Steven's Choice

by John Renesch

  Chapter Five: THE JOURNEY

  May 20: San Francisco, Marina District, Chelsea George's apartment, 11:45 AM PST

  They sat down on cushions Chelsea had strategically placed on the floor between the couch and a large overstuffed chair. The manner in which she had arranged this nest of sorts placed them facing each other.

  A few minutes earlier, they had both swallowed the tablets Chelsea had obtained for them. His dosage had been slightly larger, since he was considerably bigger and weighed much more than she. Ingestion of the 'sacrament' had been preceded by a brief indoctrination, in which Chelsea provided an overview of what the experience would be like. He hadn’t eaten any food since last evening as she suggested. By reviewing how she usually did her journeys she set up a context for them to be open to insight, powerful new experiences and emotions that was significantly different from the recreational user who might be seeking new thrills, a “high” of some sort, or to avoid or numb out some unwanted emotions.

  Steven found Chelsea’s preamble very reassuring. He was surprisingly comfortable having his daughter in charge of this. He rarely found himself in situations any more where he wasn’t directly in command or was being deferred to.

  She led them in a meditation in which they asked for physical safety, enlightenment, and openness. Chelsea always asked for safety because they were taking in a substance foreign to the body…it just made good sense to ask for a journey free of any unpleasantness. She asked for willingness to be touched by Spirit, to open and remain open to wisdom and wonder from other realms.

  She also gave Steven a pad and pen, explaining that he might have insights he'd like to write down. She explained the need to drink plenty of water even though it might not seem like a priority at the time. Finally, she let him know she would be on her own journey while he was involved in his introspection but if he needed to talk or interact in any way she was there for him and he shouldn't be concerned about asking her for anything.

  As they adjusted their pillows and settled in, Steven noticed how close his face and Chelsea’s were going to be for the afternoon—less than two feet between them. The thought of being this close to her for so long felt a bit uncomfortable. A long loving hug, a walk in the park arm in arm, even having her curled up in his arms occasionally on long trips were more familiar ways they'd been physically close in the past. This face-to-face closeness was strange. But, he reasoned, I’m going with the program and she's in charge. He accepted the discomfort and proceeded to nestle into his side of the nest they were building together.

  “Are you going to be okay with this, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Am I that transparent?” he asked her with a nervous smile.

  “Well, its okay to be a little uncomfortable. After all, you are doing something I never dreamed you’d ever do, and you’re doing it with me, your daughter! Is this setup going to be too much for you?” she asked again.

  “Honey, your old man is a sport. And, in this experience, you are the boss. I’m totally in your hands.” he said.

  “I’m honored and flattered, Daddy,” Chelsea said. “Thank you for your trust. It feels great.”

  “How long before we start feeling the effects?” he asked her as he relaxed into a semi-reclining position.

  “Well, it can vary depending on several factors,” she told him. “Usually it takes between twenty and forty minutes for the rush to hit you. But it can take longer depending on how big you are, how much food is in your stomach, and sometimes the amount you take. These are the physical factors. But there are also psychological elements as well—more difficult to anticipate or prove, of course.”

  “Like what?” he asked with a curiosity Chelsea found amusing.

  “Well, one is the degree to which you resist surrendering to the experience. I’ve seen people go all day and never really allow themselves to move into the open-heartedness that wants to be there. It's too bad, because their bodies pay the price of ingesting this material but their rational minds won’t let them have the benefit of the whole experience. It's kinda like buying tickets to a play and staying in the restroom throughout the entire performance.”

  “Well, I think I’m open to this—at least as best I can determine. What’s another psychological factor, honey?” he asked.

  “There are two other situations I’ve seen. One was where this guy was too focused on the logistics of the space and got robbed of the experience. It was aboard a boat—a beautiful setting for this kind of experience, you’d think. While they were tied to some trees in this small inlet, the wind was blowing pretty hard and, as owner of the boat, he worried about how secure it was going to be in its moorings. His attention was elsewhere so he missed the experience. Everyone else had a marvelous time.

  “Then there have been a few times when one person has a very powerful transforming experience—a real blowout, full of insight and release—while the other person doesn't seem to feel anything. Conveniently, people are usually quite content to be there to support the person having the profound time. I remember a friend telling me about when he'd planned a journey one New Year's Eve. At the last minute, a woman friend asked if he’d like some companionship. He said yes, and she showed up that evening planning to be just an observer, primarily supporting him. He took the usual dosage. She changed her mind at the last minute and decided to take just a little bit, hardly enough to make it worthwhile, or so it seemed.

  “As the time went by, it became quite apparent that she was starting to have some powerful insights, while he found little effect. He took an additional dosage in an attempt to achieve the experience he was expecting, until he finally realized that the evening was going to be about her, and his role was to support her! So the tables were turned.

  “It was a total reversal of what they had both expected!” Chelsea said. “It was amazing, Daddy. When our hearts are open, we humans can really be accommodating and supportive of one another, you know.”

  She paused again. Then she checked herself to see if she was beginning to feel anything yet.

  “Daddy, are you feeling anything?”

  “No, honey,” he said. “But then, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to feel.”

  “Let’s be quiet awhile. All this talking tends to keep us in our heads. I mean…”

  “That’s okay, Chelsea, I know what that means.” Steven smiled at her.

  They sat quietly. Chelsea closed her eyes so she could be with herself more easily. She realized how nervous she was—to be sharing this experience with her dad! How great, but how nerve-racking too! She recalled all her journeying friends wishing they could do it with their parents. She remembered Claudette, who'd done it last year with her mom, and how their relationship had blossomed after that.

