by Greg Kincaid
After Ted set the phone down, Angel asked, “Any new cases?”
“A crowded school bus full of darling kindergartners was hit by a carload of drunk neurosurgeons on vacation from New York City. Should be a ten-million-dollar fee. Another normal day in Crossing Trails.”
“You are kidding, right?”
“Yes, I was kidding. Not much going on.”
“So you can enjoy your vacation?”
“I can and will.”
“With this little slowdown, maybe you’ll have time to check into Aunt Lilly’s case.”
Ted nodded slightly but said nothing. He was still feeling a bit gloomy from a poor night’s sleep and a disturbing dream.
Angel glanced at him and asked, “Is there a problem?”
“I will do what I can for Lilly, but you need to know that the criminal justice system is a bit like a freight train.”
“How so?”
“No matter how much you spit at it, you rarely change its course.”
“So don’t spit at it. Change tracks. Can’t you do that?”
“It’s unlikely. Your aunt shot him. Self-defense is going to be difficult when there is no evidence that he was threatening her at the time of the shooting.”
“What if he threatened her in the past and this made her afraid of him?” Angel asked.
“I thought about that too. I don’t know. That would make more sense if he was inside Bertha, but from what you’ve told me, the police found his body thirty yards away. She had a lot of options, like just shutting and locking the door or firing a warning shot. Self-defense justifies lethal force only as a last resort.”
Aunt Lilly’s situation seemed desperate and Angel had no idea how to help her. “Will you come with me to South Dakota and visit Aunt Lilly? Hear her side? Maybe there’s something there we’re all missing. It’s only a day’s drive out of our way. It would mean a lot to me and my dad, and to Aunt Lilly too.”
Ted wanted to hold up his end of the bargain and repay in some small way the kindness that Angel had shown him. “Of course we can do that.”
Angel reached out and brushed her fingers across Ted’s hand before giving it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Ted. I know my aunt Lilly is different, but I never thought of her as being violent or anything but a kind spirit. If she were evil, Bertha would not be such a fine dream catcher.”
There were a hundred reasons why he might not be able to help Aunt Lilly, but Angel was right about one thing: there was no risk in simply listening to the woman’s story. Ted leaned down from the passenger seat and pulled Argo closer to him. He felt a surge of something positive flow from his furry friend and into his very being. It was a sense of contentment in the now and a lapsing of concern over the tomorrows of his life. “Truth is, Angel, I’d be very pleased to help your aunt Lilly. I’m looking forward to it. Head to South Dakota as soon as you’re ready.”
“Good, Ted. You just relax while I drive. We’ll start north, but we have a few stops to make along the way.”
Ted closed his eyes and worked on several of the breathing and sensing exercises that Angel had demonstrated to him, but he found his mind returning to Aunt Lilly. Angel had mentioned that Uncle Harry might have been abusive to her aunt in the past. Ted would have to do some research, but perhaps Angel was right; this might have justified a heightened sense of concern on her part. It was a long shot, but maybe he could put another spin on Lilly’s dream the night before the shooting. Perhaps everyone was missing the point. Lilly’s dream was not evidence of a future, unrealized threat but evidence of her state of mind at the time. She had been anxious, perhaps even terrified of the man, and that had been the impetus for the dream. Had she been terrorized to the point of having nightmares? The question hinged on whether Uncle Harry had put her in this state of mind, or whether she was simply delusional.
After Ted finished his last bite of bacon and eggs at the Santa Fe diner, he was prepared to concede Angel’s argument that The Pantry served the best breakfast in the Southwest. He paid the bill with his credit card and strolled about inspecting the art and photographs on the walls before they got back on the road. Their next destination was Taos to meet Mashid.
Once they were situated in Bertha’s front seats, with their old lap belts secured, Angel headed east on Cerrillos Road. After they reached the mountains, she asked Ted, “Are you ready to get to work? Before you meet Mashid, I want to get you started on the grades or levels of awareness.”
