Steven's Choice

by John Renesch

  Chapter Four: LESSONS FROM THE BABY

  May 28: San Francisco, driving northbound on Van Ness Avenue, 7:16 PM PST

  Steven was nervous about the event they were attending tonight. His driving didn't reflect his apprehension and he was glad he was behind the wheel. It gave him something else to worry about. Mark sat in the front passenger seat while Catherine, Chelsea, and Kathy filled out the backseat. The women were chatting. He and Mark seemed tongue-tied by comparison.

  But once the car was parked and he turned off the engine, the women paused. Mark spoke for the first time in a half-hour.

  “Chelsea, you're the only one here who knows what this is about. How about another quick briefing, kiddo?” he said. The five of them started getting out of the car.

  “I'm so excited that you guys are really coming to this,” Chelsea said. “I was so flabbergasted when Daddy asked about it, and then you guys come too!”

  She paused to collect her thoughts. “Okay. Tonight Timothy will be talking about his new book, which is partially the story of his life thus far and partially about his foundation. It's a guest evening, so there's no charge. Those of us in his community were invited to bring guests who might be interested in what he has to say.”

  Mark looked at Steven and said, “When Steven asked me to come, I must admit I was pretty surprised too. I guess you wanted some male companionship, eh, pal?”

  Steven was still uneasy. He smiled at Mark and gave his shoulder a short rub as if to thank him for coming and waved the women into the elevator ahead of them. He wondered if he'd made a mistake coming tonight. When Chelsea suggested it a week ago, it had seemed like a good idea. Catherine was all for it. In fact, she'd been to one other event like this and had joined Chelsea for a workshop or seminar or something last year down near Santa Cruz area. Then he decided to ask Mark. After all, this was something like what Mark had been talking about down at Pete's, so he'd probably like it. And it was nice to have another guy along.

  “Timothy is a really good speaker, guys,” Chelsea said. “He uses a lot of humor and I think you'll find him very interesting. Mom, you know.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I think he's a terrific speaker and a great mind. I really enjoyed the seminar we did with him last year,” Catherine said.

  “Oh, one thing I should warn you about. There will be people trying to get you to sign up for the basic program,” Chelsea said. “It's called 'the Course' and its four days long. If someone starts talking to you about it and you aren't interested, just say so. If you're clear that you don't want to hear anymore, they should leave you be. We've all been asked to honor where people are and not push ourselves on the guests.”

  “Were there problems with that before?” asked Kathy.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Chelsea shrugged. “We can get a bit overzealous sometimes…probably because we have all gotten so much from his teachings and we're eager to share it. That's understandable, isn't it?”

  “Sure, honey,” Steven said, accepting a name tag from one of the dozen or so young people checking off names. They entered the main ballroom together and followed another young woman who ushered them to five seats together near the front. Most of the seats nearby had been filled and Steven wondered how these were still available so close to the start of the program. Then he noticed little cards on each chair, with 'George' written on each one.

  “You must have some clout here, daughter,” he said, as he winked at Chelsea with a smile. “Of course, for the time you spend with these folks, I guess you should, eh?”

  Chelsea let her father's wisecrack go without any response and invited the four of them to precede her, leaving her sitting on the aisle. Then she excused herself and ran off to talk to a group of young people obviously part of the Timothy clan.

  Steven turned his head and watched dozens of people continue to pour into the huge ballroom. My God, he thought, there must be nearly a thousand people here tonight! From the second row, the depth and breath of this growing crowd had escaped him. But looking toward the rear of the ballroom gave him a very different perspective. He guessed that every seat would be filled soon.

  At one point as his eyes wandered around the room, he saw a young woman he thought he knew. He couldn’t place her name but he was pretty sure he knew her—not socially but around work. Her youthful face disappeared in the crowd as people settled into their seats.

  The four of them sat there quietly until Chelsea returned. Smiling, she handed four brochures to her mother and asked her to pass them down. The brochures described the Course and other related workshops.

  Jean was wondering how she'd ever allowed herself to get talked into coming to this thing. She was now commuting every day up to San Francisco for her new job. So staying in the city a few more hours wasn’t too inconvenient, but she was really tired after a day that had started at five AM. But when Terry had told her about this Timothy guy, Jean had agreed to meet her in the lobby and be her guest.

  She and Terry finally found their friends. She was relieved to find her seat. There sure are lots of people here, she thought.

  Within five minutes, a woman walked up onto the podium and introduced herself. The buzz of the crowd subsided, so that by the time she introduced the speaker, the room had quieted down. Timothy Warden walked briskly down an aisle and up onto the stage. The guests applauded politely, while his fans clapped furiously, adding hoorays and whistles. He stood there, taking in the crowd, the applause, and the excitement.

  “Thank you. Thank you for your kind applause,” he began. “I know most of you don't know who I am, and some of you may know a little about the work we do here at the Warden Foundation. I want to tell you something about me…No, no, not a long-winded monologue, but a short history of how this all came to be. And then I want to tell you a little about the Course. Then we'll engage in a dialogue together, where you might have some questions. How's that?”