  Finally, she felt her mind calming down. Daddy will have whatever experience he’s going to have, she thought. That is him over there. I’m over here. She had to let go of the need to be his caretaker during the experience. She wanted to have her own journey, with him, but not miss out on her own experience.

  She took two deep inhales and slowly exhaled, keeping her eyes closed.

  Steven checked his daughter occasionally, taking his cues from her. His nervousness was less obvious than Chelsea’s. After all, he realized, he’d had years more experience in hiding his feelings.

  The music began to enter his consciousness. He focused on the melody. Boy, it was moving music, he thought. Was this what New Age music sounded like? He’d never listened to it before now, certainly not with this intense a focus.

  “What’s this music?” he asked.

  “Its my favorite—'Fairy Ring.' I can sometimes recreate the ecstasy experience just by playing this CD,” she told him in a calm voice. She went back into her silence and noticed the early signs of the drug coming on. She reminded herself that one of the richest times during a journey was from when the effects were just starting—the peak, usually after a period of about twenty minutes. Here was where she had found most of her va
luable insights, had let go of most of her repressed emotions and discovered more about herself than at any other time during the four or five or six hours she’d be under the influence.

  “Daddy,” she said in a near-whisper, “I’m beginning to feel it, and I’d like to be quiet for a bit. I’m right here if you want to talk or need me, but I’d like to go inside a bit now, okay?”

  “Sure, honey,” he said, keeping his apprehension about her leaving him to himself. He checked himself and wasn’t aware of anything going on. His started to worry—about what people would think if they heard he’d taken drugs, especially with his daughter! If this ever got out to his Harvard buddies…

  He was glad he hadn't brought the Mercedes today. He'd rented a midsize car to leave parked on the street outside, just in case anyone might recognize one of the family cars. Suddenly he was aware of being afraid—afraid of what might be about to happen, afraid about Chelsea leaving him on his own, afraid about what his friends might think.

  The fear grew, despite his attempts to suppress it. He couldn’t recall ever feeling fear this intensely without any immediate physical threat pending. He'd learned to ignore these feelings before they ever got this severe, but it wasn’t working this time. He debated saying something to Chelsea. Finally he touched her bare left arm which was resting between their bodies His touch was tender and soft, so as not to startle her.

  She opened her eyes and smiled. “Hi, Daddy. How’re you doin’?”

  “I’m embarrassed to admit it to my little girl,” he said, “but your old man is afraid—and it's getting worse.”

  Chelsea opened her eyes wider and reached across her father’s chest, allowing her left arm to rest across his body. “I’m right here, Mr. George. Wanna talk about it?”

  “I’m not sure what to say, but the feeling is getting very intense, growing…as we speak…God…it’s intense!” Steven was really worried now. He was no longer in control of the feeling welling up inside. He had always been able to control his feelings, meaning that he never allowed them to get beyond mere sentiment except when it came to his love for Catherine. He could always circumvent any emotions that might arise in him, something he learned as a kid. Whenever he started feeling any deep emotions he was able to shut them down, a true “John Wayne kind of guy.” Yes, indeed, he was a charter member of the “real men don’t cry” club.

  But right now, the feelings had him and they seemed to be running away with him. His breathing was heavy now, he realized, and there was this speedy rush throughout his body. It felt like his blood had accelerated in his veins.

  “Honey, tell me this is okay…I mean, I’m not having a heart attack or anything, right?”

  Chelsea could see the alarm in her father’s eyes and slid her left hand over to rest just above his heart. With her right hand she took his left arm and lifted it up and gently placed it over her heart. Her hand remained on top of his as they mirrored each other in this pose.

  “You’re okay, Daddy. It’s beginning to come on for you. The rush you feel in your body, the breathing, these are all the usual physical effects. Let them be, just let them be. Now what’s goin’ on in here?” she asked, patting his chest with her fingers.

  “I’m not feeling ecstatic, that’s for sure. Are you sure this is okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes, it's going to be okay. So, what are you feeling now, Daddy?” she asked.

  “It feels more like terror, honey…Like…I’ve never been this scared in my life!”

  “Okay…let's look at this fear a bit, okay?” Chelsea suggested quietly. “As I told you before, emotions are likely to surface, particularly those emotions one has kept a lid on for some time. I’ve never seen you afraid much less even anxious so it doesn’t surprise me that fear might come up for you.”

  God, is she calm, he thought to himself. He felt some reassurance. This was new, he thought. Little baby is reassuring her dad—that’s a switch! He managed a small smile.

  “What’s that, Daddy? What was the smile about?” she asked.

  “I was amused at…at you helping me calm down…after all the years of being daddy’s little girl,” he answered. He felt his jaw clenching up as he spoke. The words were taking much more work to get out. He really needed to focus to get a full sentence out.

  She touched his jaw and let her fingers slide around from ear to ear and under his chin. “Is your jaw tightening up, Daddy?”

  “Yeah…it is…like I’m clenching my teeth,” he said slowly.

  “Stop thinking so hard. It's harder to think in this state. It's much easier to feel. Feel your emotions and whatever is going on with them. Let your mind relax and your jaw will do the same. Now, where’s this fear, big guy? Where is it located? Can you find it in your body someplace?”

  She was good, he thought to himself. Damned if she hadn’t managed to calm him down. Her demeanor was calming him. He started to focus within himself. “I’m going to close my eyes, honey, okay?”

  “There’s no need to maintain eye contact, Daddy—it’s not rude or anything. You do what you need to do in order to get what’s going on in there. Sure, close your eyes and only talk if you have something you really want to say. I’m right here. Feel my hand on your chest…feel your hand on mine…I’m right here anytime you want to talk…right here.”

