest seeker whatever their fundamental belief. A heart filled with grace cannot be denied nor ignored based upon doctrine or theology. Show me your life… let me feel your Spirit; in that way you shall teach me what you know of God.

In writing to my friend Boyd Sibley, I told him of this experience and others which had threatened to shatter my remaining core beliefs. I spoke to him of my sense that Christ energy is pervasive in all religions. I was given an answer which made my heart grow soft. The truth is more than I can speak without his words. Boyd is the owner of In The Name of Hope, a recording studio where he channels individual soul songs. Boyd responded to my letter with words that expanded my concept of the Christ consciousness:

"Dear Glo, It is true that the New Age has challenged the idea of our Creator as Father and taken some of the 'personalness' out of the word in exchange for words like 'energy,' 'life force,' etc. .Although I have been through it all from one denomination to another there still remains one Cosmic Spirit who always hears me, sees me, loves me, and will never abandon me. And that is the Christ of which you speak. There is no religion that can hold all the truth of his being. There is no philosophy that can articulate for or against his reality. When I am alone with myself and ask the hard questions the answers come as a whisper through the consciousness of Christ. The energy of love that is Yeshua is there in all religions and in all galaxies and in all hearts that are open to receive."

That was what I had felt. That was what pulled at my heart strings with a longing that could not be silenced. In their humble home I had encountered Christ energy. Semantics aside it permeated their temple, their lives and their home.

The Preacher’s daughter was finding a greater truth. The essence of Christ is at home in any land and in any language. I had felt it in Belize; I had seen it in Peru and in India. I had experienced it in a hovel in Haiti and another in China. While we will never share a common language or construct our outer temple from the same template, we shall always share that essence which makes its home within.

I was in Turkey visiting an ancient cathedral that had been restored into a mosque. I was in a group of three while all about us were large groups being given the "didactic tour."

Three official looking men approached us and with gracious smiles invited us to discover the special aspects of this place of worship. Soon one man was introduced as the teacher of the Koran. He offered to answer any questions that we might have. Thankfully my friend Gene asked a simple question. As this kind gentleman began to speak his face became illuminated with the light of love. I watched him in awe and felt "Christ energy," that universal and infinite consciousness of divinity which is present in each of us.

My heart opened to this man. At the time my country was at war with Iraq and with Osama Bin Laden who both represented radical Islamic beliefs. As the teacher spoke I felt only the pure essence of love. Spirit had carried us beyond misunderstandings and prejudices and had lifted us to a higher reality. There was no doubt that we were in love’s presence.

Suddenly this man stopped speaking and looked into my face with awe and joy, "You are my first Christian I speak to." He knew, as did I, that we had moved from our finite understanding to embrace the infinite which speaks in all languages and is made known to all seekers.

By Gloria Davis