  Timothy Warden's story was indeed riveting. Steven found it intriguing and far from long-winded. He gradually forgot that the man was an accomplished speaker and became very involved in the story, as if living it himself. It was obvious that Timothy had been a seeker of spiritual growth and enlightenment for all of his adult life. After more than a dozen years living in an ashram in India, managing the business affairs of his guru's worldwide organization, developing a following initially in Europe and more recently here in the U.S., this man was quite accomplished and well studied in matters of Zen, the Buddha, theology, world religions, and writings of the mystics.

  Near as he could guess, Timothy was a few years older than Steven. Maybe sixty or so. He was fairly well dressed, certainly better than Steven had expected. He had imagined Timothy in Gandhi-like muslin and barefoot. So much for his imagination…and perhaps some pre-judgment?

  Steven was not particularly well versed on spiritual teachers. He had no way to evaluate their authenticity or legitimacy. After all, proof of their competence was entirely subjective, depending upon the inherent value each person felt they got out of the teachings or guidance being offered. But based upon the way this guy was presenting himself—his carriage, his self-confidence, his speaking ability—Timothy Warden seemed to be a perfectly credible human being who appeared to know what he was talking about.

  The saga was fascinating. It seemed as if Timothy had been called to a special spiritual assignment at a very early age. And he pointed out that many children have this experience. The idea of a calling was not so unique, he said. But what a child might do with it—that was unusual.

  Socialization in Western countries confused these natural callings, Timothy was saying. He referred to “industrialized education,” whereby children were trained to memorize facts and score well on tests as a primary cause of children missing the experience of true education. Everything gets valued on its extrinsic nature in schools, he said.

  Everything Timothy was saying made terrific sense to Steven, who even found the man's vocabulary stimulating. He became entran
ced by the man, who clearly possessed much charisma and an ability to hold an audience spellbound. Steven's concerns about coming tonight began to dissolve and, as they did, his enthusiasm built.

  Two weeks before, Steven had called Chelsea and asked her to lunch. Catherine had suggested he do so after they'd talked about the turmoil he was in as a result of reading the Harman book. Chelsea was the baby of the family, but he valued Catherine's instincts.

  Chelsea was pleasantly surprised to get her father's invitation. He rarely called her, first of all. Her mom usually called with invitations to get together, and she rarely spent time with just her father…. time with him was usually during family gatherings.

  She was looking forward to lunching with her dad. She so seldom had him all to herself, and this would be a great opportunity to relate to him as an adult. After all, she was no longer daddy's little girl. She was a full-blown woman now and could count the times on one hand she'd spent with Steven alone since she'd turned twenty-one.

  She knew he wanted to talk about “spiritual stuff,” as he put it. Needless to say, she was intrigued, first that her father was interested in this topic, and second that he wanted to talk to her about it. Her mom must have put him up to it, she thought.

  FLASHBACK

  Five weeks earlier:

  April 10: San Francisco, North Beach District, Moose’s Restaurant, 12:04 PM

  Chelsea arrived at the restaurant first and was seated at a window table. Her father had suggested this place, one of his regular spots when he was in the city. Mooses’s was named after owner Ed Moose, somewhat famous for starting the nearby Washington Square Bar and Grille years earlier. Her father had reasoned that it wasn't too far from where she worked at Levi Plaza, plus he knew Ed, the hostesses, and many of the regulars. To Chelsea, however, it was an old guys' place. She hadn't seen anyone under forty since she'd stepped inside. She was looking out the window as her dad pulled up in front and collected his claim check from the valet.

  “Sorry I'm late,” he said, sliding in to sit across from her. “A last-minute thing came up as I was walking out of the office.”

  “That's okay, Daddy. I've only been waiting for a few minutes anyway,” she said. After a slight pause while Steven glanced at the menu, she burst out: “Well, what's this all about? I'm so curious I could hardly contain myself ever since you called! It's not every day that you ask me out to lunch, you know.”

  “I know, honey,” he said. “In fact, this may be the first time we've had private time together since you left home. A lot has happened since then, Chelsea, and I'm seeing you in a new light these days. For one thing, I didn't know how to relate to you and your interests. Your mom can. But I've always been pretty business-focused. That's probably why I was so close to Kirsten—she and I could talk shop. But now I've seen you in action under stress, and you’ve been magnificent. You are very much a woman, Chelsea. And besides, you might be able to help me now.”

  “Thanks, Daddy.” She grinned. “It's great to hear you say that. I've felt the same way. I can talk all day to mom. She and I have so many shared interests. But you! You've never been interested in what I was doing, not really. I could tell when you were trying to listen, but it was obvious that my life was either too boring or too airy-fairy for you. I not only couldn't talk about business, I didn't want to.” Chelsea paused realizing she had been on a bit of a rant. Then she said, calmly, “Now—I'm dying of curiosity. What's going on?”

  Steven told her the story of the Harman book and the mystery of who sent it. He told her about the way it had stirred him up, which had prompted his conversation with Catherine, which, in turn, had led to his inviting Chelsea to lunch. He asked his daughter to explain more about what her spiritual adventures had been like, promising that he'd listen more carefully now than he had in the past.