 

  As soon as Chelsea stopped talking, Steven’s attention returned to his body. He had a passing realization that the act of listening took intellectual energy, so whether he was listening to someone talk or talking himself, it still required him to stay in his mind, attached to his thinking. In silence, he could respond to whatever was going on. Now he felt the fear again, which quickly turned into pure terror—an emotion he could not recall ever feeling. Perhaps, he thought, he had simply never allowed it to come to his attention.

  After spending several minutes feeling the terror in his body, it started moving through his torso and changing in intensity. Then he started feeling enormous grief, and loss. He allowed these feelings to be present and didn’t start thinking about it again…the grief became even more intense. His body started to tremble….he felt it to his very core. He began to sob, slightly at first, as if he were trying to muffle it. And then he felt Chelsea’s fingers play piano on his chest and he allowed his sobs to go unmuffled.

  The next thing he knew, he was bawling uncontrollably. All self-consciousness disappeared as he was totally absorbed by the grief. Like a burst dam spilling its contents into a valley, tears gushed from him unashamedly. He could not recall ever feeling so deeply. It was a complete somatic experience….completely consuming! How strange he could have reached his age and never have had feelings this intense.

  Chelsea was right there, completely and wholeheartedly. He never opened his eyes to see if she was looking at him, but it really made no difference. He realized how sentiment can disguise real emotion, and how society prefers sentiment and sympathy to genuine emotion and empathetic responses.

  The intensity lasted for quite some time. Gradually, however, his body stopped vibrating—a phenomenon he interpreted as a kind of healing—healing of something that had been buried inside him for quite some time.

  Quiet descended upon him, and a serenity that felt very peaceful, particularly after all the intense emotional release he’d gone through. He started to bask in the glow of this new serenity, welcoming any other feelings that might want to surface.

  Suddenly he became aware that life was all about choices, millions and millions of choices. Even not choosing was a choice. Perhaps thousands of times a day people made choices, consciously or unconsciously. And every choice led to an outcome of some sort. Wow! Steven was bowled over by this realization: that life was filled with choices and no other person on planet Earth would make the same choices he was making now or ever would make before he died. Out of over six billions souls, no one on Earth would make the same combination of choices. He found this absolutely fascinating at this moment.

  Th
e way I live my life, the way I run the company, the way I relate with my family…these are all choices I make several times each hour, maybe each minute! Boy, this puts the responsibility for one’s life squarely where it belongs. When I realize each choice I make is mine alone, it is impossible to blame these choices on anyone else. And, it makes me accountable for the impact I have in the world. It makes me accountable for my legacy.

  As he pondered this giant truth, he started to experience being held by some indescribable force, like a magnetic field. It was as if he was being supported and nourished from below and above, from in front and behind, and from inside as well as outside. This is the Divine Mother he found himself realizing. She has me in her care and my life will never be the same!

  At first, he thought he would share this experience with Chelsea but then, quickly, he checked up. I wish to cherish this experience completely, he thought briefly, blessed with the wisdom that attempting to put the experience into words would require thinking to occur…so this profound and highly-personal experience might be reduced to a story and he’d be left with a narrative instead of this rich experience.

  He stayed with the experience and this powerful insight about choices. He sat with it for what could have been hours. He lost all sense of time. Then a deep emotion rose in his breast. God, he loved Chelsea right then! An overwhelming wave of peace and love came over him, and he felt himself transported by it to an incredible place. That's why they call this ecstasy! he realized. He felt his entire body relax. He had no idea he was holding so much tension in his body. His feet relaxed. His legs relaxed. He could feel the tension leave them like air exiting a rubber inner tube. His arms and hands relaxed as his torso sagged a bit further into the pillows beneath him. He felt totally comfortable, like he was being held in the palm of God.

  I’m sure glad we made this nest so comfortable, he thought. He felt like a limp, wet towel, with absolutely no desire to hold any tension anywhere in his body, to move around at all, or to even imagine a more comfortable position to be in.

  He suddenly remembered that Chelsea had asked about his feelings. This was very unfamiliar territory for him. Steven had little awareness of what emotions he was actually feeling. He knew it was currently fashionable for men to show their “feminine side”—it was the root of many jokes when the guys got together. He’d even seen books about the “softer side of management” which he'd dismissed as misplaced New Age bullshit.

  But this ecstasy stuff made it easier. He noticed how readily emotional he was. The intense feeling of love he was feeling for Chelsea, the intense fear he was having when the effects first began. This stuff really does what she said it would do, he thought. I…what was I going to do?

  Steven was having trouble keeping his thoughts on track…. then he was amused at the idea of keeping thoughts on tracks. Like a train, he chuckled to himself. He really liked to be in control of his thinking, his thoughts. Actually, he realized, he really liked to be in control of everything, to always know he had a firm grasp of the situation or, for that matter, any situation.

  He lay there in deep reverie for several minutes, allowing himself the luxury of just being, no thinking. He felt so good about everything right now. But what was that fear stuff?

  “Honey?” he said softly. She opened her eyes slightly and smiled at him angelically. “Okay to talk a little?”

  “Sure, Daddy.” Chelsea wiggled her torso a bit to sit more upright after finding herself having slumped into a near reclining position on her side of their nest.

  “I want to tell you how much I love you and how proud I am to be your father,” Steven said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as he spoke.

  Chelsea squirmed a bit, repositioning herself, taking in her father’s words. Tears welled in her eyes. But she realized these wonderful words just spoken by her father—words she'd dreamed he would say to her someday—had made her a bit uneasy. Was she squirming around out of her discomfort at receiving this unexpected compliment from her father? How could that be? she wondered. Perhaps she needed to open up some more—to let in the love her father had been feeling but couldn’t verbalize until now.

