They walked without saying a word to what looked like the main building of the complex of, as he finally counted, eight various sized buildings. When they entered a side door, they entered a large kitchen area where a handful of people were already preparing the dinner fare. Some were cutting up vegetables, others grinding herbs, and yet others boiling liquids in large pots — “maybe water for spaghetti?” the young man pondered.
The staff glimpsed at the young man and smiled, then returning to their work. There was something hauntingly familiar with this place. He searched his memories, but had no recollection of ever having passed this place before. The faces of the people were vaguely familiar, but he could not recall of any time where he may have known them.
They were all ‘enveloped’ in an ‘aura’ of calm compassion. It was eerie as it was so out of the ordinary for high-paced Southern California.
Dinner was not only delicious, but it was also full of new tastes that, even though he had tasted them before, had never had such vivid flavors. The bread was bakery-fresh. The aroma of it was even comforting, much like one would get going to someone’s home who had just baked a few loaves. The vegetables were more flavorful and more colorful than he had ever experienced. Even the water was not with the high mineral content found in this part of the U.S. It was almost ‘sweet’ and cool, but not icy cold when it came from the faucet.
Amazing, simply amazing.
After the quiet dinner in a large dining room, the older gentleman introduced the young man to a young lady about his age. She was beautiful, but not what one would find on the cover of a fashion magazine or cosmetic advertisement. She “transmitted” an ‘aura’ of beauty, not just physical but that of spirit as well. She had a glow about her that could not be seen, but more what one might feel.
The older man said, “She is your teacher this evening. She has your answers for tonight. Good evening to you.” He smiled, patted the young man on the shoulder, and walked out of the room. They both nodded to him.
The young man and his “new teacher” walked to another room which was what one would call a library, as the walls were lined with countless books — some new, others old. The unmistakable ‘smell’ of book paper and wisdom filled the room. It was that familiar “aroma” of the experiences he would have spending his weekend days in the library, loving the world of books, and the stories read by the story teller. It was also the familiar quiet solitude he enjoyed. This place had all that feeling to it.
In the middle of this wonderful room were two large, overstuffed chairs. She motioned for him to sit. He returned the motion as he was taught, by who-knows-whom, that ladies should be offered to sit first.
“You think your life is complicated, don’t you,” she stated and asked as she sat most gracefully.
“You could say that again!” he replied as he followed suit and collapsed into the other chair, still feeling weak from his earlier episode. The chair seemed to almost envelop him, but in a comforting, not a threatening manner.
“Why do you make it so? Wouldn’t you prefer it to be simple and easy?”
Feeling the urges of defensiveness rise a bit, he replied, “Life is not easy. It is full of complications, difficulties, and pain. That is just how life is.”
“This may seem difficult for you to comprehend right now, but in our way of thinking, life is very simple. Because most people do not understand the fundamental principles of live, they see everything as difficult, therefore, they make it difficult.”
“It is our ego,” she continued, “that delicate entity which lives inside each of us like a child, decides that it must protect our adult selves from harm. It does everything it can to protect our adult selves from pain. It is your ego that brought you to where you were ready to commit suicide earlier today.”
“I don’t understand,” he said, momentarily more confused than when he first arrived.
“You have seen a four-year-old child watching his parent fighting with another parent. One parent leaves, leaving the other parent in tears. The young child will run to the remaining parent and comfort the adult to the best of his ability, to “make things better,” just like his parents have done in the past for him. The child in this example is like the ego.”
His defense levels spiked momentarily, hearing that remark, knowing full well what she was talking about, having experienced these things within his past. “How do you know about these things?” the young man persisted.
“As you were told earlier, we know our parts in your story,” she said in a calm and pleasant voice, almost angelic in her manner.
“So, who is your teacher of this great wisdom of ‘simplicity’ of which I cannot understand?” he asked.
“Did you see the photo above the fireplace?” she asked him, looking in his eyes deeply, yet softly.
Glancing toward the portrait over the fireplace mantle, he returned his unbelieving stare at this young and yet so knowledgeable young lady. “You are not telling me that the picture is your teacher! Are you some sort of weird, off-the-wall cult who worships photos? Oh, please don’t tell me it is so!”
“Of course not,” she answered, in a light and joyful laugh. “Believe it or not, the young lady in the photo is who started this group of ours, many years ago.”