  Her father's newfound interest in spirituality was exciting, Chelsea thought. Not only was he asking about something she knew about, but he was less informed, less experienced, and less articulate about these matters than she was. This was a first for them.

  She told her story, how she'd felt this special yearning to connect with the “light,” the divine, the “everything” of life since she'd been a little girl. How she'd occasionally talked to Catherine about it because her mother seemed to understand a bit of what she was trying to say. She'd never talked to her older sister about it because she was afraid Kirsten would tease her. And she would never have approached her father, always so pragmatic and rational. And, besides, he hadn't been around all that much when she was smaller. When he was around, mom and Kirsten seemed to get most of his attention.

  From the time she was five, Chelsea had spent a lot of time alone, or so it had seemed to Steven. Now he was finding out that she wasn't really alone—she just wasn't in the company of other humans. She was spending time in her spirit world, playing with angels, talking to her spiritual friends and thoroughly enjoying her time with them.

  She shared how she felt very much out of place with other children, even in college. While she'd been attending the university in Santa Cruz, a classmate had taken her to hear a lecture by Timothy and she'd instantly felt a connection, as she put it. She'd felt very much at home with the regulars surrounding this man, a person of tremendous wisdom who seemed to have much to offer her. She signed up for the basic program he was offering, started reading many of the books he recommended, and had even begun to volunteer time helping him form his non-profit foundation and promote his work in her spare time.

  Now, some four or five years later, she felt an enormous appreciation for her relationship with Timothy. She told her father of the peace she felt as a result of being grounded in her spirituality rather than in materialism and personality. She told him of the gratitude she held for so many things in her life. She told him of the many new experiences—mystical, profound, revealing, and self-actualizing—she would never have known if it weren't for her work with Timothy.

  Steven remembered Catherine's concern about susceptible young women, sexual misconduct, cult-like behavior, and the like, but now he was more interested in learning about Chelsea's spiritual adventures. He put these thoughts on hold for the time being and leaned over his meal toward Chelsea, intent on hearing every word.

  As she described her rich inner life, she was beaming with enthusiasm, more so than Steven could ever recall. Her glow reminded him of how some pregnant women look, despite the discomforts of childbearing. Their faces seemed to radiate with light, as if possessed by something holy.

  “I've never seen you so vital,” he said as she paused to taste her salad. “It's so much fun to see you so excited.”

  “I guess you don't see much of it at family gatherings, Daddy, because I don't talk about this much outside of my circle of friends around the foundation. I never got that you or Kirsten were particularly interested. Actually, you and Kirsten were very much alike—all work, career, rational left-brain stuff. My interests and passion are more right-brain, if you know the difference.”

  “Yes, honey. I know the difference, but I'm giving you notice here and now. I am very interested in this stuff now. Forget about how things used to be. I'm going on sixty and feel like I am just becoming aware of what you felt when you were five. So—in a way—you're way ahead of me in this regard. It's time for me to learn more about me and all that other stuff you talk about. Quite a switch, eh, little daughter?” he said.

  Chelsea rolled her eyes, smiling, and took another bite of her salad. He was so worldly, she thought, he was so knowledgeable about making money, selling ideas, managing people, how things work—the physical things. It was hard to think of him as being uninformed or naïve about anything.

  But then, he had always been reluctant to express his feelings, she realized, so maybe his inner world was much newer to him than she imagined. As she sat with that thought, she realized her father had been talking and she hadn't been listening.

  “…and all these spiritual experiences I read about
are so far out for me, honey,” he was saying. “My idea of God has always been the guy up there who pulls all the strings and has ultimate control over everything—the one you pray to when things get tough, the one you ask for help when life gets out of control. This stuff you and these authors like Harman and this Timothy fellow talk and write about is much more of a personal relationship, almost like you're buddies with God! And then there's this Goddess. Who's she?”

  Chelsea took a deep breath and prepared herself to begin an entirely new relationship with her father—one that was equal, two adults relating to one another. “Well, first of all, Daddy, there are all the old myths to expel,” she said. “It seems the biggest barrier people put up to having a genuine spiritual relationship are their childhood memories of religion—ideas they developed very early in life. In all my counseling experience, I rarely see anybody who doesn't have some anger around their old idea about God. They feel let down, or betrayed, or disappointed about something God was supposed to have done for them…then they decide that's the end of all that 'God stuff.' I see it all the time whenever I start to talk about spirituality. People's eyes glaze over, even if they don't say anything. Even if they're polite and act as if they are paying attention to me, I can tell they've gone south. They aren't hearing anything I'm saying because they hear 'religion talk' when I'm speaking about spirituality.

  “Once we get past those iron gates walling off the past, we can begin doing some truly powerful work together. But, first, those old walls need to come down.”

  Steven was intently focused on what Chelsea was saying. “Until recently, honey, I guess I was one of those who thought religion and spirituality were the same thing. I have learned that religion is the form or structure of some spiritual ideal—it's like the 'organization' of thoughts, dogma, traditions, places, management, and all that. Most religions are based upon one person's idea about the Divine, right? Then a bunch of his followers put a bunch of rules together about how things are supposed to be, and it kinda goes downhill from there!”