  “Daddy, I’m so happy you told me that!” she said. “Even if I had to get you high to say it,” she added with a soft giggle.

  “Well, I’ve always felt it, but I guess I don’t say it very often, sweetheart.”

  “Daddy, how about never! I cannot recall you ever saying you were proud of me,” she said.

  “Oh honey, I can’t believe I never said that. Why, that’s sad if I never did. I’m so sorry, darling.” Steven’s face took on a sorrowful look as he rubbed his right hand up and down her forearm. He extended his fingers to catch the tears on her cheeks. Chelsea reached over and pulled a Kleenex from the box she'd placed nearby. She mopped her face and neck in one swipe and returned her hand to cover his They looked into each others' eyes and maintained their gaze for several minutes in total silence, with only the music playing in the background.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever looked into your eyes for more than a second or two, honey,” he whispered to his young daughter. “I’m thoroughly enjoying seeing you so completely, and am surprisingly comfortable staying with you this long.”

  “This stuff is great at lifting our guards, our defense mechanisms, so we can do this, connect really deeply. To really be with each other in a meaningful way, not just as ships passing in the night like we usually are. This altered state relaxes the gates we put up, the armor, to protect ourselves from any variety of perceived or imagined dangers we’ve faced over the years. Some are real at the time, and some are imagined, but most are never coming back, making the walls we've built totally unnecessary.

  “I like these journeys because I get previews of what life can be like without the guardedness. Later, I can have the same experience without taking anything. It's great!” she said.

  Steven was still gazing admiringly at his daughter. “I never thought I’d say this, sweetheart, but I think it's great too,” he said with a slight smirk.

  They smiled at their shared appreciation of the “sacrament” they were sharing and continued to gaze into each other's eyes. Steven was amazed at how alive Chelsea’s eyes were. A light seemed to come from them like he’d never seen before. But then, he thought, when have I ever spent this long looking at them like this?

  Chelsea was amazed at her dad. First that he’d even do this with her and then that he was so present with her, so completely with her, she couldn’t help feeling absolutely fantastic. His eyes were radiating—his magnificent blue eyes were afire. Windows of the soul, she thought. It was so true.

  “I know it's really wonderful right now, Daddy, but I’d like to use this openness we’ve created together to examine anything that isn’t normally apparent, like that fear you were experiencing earlier. As I’ve said, what comes up at the very beginning of these journeys is often the major breakthrough of the day, and I think you have some fear you’ve never admitted to yourself,” she said.

  “Now you’re my shrink?” he said with a bit of sarcasm. Chelsea didn’t take offense. There was a slight break in the connection between them, however, a break they both noticed. Steven offered an apology. “That was a bit sarcastic, wasn’t it, Chelsea? I’m sorry for that. You’ve been my guide in this and I trust you completely. I don’t know where that wisecrack came from, but I didn’t mean it and I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay, Daddy. I didn’t get as upset as I usually do, probably because I know that was not really you speaking,” she said. “It was your way of deflecting my inquiry—a way of protecting yourself—you know, like we were just saying. You could call it your negative ego.”

  “I’m not very comfortable dealing with things I’m not knowledgeable about, as you probably know by now, my dear,” he said. “It’s probably about not being in control.”

  “Say, you are pretty wise about this stuff, Daddy,” Chelsea smiled. “Have you been studying psychology on the si
de?”

  “Your old man isn’t stupid, sweetheart. He’s just used to being in charge and running the whole show. But I have been on a very steep learning curve recently ever since this book arrived and I began this introspective adventure. Psychology, behaviorism, systemic patterns…all this is fascinating stuff!

  “Now, Let me look at what you asked about and see what is there. It certainly is easier to look inside under these circumstances, so I might as well take advantage of it.”

  Steven closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them quickly. “One quick thing, honey. I sure am glad we are doing this together, and I am absolutely delighted that you are pushing me about this. Just wanted to say that for the record.” Then he closed his eyes again.

  “Oh, one more thing. You aren't the person who sent me that book, are you?” he asked. Chelsea gave him a puzzled look, confused by the question. “Never mind,” he added. “I'll be quiet now, I promise.”

  Chelsea was in heaven. In her wildest dreams she couldn’t have imagined her father and her having this wonderful a time, being so open—him being so trusting of her. What a day, she thought. What a day! Her eyes closed as well.

  Steven pushed through his reluctance to go looking for anything other than the bliss and joy he was feeling, and searched for the feelings he was having earlier—the primal terror. Its intensity alone was terrifying to him, a man raised on stoicism and denial of any emotions whatsoever. John Wayne movies and unfeeling cowboys were the ideals he'd adopted as a kid. And his childhood had been bad enough without having to feel things too.

  He soon felt the emotions returning, not as intensely as before, but they were creeping back in, almost as if they'd accepted his invitation to return. Having Chelsea’s reassurances earlier and feeling them for a second time allowed him to be a bit more relaxed. The intensity built as he let it in. It felt more okay now, he thought. The first time was such an unexpected surprise; he'd panicked. This time it was more familiar. Plus, this time he was inviting the feelings back in—they weren’t invading him without invitation like before.

  Aha! he realized. It was about control. I panicked when it wasn’t my idea these feelings revealed themselves. But now that it is my idea to check them out, I’m more relaxed. That’s very interesting, he said to himself.