Ted watched the Rio Grande rush down the mountainside bringing life to the arid land. He wondered what kinds of people had populated the area over the last few millennia.
When Ted returned his gaze to her, Angel continued. “The first three levels of spiritual development have a common theme. These worshipers are looking to religion for comfort and to protect them from the frightening and painful aspects of our human existence—primarily our anxiety over loneliness and death. So levels one through three are about assuaging our fears. The next three levels of development are generally more concerned with experiencing life fully, finding the divinity within, moving away from fear and toward love, and fully respecting the truth in our lives—even when it’s painful or uncomfortable.”
“Makes sense. I’m ready now.”
“Good. Let’s start with the first grade.”
“There were a few problems with the first grade on the last go-round in Moline, where I grew up. I wore thick glasses and was teased unmercifully.”
“The first-grade worshiper is dependent, not yet separated and individuated from her parent-God figure. For people at this level, God is primarily a creature of their own imagination. Their god is the God that atheists say does not exist.”
“It sounds like you’re describing religious development as being part and parcel of garden-variety human development. The first grader sounds very childlike.”
“Bingo. Most people do mature and develop beyond the first grade, but for reasons we will later discuss, some people get developmentally stuck at this level. First graders see God as a parent figure and in very human terms. God is simply a smarter, faster version of themselves. God shares their beliefs, feelings, and prejudices. It’s a buddy God founded in a personal and intimate relationship of ‘You validate me and I’ll validate you.’ Anything different from me is not God-like, including different races, religions, or even sexual orientations.”
“Not very tolerant.”
“Not at all. Crusades, inquisitions, jihads, and witch burnings are all justified in God’s name. The first-grade worshippers simply project their own fears onto something they call God. First-grader religion is magical. You want a new car, a nose job, or a treadmill? Just pray and God will deliver. Misbehave and you’re a pillar of salt.”
“The evening news would suggest that most of the world is stuck in this place.”
“Bad behavior gets the most coverage. Most of us move beyond first-grade thinking quite naturally by the time we reach adolescence. We quit praying to God to give us what we want, if for no other reason than we eventually figure out that it doesn’t work. At the upper grades, God is a force of love indiscriminately available to all of us and is no longer the personal shopper for the worthy alone. This is what Jesus may have meant in Matthew when he said that God allows the rain to fall and the sun to shine the same way on both the good and the evil.”
“Why do you say ‘most’ but not ‘all’ worshipers move beyond the first grade?” Ted asked.
“To move up to the next level, the second grade, you need appropriate modeling; otherwise there won’t be progress. Certain kinds of learning simply have to be modeled. Spiritual development falls into this category. No one could begin to explain the hundreds of complex movements that go into walking. You have to see it to get it. Likewise, to move us along the transformative path to the upper levels we need spiritual consultants—if not our parents, then others.”
Ted considered the concept a bit further and said, “I never bought the cozy notion t
hat some magical power was going to meet my needs, so I won’t have to work at letting go of this first-grade worldview.”
“Ted, there’s nothing first-grade about your thinking. Nonetheless, let me make sure you understand first-grade thinking before we move on to the second-grade worldview. First graders are generally unable to grasp symbolic thinking; they tend toward literalism and fundamentalism. The first-grade deities behave like we do, although they’re typically slightly better looking. Hence we have jealous, angry, and even horny gods. The first-grader controls the deity with very childlike manipulations. If I whine (pray), I’ll get what I want, including the grand prize.”
“The grand prize?” Ted asked.
“Something called me must exist; for after all, something called God created me.”
Ted swallowed some of his bottled water and said, “It seems like this is going back to the second realization: we tend to be unsophisticated in how we define ourselves and God.”
“Exactly, and that very imprecision is another hallmark of first-grade thinking. You get it, so let me introduce the next grade to you.”
Ted sat up, somewhat proud that he was graduating to second grade, and asked, “Do I get a diploma?”