  Chelsea laughed at her father's simple, irreverent explanation. He was so economical with his words, she said to herself in wonder. What a great way of describing religion!

  “That's a wonderfully concise definition, Daddy. You have such a way with words!”

  Steven took the last French fry from his plate and moved the plate to the edge of the table. He moved his coffee cup directly in front of himself and asked, “Now, how would YOU define spirituality, darling?”

  Chelsea felt like she'd just been asked a surprise question by a teacher about the previous night's homework. She felt put on the spot by her father's question, but paused, gathered her self-assurance, thought a bit, and responded.

  “Spirituality is one's personal relationship with the Divine, whether one envisions the Divine as the traditional Christian God—that white-bearded fellow up there in the sky—Nature, the Goddess, Gaia, or any other form. Some people have difficulty associating any form that resembles personality or personification because of pictures they had as children. So they have their own choices for names they give the Divine. For the most part, I'd say it has to do with something beyond the human experience. Alcoholics Anonymous suggests their members acknowledge 'a power greater than themselves.' Some people refer to a Higher Power. The form is far less important than the humility with which one engages this spiritual relationship.”

  “Well said,” Steven said, proud of his little girl. “As you know from your grandmother's experience, I have some knowledge of the A.A. thing.”

  “Yeah, kinda, Daddy. But I really don't know much. Most of what I heard was back when I was little,” she said.

  “Well, put succinctly, she became an alcoholic after my father left and I became her unwitting co-dependent. I thought I was all grown up by the time I was ten. A.A. saved her life…and maybe mine too! So I have much appreciation for that organization. I memorized the Serenity Prayer before I became a teenager. Let's see…'God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.' How's that?”

  “Pretty close as far as I'm concerned, Daddy. Sounds like you got some early lessons in true spirituality there,” Chelsea said.

  “I guess so, although I didn't see it that way, because we were Catholics seeing God as the big boss in the sky, remember?”

  “Yeah, that's right. So, did that definition work for you? Do you get the distinction?” Chelsea asked.

  “Sure, sweetheart.” Steven finished his coffee while he pondered the conversation thus far today.

  She felt some pride her “old man” was so open to these ideas after so many years of knowing everything, especially when he was so good at what he did. He had every right to stick with what he knew. Yet here he was, venturing into brand-new territory at his age. She was unaware of the broad grin developing on her face.

  “What's so funny?” asked Steven.

  “Nothing's funny, Daddy,” she said. “I'm just feeling very proud of my father right now. I love it that my world interests you. I'm so glad we're talking like this and that you're open to all this stuff.”

  The waiter took his credit card and headed off toward the cashier. Steven asked Chelsea, “Honey, what would you suggest I do at this point? You know the books I've been reading and kinda where I am in this learning cycle. Does anything jump out at you for your old man to do now?”

  Chelsea's initial reaction was surprise. But after a moment of thought, she found her mind full of ideas. Wow! What a selection!

  “Geez, Daddy. My mind has lots of ideas—too many to suggest right now. Let me go inside and ask—you know, tapping into higher consciousness and all that.” She still anticipated his criticism of her spirituality—the subtle sarcasm she'd grown used to over the years. She needed to remember she had a new dad now.

  She shut her eyes. Steven looked around the restaurant. He was a little self-conscious, which surprised him, despite the fact that they were in San Francisco, where there was a wide tolerance for strange behavior. Chelsea opened her eyes quickly, however, and reported that the answer was there immediately for her.

  “Well?” Steven asked. “What is it?”

  “Umm, I'm not very comfortable saying this, Daddy, but the answer was so very strong and it came so quickly, there seems no doubt, if I can only tell you what it was,” she said, squirming. “Let's talk while you take me back to work, okay?”

  Steven smiled. He found his daughter's uneasiness added even more to his curiosity. Now he couldn't wait to hear what she had in mind for him. He felt like a little boy waiting to see Santa Claus.

  Steven drove out to a spot on one of the piers along the Embarcadero near the Bay, a spot few people knew about, allowing them to sit at the end of the old dock with an unobstructed view of the Bay Bridge and Yerba Buena Island, midway between the city and Oakland. They were only a couple of blocks from Chelsea's office. He rolled down the windows on both sides and turned off the ignition.

  “Well. You ready yet?” he said.

  Chelsea knew she was going to tell him, so there was no real reason to postpone it. But she sure did feel uneasy.

  “Okay…here goes…Daddy. Boy, this is hard. Umm, I do have a suggestion, Daddy, and it may seem very strange at first. I know you are pretty…let's say conservative…but I suggest that you do something to—to explore you emotions. I think it would be great for you to really get to know yourself inside, at your very essence, and this means getting in touch with your feelings…and uncover all the old ones you have buried deep inside you. And I have a suggestion for how to start that process…”

  “Okay, sweetheart. That seems like a good place to start, based on everything I've read about personal growth and self-exploration. Everybody writes about the need to be in touch with one's feelings, almost as a prerequisite.” he said.