  Then his childhood found itself in his thoughts. Where did this come from? he wondered. He decided to go with the flow, and allowed himself to go deeper and deeper into the experience of being a young child, fearful about his survival and wondering how he was going to cope with the situation he was in.

  Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with the sadness he felt for this little boy. Tears streamed down his checks as he allowed the intense emotions to come up—feelings for this kid who was so frightened, so inexperienced, so vulnerable, so susceptible—feelings for himself as a child. Wow, what empathy he was feeling. He couldn't recall ever feeling so much self-love or caring for himself. He was falling in love with this little boy, loving him like never before. A question came into his mind: Should he feel so much love for himself? Was this okay? It seemed like too much, like narcissism. Then a voice inside said, “Will you just shut up, George!” and he knew his mind was fighting the experience, just like Chelsea had warned.

  He settled back and soaked up the love—this little boy, so cute, so vulnerable and innocent, so needful of adult caring and love, who felt so lonely, so alone, so helpless, but didn’t know how to feel these feelings. He had no role models, other than his cowboy movie heroes. While his half-brother, Richard, was chronologically older than he, Steven always took the older brother role in taking care and protecting his half brother. He realized he could see early tendencies with Richard avoiding responsibility even at that age…something he never saw before. Could this be where his alcoholism started, he wondered. His thinking started to obsess and he quickly returned to the state of thoughtless bliss he had been enjoying. God, it was easy for him to get lost in his mind….scary!

  So, back to his childhood, he did what he thought older people would do, acted “as if” he were an adult even though he was too young to go to school yet. He toughed it out. No one got to see the little boy cry or complain. No one got to see him soft or needy, not ever, not ever.

  Steven was aware of a slight movement in Chelsea’s warm hand over his heart. He peeked out of one eye and saw her looking at him warmly.

  “Just checkin’ on how you’re doing there,” she said.

  “Boy,” he whispered, “am I in the midst of something that’s wonderful and horrible at the same time.”

  “Want to talk or stay with it?” she asked.

  After he pondered her question, he said, “I think I want to stay with it. Right now I’m having a lovefest with a little boy who needs a lot of TLC.”

  Chelsea had a strong intuitive feeling about what was going on and nodded, closed her eyes, stroked her father's hand over her heart and rubbed his chest with her other hand. She was having a wonderful journey herself, despite the attention she was paying to her father’s progress. She was very pleased he was having such a rich introspective experience and that she was having a thoroughly enjoyable time herself. Her focus of the past twenty or so minutes had been the connection she felt to everything that was alive—other people, plants, animals, the earth, everything. It was like all living things were her siblings!

  She remembered the need to keep themselves hydrated, something even she tended to forget, despite her experience doing journey work. She took a long drink of the distilled water and refilled the glass. Gently, she nudged her father and offered him the glass. He raised his eyebrows and took the glass, drank nearly all the water, handed it back, and closed his eyes again. She refilled it from the pitcher, took another sip and returned her hand to the large hairy hand on her bosom.

  Meanwhile, Steven was still falling in love with himself as a youngster. He and Catherine had originally wanted to have a boy and a girl, but they'd gotten the two girls. And Steven wouldn’t have changed a thing, but loving himself this way seemed something akin to having a young son. He was feeling more aspects of this love now, a combination of empathy and caring to the point where he felt enormous sadness for the boy simultaneously. What an interesting combination, he said to himself with some mystification.

  Aha! Another insight. This was compassion, he realized. He was unfamiliar with the feeling. In fact, he might have avoided it for most of his life. After all, to have compassion for people meant you had to really care for them, and that was very difficult in the land of cowboy heroes and tough business deals. Now he felt conflicted again, like when he was reading that damn book. Could he afford to be compassionate as long as he was running a company the size and scope of Ventures?

  Ugh, business thoughts, he thought and returned to being with himself as a little boy. It occurred to Steven that the intense fear he'd felt at the onset of the journey was partially due to what psychologists called repressed emotion. But it was also due to his unfamiliarity with emotions in general. Also, there was a fear that the intensity alone might be a threat.

  Chelsea opened her eyes a bit to check on her charge and noticed that her father had gradually slumped down into a near horizontal position.

  “Daddy,” she whispered ever so quietly, so as not to shock him back into the present.

  Steven slowly opened his eyes and saw her looking at him inquisitively.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” she said softly, “but I just noticed how we've both managed to get lower and lower in this position—we're almost on our backs. We need to sit up a bit.” She repositioned herself to demonstrate. Steven started to comply without questioning her, but she felt a need to explain anyway.

  “We've found that if you get too horizontal in this state, you tend to zone out, like a drunk who won’t go to sleep. There’s more awareness, you’re able to stay more present, if you keep yourself somewhat vertical,” she said. “And here. Take some more water as long as we’re moving around.”<
br />
  “Sure, but I need to go to the bathroom first.” He rose with some difficulty. Steven became aware that his body was quite damp and the linen surrounding him was as well. Then he remembered that Chelsea had said people experience temperature swings in their bodies, sometimes quite warm leading to perspiration, other times chills and wanting a blanket. With unsure steps, he proceeded down the hall.

  As he was about to exit the bathroom, he glanced in the mirror and saw himself for the first time.

  At first he was shocked. His eyes were dilated, giving the impression that he was frightened. This caused him some anxiety at first. That’s funny, he thought. I’m frightened at seeing myself frightened. His amusement brought forth an ear-to-ear grin. There, he thought, that’s better.

  He settled back into the nest with Chelsea.

  “Quite an adventure, eh, Daddy?” Chelsea said.

  “Sure enough, darling daughter,” he said. “Sounds like you know what it's like.”

