11 NOV 75 - 6:30 A.M. In a dream last night, my Lifestream Way friend, Rich, was talking to me about my irritation and impatience with Esther, the elderly lady with whom I spend much time here and often share trips to association meetings. As diplomatically as possible, he was conveying that there was nothing in Esther to cause anger. Finally he said, "You expect her to be mentally as alert and sharp as you and intellectually stimulating, don’t you?" I had to admit it was true. I was even finding fault with her for her "childishness." My own was actually worse, though more subtle than hers. She might be a little childish, but she was also more childlike, more natural, spontaneous, and enthusiastic than I. She was always full of warmth and love. And, I had to admit, this counts for far more than whether or not someone is very interesting or aware of all the nuances of external situations that I think I perceive.

Today an extraordinary thing happened that seems to show that we are not really conscious but rather that our "consciousness" may be a construct, after the fact, of our interaction between/within ourselves and the external world. Crossing a very busy thoroughfare, I somehow thought the way was clear and accelerated, but, about halfway across, saw that a fast-moving truck was on a collision course with my V.W., our two vehicles vectoring together to an impact point where we would both be in the next fraction of a second.

As I was digesting this information in normal awareness and had even resigned myself to death in the next moment, seeing that it was now far too late to effectively do anything to stop it, my arms had already responded, in just the manner needed, jerking the steering wheel far over to the right, while my legs, with similar seeming independence and perfect coordination, had slammed in the clutch and brake, having the combined result that my vehicle appeared, to my conscious self, to stop and turn itself without any further forward motion at all ("impossible," from the known laws of physics), veering off to the right exactly as needed to clear the onrushing eighteen-wheeler by inches, and yet with no loss of control of the V.W. either.

The incident was such a close thing that the truck driver pulled his rig eventually to a stop and looked back to be sure I was OK, till, after a couple minutes to calm myself, I had merged with traffic and moved on down the road as if nothing had happened.

Forced as I had been by the speed of the crisis to react with lightning quick moves, the whole action occurred too fast for me to construct the appearance of conscious volition with which we usually credit ourselves. Or perhaps, reader, you would prefer to see the event as a miracle, maybe an instance of Master saving me from my own folly so I could get to India. This thought crossed my mind; but I doubt that He is so personally concerned with or involved in my destiny. Or, if He is, it seems much more likely that the manner of that involvement is through the natural order of things, including the many aspects of that natural order which are simply outside everyday experience and conscious understanding.

14 NOV 75 - Esther, in her infirmities and idiosyncrasies, reminds me of the mortality I share with her. For this, to my great discredit, I resent her and wish not to be with her as much. Yet, willy-nilly, the same hands of age already begin their seductive caresses of my own fragile form into debilitation and death.

A person aspires to and follows in his or her highest self the best example set before him/her to which he or she can relate.

You have found the river which ever anew discovers you.
Now attach yourself to that deep ocean king’s son!
And swim with him to the light within,
The ever-present, nameless one.

27 NOV 75 - This is it! I’m packed and soon will be off on the long series of flights to India. Still concerned that it may all be a disappointment, that I’ll just return disillusioned. Well, I’ll soon know.

The fact is, a significant part of me just does not really believe in a god taking interest in our small, personal existences.

Later. I’m beginning to feel a bit more excitement. It is, in the United States of America at least, Thanksgiving Day. And I am underway, beyond my home country, out over the vast and mighty sea to meet my Master in the exotic and mysterious East.

Have I ever had so much for which to be thankful? So why do I still feel a mixture of sadness and anxiety? And where is the fanfare? In the movies, at this point in the protagonist's quest, there is a tremendous symphonic swell. Of all the things for which fanfares for individuals have been composed and played, what can compare to this? I am on my way, at last, perhaps even after countless lifetimes, to see my perfect living Master.

Yet all I hear is the throb and drone of the jet engines, the hiss of circulating air under pressure, the restless shifting or conversation of other passengers, and my own heart’s faithful beating.