  “Beyond theory and concepts, Daddy, I know it from experience. I have learned that being able to feel
and experience emotions in the present, as fully and as intensely as they are, is key to having any kind of spiritual life. An artist friend of mine made this painting of a person standing before a portal beyond which was shining this powerful light. The person's shadow is cast long, due to the bright glow emanating from the other side of the portal. The symbolism is that the portal represents the emotions, which must be passed through in order to enter into the light, which represents enlightenment, God, the Divine—whatever you want to call it.

  “Genuine emotions are essential for the human experience of the Divine, Daddy.” Chelsea could tell her father was listening and taking in every word she said. She was feeling more and more secure, since he was actually listening. “When I say emotions, I don't mean what a lot of people call emotions—like guilt, righteous anger, jealousy. These are largely thoughts, not pure emotions. I learned this from the work of a spiritual teacher and physician who can demonstrate how true emotions can be located in the body, experienced, and processed to completion. Old feelings, new ones—once felt as fully and as intensely as they want to be experienced, will dissipate and you don't have to carry them around with you anymore.”

  Steven felt a bit of comfort when Chelsea mentioned the physician. He was glad she was learning from someone besides Timothy, and an MD too boot.

  “One of the most powerful ways to open people up emotionally without long commitments to psychotherapy is through altered states,” she said, “sometimes using a substance like indigenous people have done throughout the ages. This can work really well at removing the armor we put over our hearts, the walls most of us have put up to protect us from pain.”

  Chelsea didn't see her father flinch at the mention of altered states or notice his attention wavering, so she proceeded with her suggestion—the one she felt would best work for him.

  “The first time I did one of these journeys, I felt reborn—like I was given a whole new life. I was so grateful for the experience I learned how to sit with others who were interested in dropping their barriers to feeling their emotions, barriers that may have protected them from pain once upon a time as children but now block them from God as adults.”

  Chelsea paused to let her words sink in. Then, as an aside, she said, “I remember another thing the physician said…he told us one time that most people are not as afraid of feeling their repressed emotions as they are about feeling them intensely In other words, they are mostly afraid they won't survive the intensity—that they will be devastated somehow. Therefore, they're reluctant to feel any more than little 'leaks' of emotion—that's my word not his—like the valve on the pressure cooker that blows off steam when the pressure gets too high.

  “This particular journey work that I've been doing for a couple of years now produces miracles, Daddy…” After a pause and another deep breath, Chelsea slowly closed her eyes and said, “And, I'd love to do a journey with you.”

  “Sounds great, sweetheart. What's the part you've been nervous about?” said Steven, looking puzzled.

  “Daddy, it's an altered-state experience…you know…where we take…a substance…like…a…drug…” There. She had said it. She'd really said it.

  Steven's eyes looked up and to the left, like he wasn't sure he understood what his youngest daughter had just said. Did she really want to take drugs together? He had a very conservative view of drugs, even marijuana, which he'd done a few times in the Sixties but not since then. In fact, he'd contributed to a number of anti-drug campaigns and always backed tougher enforcement of drug laws. After all, drug abuse was where the moral fiber of America seemed to be unraveling and he was all for any measures to correct this national epidemic. Chelsea knew about his stance on drugs. Surely, she wouldn't be suggesting…

  With a frown that terrified her, Steven asked, “Do you mean take drugs together? No…” he said, still in some disbelief. “You don't mean that, right?”

  Summoning all her courage, Chelsea said, “Yes, I do, Daddy. But not for the reasons that so many people do them. Not to drop out or avoid reality, or just to have a good time. It's because the altered state allows you to heal yourself and open your heart to your emotions. The intent behind the journey is vital. We go into it with the intention of doing spiritual work… there is a rigor to this work, father.” Chelsea found herself talking tougher. Her earlier apprehensiveness was beyond her now. The cat was out of the bag.

  “To therapeutically enter into this altered state with that intentionality makes it a holy experience. Several of us call it a 'sacrament.' It's that well respected as a tool for getting closer to your core, your higher self.”

  “Geez, honey. I don't know…” Steven was now visibly uncomfortable, actually squirming a bit behind the steering wheel.

  Chelsea saw an opening—a possibility. “Daddy, you may not know this, but indigenous people around the world have used what they call ‘sacred medicines’ throughout human history. There are many spiritual traditions in which these so-called medicines are used. Many are now coming to the West, as more and more people have started seeing the value of some of these older traditions. As we begin to drop our arrogance about how advanced the West is, we recognize there may be something to learn from cultures that have been around a lot longer than the Industrial Age, this comparative dot on the time line of the earth's history.

  “Many people think we need to reexamine our society's view of drugs,” Chelsea added, seeing her father was still listening despite his discomfort. “Lumping all mind-altering substances together and labeling all of them 'bad' or illegal, without recognizing the potential value they offer when not abused and taken with the intention of enlightenment or therapy is stupid. It's plain stupid, Daddy! After all, one of the biggest causes of the world's problems is the way we allow our minds to override our humanity. Altering our minds, our thinking, could be the key to the transformation the world needs so badly right now.”