  She lifted up the blanket, reached for his left hand and laid it on her chest again. “I love your hand being here, Daddy. It feels really, really good,” she said.

  He smiled in agreement, placed her left hand on his own chest, and repositioned his free hand over hers. They closed their eyes and re-entered their inner worlds once again.

  Steven was thrown back to his fear. Shit, he thought. I thought all this stuff was over!

  Chelsea felt something going on with her father and asked, “How’s it goin’? Want to talk?”

  Steven was in a quandary. Should he be with this heavy emotion by himself or share it with his daughter? After an awkward pause, he said, “Honey, maybe this is where you can help me. I feel stuck here.”

  “Sure, Daddy. What’s goin’ on?” she said.

  “The fear is back. And it seems to want me to go past it, but I don’t know how to do that. I hate it when I don’t know how to do things. And what’s beyond it anyway? Maybe it's more than I can handle. I don’t know, and I’m really scared!”

  “That’s great, Daddy. Really. It is. Will you allow me to coach you?” she asked.

  Steven was keenly aware of Chelsea’s command of the situation. He felt surprisingly confident in her ability to coach him. His lack of confidence had more to do with whether he would survive any kind of further probing without major trauma.

  “Honey, my concern is not about you or your ability to coach me, but with my own capacity to get through it. I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather be with right now than you.”

  Chelsea couldn’t remember ever being so in touch with the part of herself that was nurturing, motherly, so full of nourishment and caring. This must be just like how Daddy's mom felt, she thought. And then she remembered the drunkalogue stories about Grandma Elizabeth, and realized her father probably had never had this experience.

  She suddenly felt enormous compassion for him. All at once he became a child in pain, and not her dad. Without thinking, she sat up and asked her father to do likewise. He conformed dutifully to her instructions. She took one of her pillows and placed it over his lap. Then she lifted her left leg over the pillow, so she was straddling him, her torso and face just inches from his. She felt so maternal toward her father right now. Chelsea looked directly into his eyes and started to take him into her arms.

  With so little room separating them, Steven was becoming uncomfortable, and he started to resist. But before he could argue or offer any physical resistance, Chelsea had completely embraced him. His body went rigid at first, as if bracing for a blow. And then, without any warning, he found himself bursting into tears. Huge sobs racked his body as he felt the sensation of being held so completely, so maternally. His chest heaved uncontrollably as he observed himself crying completely out of control. His heavy sobbing and the cascade of tears went on for nearly a minute before his mind started trying to figure out what was happening.

  “I don’t know…What’s this?…Can’t help it!…I’m sorry, honey. Whew—is this something or what?” he muttered.

  “Daddy. Don’t say anything—please! Just be with those feelings. Let them out, for God’s sake. Let them go. You don’t have to know why they're coming up or what they're about, just feel them! Please. Let them out!” Chelsea knew, somehow, this experience had touched him at a deeper level than he’d ever allowed before.

  Steven’s heavy sobbing returned. He felt like he was discharging toxins from his body, like vomiting when he was sick to his stomach. Part of him was in huge discomfort, racked with spasms and feeling a potpourri of emotions streaming from somewhere deep inside, and judging himself for being so out of control. This part of him was embarrassed, especially doing this in front of his daughter, and he wanted to regain his composure. Another part—the observer—was watching this drama unfold, cheering on the process with a certainty that this was a major therapeutic event, that he was being healed on an emotional level, that he would forever be a new person, that he was finally growing up.

  Chelsea’s words continued to come in short, encouraging bursts, allowing him to stay in contact with her while he went through this painful purging. His lost childhood was being mourned. The flow of tears picked up, as he recognized how he'd been forced to grow up immediately, to abandon his childhood. He was now fully aware of his rage at the entire situation, as well as the personal anger he'd been suppressed over how his parents had abandoned him—his father by leaving physically and his mother by drinking and leaving emotionally. They had conspired—no doubt entirely unconsciously—to leave him alone to care for his half-brother. This fear was the fifty-year old terror he hadn’t allowed himself to feel at the time. Had he allowed himself to feel it all then, he never would have survived it, he reasoned. And the old losses—boy had he lost big time! He'd lost his childhood—not being properly parented, not having fun and playing with the other kids who had more functional parents.

  The secrets he kept inside! Who could he tell? Who could he go to for help? After all, he felt he was at fault, so he had to fix things. It was his job to make things better, and boy, did he try. The feeling of shame came up, and another series of sobs accompanied by yet another wave of tears gushing from his red, swollen eyes. Chelsea was right there with him, rubbing his head and neck, kissing his face just like he wished Elizabeth had done a half-century ago.

  “That’s it. Let it out. Stay with it, Steven,” she kept saying, cheering him on. Neither of them had even noticed she'd just called him by his first name.

  “You have all the time in the world,” she told him reassuringly, holding him like an infant son. “Just let it out…all that hurt…all that stuff…old stuff…old, old stuff you don’t want in there anymore…good riddance…get it out…that’s it…keep it flowing 'til it's all gone…that’s it…”

  She rocked back and forth with him and they stayed that way for many minutes….

  After what seemed like an eternity, he managed to say, “Boy, there was an eruption from the core….” His voice wavered and he felt short of breath. “…. just like a volcano.”

  “You were great, Daddy. Letting all that shit out was terrific! That’s the crap that gives people heart attacks and cancer…all that bottled-up garbage from the past. Good riddance, I say!”

  She handed him a fresh glass of water.

  “Here…Time for another drink, Daddy.”