“Not yet.”
“A graduation dance?”
Angel rested her hand on Ted’s forearm. “I’m afraid not.” She pulled her hand away and continued down the road, keeping an eye out for fuel. “If the first grader is mired in magical thinking, the second grader is defined by mythical thinking. Strong ‘others’ will come to her rescue. The first grader will cover her own eyes and think that if she can’t see you, you can’t see her. She is simply too self-centered to believe that anything could exist independent of her.”
“I’m seeing some of my clients in a whole new light.”
“The second grader, however, evolves and comes to understand that she is not at the center of the universe, not omnipotent, not in total control of all other beings, and certainly not God. She is not capable of moving mountains with her thoughts like a Jedi knight. She has individuated to the point where she can differentiate herself from others and grasp the limitations of that equation. Her crying, whining, or praying is not likely to change the universe. She can no longer deny that this just doesn’t work. But the notion is still so compelling that she does not quite want to let go of it. A slight evolution in thinking occurs, and the first strand of the ego’s coiled rope begins to unravel. It’s like this, Ted. Maybe she can retain that control over her life she so desperately seeks in a roundabout way.”
“Sneaky, those second graders.”
“As she differentiates more fully, perhaps these newfound ‘others’ in her universe could do the magic for her?”
As Angel reached an intersection where she needed to turn, Ted continued the thought. “It’s logical. The child soon learns that her crying per se does not magically cause food to appear, but the effect of the crying on her mother results in a meal. She needs a strong intervening force to meet her needs.
“Hence, the hallmark of the second grader is the fixation on intervening powerful surrogates that have the magical powers that she now painfully recognizes she does not possess. So with the second grader we get angels, Santa Claus, fairies, elves, saints, Easter bunnies, dragons, leprechauns, saviors, and messiahs, to name just a few. The second-grade worldview is incrementally wiser and more evolved.”
“What prompts her to let go?” Ted asked.
“There is always a natural tension between the ego’s desire to keep us unchanged and our higher self’s desire to become more closely aligned with the universe, God, or our true essence—the world beyond Mr. Digit. It’s always a difficult transition, but this one is actually much easier than the levels that follow, for one very important reason: society, our parents, and our peers demand it of us. You see, Ted, our society and our religions, in general, encourage us to let go of the magical first grade and move on to the mythical second grade. What makes the subsequent transitions more difficult is that we lose that support and, in fact, the opposite occurs: we encounter resistance from the very people and institutions that should be encouraging our spiritual growth. For after all, why would the mythic helpers want to be out of a job? Some of God’s agents prefer virgins tossed in the volcano; others will settle for a healthy tithe.”
“I’m opting for the tithe. So is that where we find mainstream Christianity and Islam—at the first two grade levels?” Ted asked.
“Most religions have a tough grip on this second-grade worldview. We find these notions very comforting, and therefore it is hard to let go of them or even tolerate other people’s movement to higher levels. The gravitational pull of the moon is nothing compared to the cultural pull of second-grader religion. Great wars are fought over designating the proper agency of God. In Islam, for example, the Shiite and the Sunni are still fighting over the proper successor to Muhammad; the winner is no less than God’s agent. The early Christians fought many a bloody battle trying to define Jesus. People are willing to die to prove that they are not calling the wrong number in the sky.”
“It would be nice to have a savior or a leprechaun or someone I could dial up in difficult times. It always seemed to me that no matter how many different numbers I might call, no one picked up the phone.”
“Like all herd animals, fear causes humans to react quickly and impulsively and to conform to group behaviors—even when they might be illogical. If the rest of the pack runs off the cliffs for grins, then you had better pack a parachute, ’cause you’re going over.” Angel checked the gas gauge again. “You never had anyone modeling the second-grade mythic worldview, so it’s not surprising to me that you would not spend much time in this classroom. We need to stop for gas soon.”
“Are we running low?” Ted asked.
Angel looked down at her map. “Yes, we’d better get off here and fill up.”