  Steven was impressed. He was impressed by the argument and the skill with which his daughter was making it. He also saw some wisdom in what she was saying, despite his long-standing stance on drugs. He guessed he was one of those people she referred to who lumped all non-prescription drugs together as bad. He nodded as Chelsea paused, indicating he was understanding what she was saying. She took his nod as a cue to continue.

  “There's been a lot of research that supports the immense value of individual and group use of certain sacred medicines. There was an LSD experiment under way in the 1960s, funded by major foundations and authorized by the federal government. A Canadian foundation and some people at SRI—right here in Menlo Park—were part of it…”

  “Sure, I know SRI very well,” Steven said.

  “Well, these folks were doing some pretty incredible work discovering how altered states added to human consciousness. One of the people involved was Dr. Willis Harman…”

  “What?” Steven said. “Harman…that's the book I got…the one I was telling you about…”

  “Yes, that’s him.” Chelsea waited to see if he was going to say anything else. When it was apparent he wasn't, she continued.

  “Anyway, about the time this LSD research team was really getting somewhere, Harvard’s Timothy O'Leary started making the headlines with his public advocacy for widespread use of LSD, and both the government and the foundation grants evaporated. Suddenly, the work became politically risky and lost its credibility and legitimacy. They stopped the project for fear of its being branded an illicit activity.

  “Dozens of research groups around the U.S. are working on this, Daddy, hoping to get enough evidence the government will back off its blanket condemnation of all substances in any circumstances. Another example is MDMA, a manufactured substance that gained widespread use among therapists assisting clients in opening up their emotions. In 1985, the FDA made it illegal, classifying it in the same category as heroin! Despite the risk to their licenses, therapists around the world, many here in California, are still using MDMA as a professional tool.”
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  “What's MDA stand for?” asked Steven.

  “No, Daddy, its MDMA, not MDA, and I couldn't pronounce the full pharmaceutical name if I tried. Some people call it ecstasy…”

  “That I've heard of!” said Steven emphatically. “That's the stuff you young folks liked to do at these…what do you call them? These places where you dance all night and do it…”

  “Do you mean raves, Daddy?” Chelsea asked, smiling.

  “Yeah. That's it. Raves! I've heard about those after-hour parties where everybody is stoned on ecstasy and all hell breaks loose. Now you don't mean to tell me that these parties are therapeutic sessions overseen by a psychiatrist, do you?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Of course not, Daddy. The rave parties represent the recreational use—not the therapeutic or spiritual intention—of this substance. It's like the LSD work Harman and others were doing forty or more years ago. All substances can be abused or used for different purposes, just like alcohol. From where I sit, the raves are a misuse of a powerful tool for self-examination.”

  Steven nodded. “I've heard about some tribal rituals where peyote and other…what do they call them?”

  “Well, they aren't all the same. Some indigenous people use psychedelics such as mushrooms, peyote, ayawaska. And others use less-hallucinogenic materials,” Chelsea said.

  “Whatever,” Steven said uncomfortably. “I've heard of the ancient rituals, but I guess I always thought of them as pagan and uncivilized ways of getting drunk, blasted, toasted, or blitzed. I mean look at all the trouble the Native Americans are having with public drunkenness and alcoholism nowadays. That doesn't look like a culture that is particularly conscious!”

  Chelsea looked down for a few seconds, thinking about her father's point. Then she raised her head and started to speak again.

  “The American Indians used several medicines in their culture, including peyote. But their culture was destroyed. Think of an entire culture being destroyed and imagine how you might react if everything you held as sacred was taken from you. There are new movements to revive their ceremonial practices, including sweat lodges, vision quests, and other spiritual practices once put down by the so-called civilized invaders. In fact, these revivals are taking place all around the world. For instance, there are several Brazilian churches holding spiritual rituals here in the U.S., and some include the use of special teas taken by the participants. These teas contain elements that produce altered states in which practitioners are able to deal with their own inner demons, see visions of possible futures for themselves, and visit holy guides or teachers.”

  “Really? This is going on today?” Steven said.

  “Yes, Daddy. I know. I've participated in some and know plenty of others who have done so. And your daughter isn't a junkie either. There's nothing inherently addictive about having these experiences, but they do open doors you might not see through ordinary therapies or spiritual seeking. That's where they serve our spiritual enlightenment.

  “In fact, a friend of mine who has used MDMA as a tool for spiritual growth for many years refers to his journeys as helicopter rides that provide a preview of what's up ahead, so he gets to see what's waiting for him in the future. Then he returns to where he started and takes the hike on foot, but now he knows what is possible. He has been doing this since 1985, before it was made illegal, and claims he still continues to reach states of consciousness in an ordinary state that he previously could only reach in an altered state.”

  “You mean…like it’s a guarantee?” Steven asked, frowning.