  They both sat there, having returned to their previous positions along side each other. As Chelsea put her father’s hand over her heart where it had resided most of the afternoon and wriggled underneath it, Steven became suddenly aware that his palm was on top of his daughter’s breasts. He resisted the immediate knee-jerk reaction to lift it, while he sat with the realization. He said nothing at first, but allowed his thoughts to have their way with him for a while. His mind told him he should remove his hand because he was touching his daughter inappropriately, while his heart was delighted in being connected hand-to-heart as they had been all day.

  He had no sexual feelings about hav
ing her bosom under his hand and wrist. In fact, he couldn’t remember having any sexual feelings at any time during this experience. Amazed at this realization, Steven recounted the day and, sure enough, he couldn’t remember having any sexual thoughts about anyone, including Catherine, old girlfriends, or the usual suspects of his fantasies. This must be the longest I’ve ever gone without some conscious thought about sex, he thought, and I've been nestled next to a beautiful, vibrant, young woman all day with my hand lying on her chest. In fact, for a time, she was sitting on my crotch! God, I must have been dead down there!

  Chelsea sensed his inner debate with himself and inquired, “Seems like something is going on in there,” pointing to his head.

  “Well…” Steven muttered. “Uh…I’m not sure how to say this, honey…it's my hand on your chest like this…I just realized I’m touching your breasts…”

  “Not quite so, Daddy,” she interrupted. “You aren’t touching my breasts…your hand is lying on my breast bone, over my heart. The nature of this journey is the opening of the heart and its only natural for us to connect this way. This isn’t about sex at all, dad, so you can drop all that shit. “

  He loved his daughters, and had enjoyed rough-housing with them when they were young. He'd enjoyed the touching and the affection they all shared. But then puberty had come and his rules, his own self-imposed rules, demanded he stopped touching them.

  He was sad about losing that kind of physical, nonsexual contact with his children. Chelsea noticed his face and knew what to do intuitively. She took his left hand, which he'd pulled up near his own throat while they had been talking about his touching her, and caressed it lovingly.

  With his hand wrapped in both of hers, Chelsea continued to caress it, lowering it to her chest. She didn’t want to force her father to touch her, but she also wanted him to know it was okay.

  Now Steven was keenly aware of where his hand was. It reminded him of being a teenager and knowing precisely where your hands were on a date, when touching any part of the girl was a major accomplishment, and every new exploration held as much locker-room fascination as the details of the football game just played. He couldn’t get over the idea that he could be so aware of exactly where his hand was now, but so oblivious of where it had been all day.

  Chelsea let his hand settle back on her chest and lowered hers onto his.

  Steven was exhausted and elated simultaneously. He felt as if he’d lived a couple of lifetimes in the past few hours. He had learned more about himself that day, more about who he was inside, than he had ever really known. After all, once he'd survived adolescence, he'd become a learning machine: learning in school, all the way through Biz School; learning during his early days in business, from his mentors and superiors; learning on The Street, with some lessons costing far more than Harvard had charged; and learning by the seat of his pants—when he'd become a parent, a husband, a CEO. There was no manual for any of these jobs.

  But Steven had never looked inside himself before today. He'd heard a lot about the “examined life,” a term he thought had been popularized by a corporate executive turned author/poet named Autry. What was it that Socrates was supposed to have said? The unexamined life isn’t worth living? He realized he'd actually feared introspection. The past was pretty terrible, so why revisit it? The past was better left there. That was what all his buddies said too.

  Today's adventure had already shown him he had buried a lot of feelings and releasing them today was exhausting! He'd shed many pounds of emotional baggage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he actually weighed less! he thought. He’d learned he had emotions and they were a good thing if he let them out and expressed them. Only bottled up and kept inside were they harmful.

  Most of all, today he’d learned to love himself in a way he never could have imagined. And, the day wasn’t over yet! There was still the rest of his life to continue exploring himself.

  “How you doin’, pops?” asked Chelsea, breaking his reflections. He nodded. She nodded back and they both closed their eyes again.

  The music continued and time passed as they basked in their reverie together. Finally, Steven asked, “What time is it, anyway?”

  Chelsea knew this question was a pretty good indicator her father was “coming down”…. his mind was coming back to life. She said, “Daddy, your mind is back. Sounds like you are ‘coming down,’ as we say. That doesn’t mean the experience is over—not by a long shot. It does mean the high has probably passed. If we can just stay relaxed and physically inactive for a few more hours, there’s still plenty of time for feelings and insights. You may start feeling normal and want to get up and move around. Just be careful, because your body is still processing the material and you aren’t as agile as you may think. Okay?”

  Steven was starting to think again. Damn, he thought. Why couldn’t his mind stay away a little longer? He mentally screamed at it to stop making so much noise.

  Now they both had their eyes closed. Chelsea gave her father’s chest a reassuring rub. She squeezed his hand and pressed it down over her heart.

  “Daughter,” he said. “I love you honey…”

  “So do I, Daddy. I mean, I love myself too,” she said with a broad smile. “And I love you my dear cherished father. I love you so much I find words inadequate. Oh, here’s one. I adore you. Yes, I adore you, Daddy. You are the best father in the whole wide world!”

  Steven’s back stiffened at the praise he was receiving from his daughter. Her words were in sharp contrast to the years of self-doubt about his role as a parent, a father. He'd always admired Catherine’s mothering, but frequently criticized his own success as a father. He wished he had spent more time with the girls when they were younger, that he hadn't been so caught up in his work.

  He’d heard about people having difficulty receiving love—who couldn’t let themselves feel others' admiration and caring, because they had self-esteem problems. He'd never thought of himself as one of those people. But, he thought, I guess there’s always room for improvement.

  Another twenty minutes went by, with neither father nor daughter saying anything. The music was the only sound, other than an occasional groan of pleasure or moan of pure contentment from one of them.