Angel cranked the old cracked, white vinyl steering wheel to the right and coasted off the exit ramp. When Bertha came to a complete stop, Ted watched Angel open the driver’s-side door and get out. He was going to pump the gas for her but hesitated, instead taking in the afternoon sun, which cast an amber light over the desert.
A fog was lifting or a layer of consciousness had been peeled back. His awareness of the world and how he fit into it was subtly shifting. Although Ted could not recognize the importance of these shifts, being here with Angel, No Barks, and Argo in Bertha the Bookmobile he no longer felt strange or uncomfortable; it was nothing less than exhilarating. Ted exited, took a few hurried steps, and caught up with Angel as she stood over the gas cap. He put his hand on her shoulder. She stopped and turned toward him.
“Thanks for being my spiritual consultant—choosing me to be your student. I’m lucky you crashed into me.…”
A slightly embarrassed but pleased look crept across Angel’s face. She squeezed his hand slightly. “I’m glad you swerved in front of me too.”
19
Bertha wound her way up through the mountain passes. They flanked the Rio Grande as it coursed through the southernmost part of the Rocky Mountains—sometimes gently but more often in a fervent roar.
At the end of a self-imposed moratorium on conversation, Angel reminded Ted that among her people, the Lakota, silent spaces are valued. “There are ways to connect with everything around us without using words.” She asked him to simply allow his mind to rest in the scenic beauty and to focus on his surroundings in the same way that he might try to listen to the notes of a symphony.
This particular exercise was well suited for Ted. As far as he was concerned, men and dogs are on good terms because they can be together without feeling the need to continually share words. Considering Angel’s advice, he tried to expand this mode of being that he enjoyed with Argo outward and toward her and his surroundings in general.
Once Angel had a sense that Ted was settled and calm, she offered him an opportunity to expand on the exercise. “Your ears and eyes and the
sensations they register in your mind are not the only way to process life. Try to register sensations that arise in your body and see them as separate and distinct from the thoughts that arise randomly in your mind. These are equally valuable communications. Try to notice the subtle sensations in your abdomen—there is much more than just digestion going on in the gut. Try also to feel into your heart spaces. Do you sense warmth—perhaps a reverberation? See if you can feel into the other discrete spaces within you where sensations might be arising. Take an inventory of the areas where sensations arise. Perhaps you can feel the right lobe of your lung, a slight pain in your left kidney, or a sense of peacefulness that seems to originate around your diaphragm. Try to feel into these spaces and be more cognizant of the biological and emotional processes that are occurring within you and around you. Sense too, if you can, your entire body—shift your focus and awareness away from these neglected spaces and then back to your body as a whole. Is your body trying to tell you anything?”
Ted found this exercise much easier than meditation. In fact, it gave him a sense of reclaiming something pleasant that had been lost—like an adult discovering a favorite childhood toy crammed in the back of the attic. He had become disconnected from a vital part of Teddy Day. When it came to bodily sensations, if it didn’t hurt or feel good, it was ignored.
Angel moved on to the final part of the exercise. “Ted, you can learn to listen not only to your body’s most vociferous signals but also to more subtle sensations. To gain this skill, I want you now to visualize your body as a vessel and a warm, gentle fluid filling the empty spaces of your body, starting at the tip of your right toe and gently spreading to the adjoining toes and into your right foot and up and into your ankle. Sense this fluid pooling in your entire right foot, and hold that sensation for a moment.” After allowing Ted time to let the sensations register, she continued, “Now allow the fluid to continue to move away from your right foot and up and into your right calf. Let it pool there for a few moments.” Angel spent the next ten minutes helping Ted to experience the sensations within his body, directed carefully from his toes to his cranium. When she was finished, she said, “Ted?” When he opened his eyes and she thought she had his attention, she continued, “How do you feel right now? What is the feeling that this exercise is evoking for you? I want you to try to answer this question more from your body and less from your mind.”