  “Oh no, Daddy. There's no guarantee at all! But he feels he gets a taste of what's possible, providing he maintains his intention and does the work necessary to get there,” Chelsea said. “That's why he says he still has to take the hike—that's his metaphor for doing the work. You know how much more confident you are when you're hiking when you know there's a destination ahead somewhere? Like you know you're not lost or going deeper into the wilderness? It's like that. These previews of coming attractions, as he likes to call them, are not automatic. You still need to do the work—your own personal spiritual inquiry—if you are to achieve that state of consciousness.”

  Chelsea then told her father about a few websites where he could learn much more about MDMA, since he was clearly still uncomfortable discussing it with her. Steven wrote down the information and told Chelsea he'd look into it and get back to her.

  Silence happened. The two of them sat in the car, both staring out into the Bay. No words were said for what seemed like a long time. Then, Chelsea glanced at her watch and said, “I need to get back to work soon, Daddy.”

  Steven sat up behind the wheel and brought his thoughts to the task at hand. His hand reached for the key in the ignition. Chelsea reached over and gently touched it before he had begun to turn the key.

  “Daddy…I didn't mean we have to leave this second. It's just that I should be back soon. They give me lots of slack about lunchtime but I've been gone about two hours now and I'm starting to feel uneasy about it.”

  Steven let his thoughts sort themselves out for a few seconds. Then he said, “Well, you know how I make decisions. They're usually pretty quick and, most of the time, pretty good. But this one is different. I've got mixed feelings about it. Let me check out the sites you mentioned and noodle it a bit. I'll get back to you in a day or so. Okay? But, something tells me that I should do this…that's my inclination right now.”

  Chelsea could hardly believe what she'd heard! She was breathless. Her heart started to race.

  “Really? That's great, Daddy. You think on it and let me know. Then, if you're still up for it, we'll set up a day. I suggest that we do it at my place and that you stay overnight. I also suggest that you be very discreet about who you tell about this, even with mother.”

  Steven stiffened. “Your mother and I always are open with each other. I have to let her know, sweetheart. Besides, I think she'll endorse this. She might even want to join us.”

  “That's why I suggested that you not tell her, but maybe you should, now that I think about it. But, this time it's just you and me. That way the work I'm suggesting can get done. If you and mother want to do it together some other time, I can probably arrange it.”

  Steven started the car and they backed away from the dock's edge. As he pulled back onto the Embarcadero, Chelsea asked him if he'd be her guest at an upcoming presentation by Timothy. In light of his new openness, he spontaneously responded—telling her that he'd check with Catherine and, if she was up for it, he was. Chelsea was again delighted to be able to share her world with her father.

  “I'll call you tomorrow, honey,” he said as he pulled up to Levi Plaza. Chelsea waved as she trotted across the brick courtyard and headed for her office. Steven pulled away and began the drive to his office, about fifteen minutes across town. The full impact of what he'd just agreed to do was hitting him and he felt his heart begin to pound. What have I done? he thought. What will I tell Catherine?

  But Catherine had been the one to suggest he talk with Chelsea in the first place! An idea occurred to him. Could it be that Catherine had known what Chelsea might suggest? She might have. Besides, he thought, she wouldn't be shocked by this idea. In fact, she'd probably be tickled by it. He chuckled to himself as he pulled into the Ventures parking lot.

  April 10: San Francisco, Ventures International Headquarters, 2:11 PM PST

  While Steven appeared to be quite focused on his work for the remainder of the afternoon, his thoughts periodically flashed back to his lunch conversation with Chelsea. Memories from the past, fifteen or sixteen years ago, were floating up.

  Chelsea took after her mother. Catherine was always interested in learning more about herself and people in general. She read lots of books that dealt with the inner person, human potential and that sort of thing. In fact, Steven recalled, she'd always been more adventurous than he about these things. In the 1970s, she'd not only done the EST training but took dozens o
f weekend workshops, retreats, and seminars and read God knows how many books. Every year she spent time at that New Age place down the Pacific coast in Big Sur.

  Catherine had been a master at working all these personal experiences into her life, so that they were hardly noticeable to Steven. It wasn't as if they were secrets from him. But she knew he wasn't particularly interested so she arranged to do them while he was traveling or otherwise occupied so they never cut into their time together. He reflected on all the work she had done on herself over the years—work that had never detracted from the family or from Steven's time with her. She was an absolute master at arranging all this, he thought.

  He and Ruth had a meeting. Then he sat down to sign a stack of correspondence. This meant signing his name about a hundred times. As he began signing the first few letters, he was fully focused. But his thoughts soon returned to his family since the signing was so mindlessly automatic.

  April 10: Hillsborough, George residence, 7:18 PM PST

  Catherine greeted him at the door, grinning.

  “Boy, do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” he said affectionately. “I'll bet you've talked to Chelsea?”

  “Yes, she called but she wouldn't give me any of the details. She said she would leave that for you to do,” said Catherine, bursting at the seams with curiosity. “But she whetted my appetite so I'm very, very eager to hear. What happened, for God's sake?”

  “Well, hold your horses, woman. First let me get a drink and get rid of my tie and stuff. I'd also like to use the bathroom, if you don't mind, my dear sweet bundle of curiosity,” he teased and kissed her on the cheek.