  Eventually, Chelsea checked the clock and confirmed her suspicions—the major effects of the sacrament they'd been sharing were probably over.

  She sat up straighter and looked around for her writing tablet. She reached for it, found her pen, and nestled back into her blanket.

  She glanced at her notepad and realized she had written nothing this afternoon. She must have really been into the experience, she thought. She usually had several pages of notes after one of her journeys. Of course, it was not every day you engaged in a love fest with your father either!

  As she started writing down several of her more noteworthy memories of the day, Steven opened his eyes and looked admiringly at his daughter. She noticed him smiling at her so peacefully and said, “Penny for your thoughts.” It was something her grandmother Elizabeth had asked her as a little girl.

  Steven's heart was so open, he felt he could love anybody right now. He was exhausted and stimulated. He was drained and full. He felt absolutely safe—safer than he'd ever felt in his life—while feeling exposed and vulnerable simultaneously. What a ride!

  He reached across Chelsea for the glass and took a long drink of water. His mind returned…more thoughts about his intimacy with her: What would your friends say? But he told his mind to shut up and returned to the loving place. One thing he had learned this afternoon was he could control his thoughts. He was now aware that his thinking was just that—thinking.

  He realized his mind was like one of his managers. When one of these men or women had an idea worth looking at, he listened. But he never assumed they knew everything. He never gave anybody carte blanche in all matters. Why had he allowed his mind to have such influence over him? It was crazy.

  Chelsea looked up from her no
tepad. “What's goin' on, popsy?”

  “I just realized how much control I have given to my thinking, how much power I've given it,” Steven said.

  Chelsea frowned. “I know,” she said. “It's like, who's running my life? My ego, my mind, my intellect? Or is my inner self, my higher self, my true self? A lot of the time, we've given the keys to the store to the burglars.”

  “That's great, Chelsea. The intellect has a job to do, like remembering where I put the keys. And because it can do that job well, I guess I've assumed it can run my life. How absolutely absurd! Yet look at how many people do that all the time!” he said.

  “That’s right, Daddy. Now you're starting to see why I find this personal growth stuff, this spiritual learning, so compelling. This is why I love working on myself so much. This is what I do that you've found so mystifying. What's that you used to say? 'Why can't you just let things be and get a job like Kirsten…and be happy?'“

  Steven now felt sad—sad at how he had treated Chelsea and sad at the memory of her older sister. “Did I actually say that?” he said. “I'm sorry, honey, if I did. But this experience, it's like falling in love with yourself in a very real sense. And they say you can't really love another until you love yourself.”

  The daylight had gone, and the night sky had dimmed the room considerably. They had been basking in the light of candles. Steven stretched his arms and enjoyed the shudder throughout his torso. He flexed his legs and decided to stand up. He took a few steps to make sure he was ambulatory and peered out the window into the starry night. “What a day!” he whispered. “What a day!”

  BACK TO PRESENT TIME

  May 28: San Francisco, driving southbound on Van Ness Avenue, 10:08 PM PST

  Everyone was fairly quiet. They left the ballroom, made it to the parking garage and started heading home. Each of them was still assimilating the events of the evening. Finally, Chelsea broke the silence.

  “Well, what does all this silence mean? What do you think?…about Timothy?…the Course? I’m bursting with curiosity…I’m dying to know what you think!

  Kathy spoke first. “I found it very interesting,” she said. “I mean, more than just interesting….it was fascinating! It has me really thinking…. which is why I’m so quiet. How about you, Mark?”

  “I’m not sure how real this guy is,” Mark said hesitantly, concerned with hurting Chelsea’s feelings. “But after everything you’ve told us about him, Chelsea, I’m inclined to see him as authentic. Perhaps I have more of a built-in cynic in me than I thought.”

  Catherine was next to speak, reaching over to hold her daughter’s hands. “You know about my past concerns, Chelsea, and I’m glad I came. I do feel less concerned now that I’ve seen him ‘up close and personal’ so to speak. How about you, Steven? You are a big part of why we all came tonight.”

  With eyes fixed on the road while merging into traffic on the freeway onramp, Steven paused, feeling the apprehension from the back seat. “Strangely,” he said, “it all made great sense to me. I suspect a few weeks ago I would have had a different reaction or response but, now, this evening, what he said seems so natural and commonsensical. Isn’t that funny? That a guy like me could see things so differently in only a few weeks, a guy who has been rather set in my ways, my beliefs, my ways of doing things. It’s amazing!”

  Steven fell silent again. He glanced into the rearview mirror and could see Catherine smiling at him.

  After a couple of minutes of additional silence, Chelsea couldn’t contain herself any longer and burst out with “My dad liked it! My God, I feel so relieved I can’t believe it. I had no idea I cared so much about what you thought of it, daddy!”

  “Let’s stop someplace and have a cup of coffee,” Mark suggested. “I’d like to talk more about what happened this evening. I’d also like to talk with you Steven about that event down at Stanford in a week or so. Anyone else game?” No one disagreed so Steven pulled off the freeway and headed for the business district of San Bruno, across from the airport.

 

  June 6, San Francisco, Ventures International Headquarters, 4:10 PM PST

  Jean looked down at her watch and reminded herself she was going down to Stanford tonight. She was riding down with a friend she'd met through the Course. There was a program tonight she really wanted to attend. Her friend was a devotee of the Indian spiritual teacher Gurumayi, and she'd offered to stop and pick up Jean on her way from Oakland. They'd agreed to rendezvous near the airport. But she would have to leave work earlier than usual to make the rendezvous.