  As he headed for the stairs, Catherine called after him, “I'll make us some martinis while you freshen up and then I want to hear all about it, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” he mumbled good-naturedly over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs. “I'll be down in a couple of minutes. How about the backyard patio? It’s an unusually nice evening tonight….See you there in two minutes.”

  Looking out over the lawn toward the guest house, they took their first sips in unison. It was chillier than they planned sitting outside this late on a Spring evening. Both had donned jackets. After an appreciative pause, Steven looked at Catherine, who was leaning toward him, clearly curious. He smiled at her eagerness and teased her a bit more by commenting on the drinks. “Excellent, as always, my dear.”

  “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Now,” Catherine said impatiently. “So what happened?”

  Steven told Catherine about the lunch he had with Chelsea. He told her about everything Chelsea told him about the work she did with people privately, apart from her job at Levi. He did so with some uneasiness. He’d had time to digest the idea of not only doing this crazy thing but telling Catherine what he was going to do. But he was still somewhat uneasy talking about it. “

  These ‘altered states.’ Do you mean she uses drugs of some kind?” asked Catherine apprehensively.

  “Yes. She told me about all the traditions of people throughout the ages, Native Americans, and others, who have historically used various substances they considered sacred, as part of spiritual rituals, so the context and the intent is for introspection and enlightenment,” he said.

  “But they are technically illegal drugs, right?” Catherine said.

  “Well, I'm not sure they're all illegal,” he said. “Certainly, some are. Like LSD and MDMA. Have you heard of MDMA?”

  “Is that the same as ecstasy?” Catherine asked. “If it is, I know of several people who have used it and claim to have had major breakthroughs in their personal development as a result. I must admit to some personal curiosity myself, but I have never gotten very close. It's got a bad rap some years ago because it was used a lot during rave parties….”

  Steven raised his hand slightly indicating he knew where she was going. “Yes, I know dear…Chelsea told me all that.”

  “Did she tell you that there are psychotherapists who still use MDMA despite it being a scheduled substance?” asked Catherine. “Some feel the advantage to their clients is worth the risk to their licenses! In fact, the people I know who use it therapeutically actually purchase it from a psychotherapist in the North Bay area.”

  Steven was amazed his wife was so informed about this. He had much to learn from her too, he realized, more than he ever dreamed.

  “Well, since you know so much, what do you think of your husband doing a journey with your youngest daughter?” There! He'd said it. It was out, and he watched Catherine's face intently, looking for any frown or wrinkle in her expression. At first, she looked up to the night sky almost angelically. Then her face changed and showed some concern, almost worry. Finally, a smile appeared on her face and a twinkle glimmered in her eyes. Her eyes turned to him and she took his hand. She stood up and gestured for him to join her. He set down his martini and rose. She put his arms around her and placed her arms around his neck. She gave him a big kiss.

  “Darling, I'd love it if you and I tried it together. From what I hear, the experience can be incredible for close relationships. But my intuition says you should do it with Chelsea first. In fact, maybe I should ask her about doing it with me too, separate from you. After all, we are two different people and probably have our own private issues to deal with,” Catherine said.

  Steven was already amazed at his wife's wisdom and her innate natural knowing, her intuition. Now he was amazed at her openness, and her gustiness in trying new things. He managed to ask, “Then you think I should do it?”

  “That’s for you to say, my dearest. However, I'm delighted that you are up for it, and I'm really impressed with my little girl for having the chutzpah to even propose it to her conservative, 'just say no' dad. That took great guts and tremendous confidence. Of course, I'm also proud of you, my knight in shining armor. This is taking some courage on your part too! You know, Chelsea must feel so validated right now, so accepted by her father. I'm so happy for you both!”

  “God I love you,” he told her. Steven could not remember ever feeling so much affection for Catherine as in that moment. He couldn't imagine how it could get any better between them.

  April 10: San Bruno, California, Skyline Apartments, #309, 9:45 PM

  This was Jean’s third night in her new apartment. She wanted to move into the city proper, but prices were too high. So she'd settled on a nice view apartment overlooking the San Francisco International Airport and San Francisco Bay, up near Skyline Boulevard on the western edge of the city of San Bruno, a bedroom community a few miles south.

  Having her own apartment was so different from sharing a house near campus. Jean had never had her own place. The apartment had two bedrooms so she also had a den/office if she elected to go that way. Right now it was a store room for all her unpacked boxes, her bicycle and some things she had in storage. She might take in a roommate. She’d try it on her own for a while and see how she liked it.

  Terry had taken a job near her home in Chicago. She had moved east a few days earlier. She would miss Terry a lot. They'd become real pals through their graduate days at Stanford. They'd promised to stay in touch and Jean wasn’t concerned they’d lose contact. But she did miss Terry already, despite her newfound independence.

  She'd just about finished unpacking some boxes and was looking forward to buying some more furniture with her next paycheck. For now, she was ready for a little TV and then bed. She had to be in the office by six AM, so an early night would be prudent.