The Stream
As a Hospice volunteer, on rare occasions, I will connect with a patient more rapidly and on a deeper level than I expect. These fortuitous pairings are all down to luck, like most everything in life. I always try, with my patients, to make the most of our brief time together. But, there is a greater sense of urgency when I feel a powerful connection, and there is much to share and explore. I experienced this with Jim, a patient I was almost not assigned. We had a brief but rich time together. We learned from each other primarily because we were both curious and excited to share knowledge and experiences. We also had a similar outlook on life. I was pretty sad when Jim died, and I missed him and wished we had more time together. The basis of our relationship, mutual interests, and curiosity provided me with some solace and a way to accept the circumstances and timing of our relationship.
Jim and I almost did not meet. He and his wife, Malinda, were not sure they could manage yet another person associated with healthcare intruding on their quiet home life. For my part in this near miss, Jim's home was much further than I was used to driving, and, at the time, gas prices were skyrocketing. In the end, we both agreed with the volunteer coordinator to try it for an hour and assess whether continued meetings would work for us. This seemingly small, reluctant decision to take one fork over another had life-altering implications for me.
Jim and his wife, Malinda, lived in an adorable, bright, airy home in a small, quiet community next to Los Gatos Creek. When I arrived, Malinda ushered me in and announced my arrival to a tall, thin man, stretched out languidly on a sofa and propped up on pillows. He waved to me as he finished a phone call. When Jim waved and gesticulated as he spoke, his movements were fluid and smooth, like water rolling gently over river rocks. As he stared at me, it seemed he was looking into my soul. He had this gentle, probing attentiveness about him constantly.
“The key to growth is the introduction of higher dimensions of consciousness into our awareness.”
Jim exuded a placid concentration that gently washed over and wended its way around the rocks of life in an effortless wave. His thoughtfulness and perceptiveness were immediately evident, but not in an intense or intrusive way. He was swaying lightly in the universal stream of consciousness and letting things flow over and around him. I would later learn that, though he barely gave the slightest indication, Jim was in terrible pain.
In our first meeting, Jim and I learned that we had much in common, not the least of which was that we both were lifelong meditators. We spoke at length about how we each got into meditating and how it figured large in our lives. Jim dedicated himself to Transcendental Meditation (TM), and I do a form of Zen Mindfulness. Jim was a TM-trained teacher who studied directly under Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, founder of the worldwide TM movement. As I learned more about his commitment to TM as a practice, I realized where Jim got his constant equanimity. He had tapped into the universal stream of consciousness.
At that first meeting, we also discovered that we both had worked with children in educational settings and had a great desire to see youth reach their potential and develop a sense of resilience and ownership of the future. We marveled that we were both big readers and spoke extensively about our recent reads and what we learned from them. We added to each other's book lists. We covered various topics during our first visit, which lasted for two hours, twice as long as we had planned. At the end of our meeting, we readily agreed that we would like to meet again.
Our conversation that first day did not end with my taking my leave. We continued our discussions by emailing each other with suggestions, thoughts, and questions. Jim recommended more writers for me to check out and different opinions on the many topics we discussed. I sent Jim the link to my TEDx talk, and he watched it and gave me his moving and insightful thoughts, touching off another branching of our conversation. I've never been in contact like this with patients outside of my visits. Jim and I had so much to talk about and explore together. Maybe it's because we were both open people. We were both excited to share parts of our lives and to learn from each other. Rather than a mere series of visits, we had a continuous cascade of conversation. I would often think about our dialogue when we were not together.
“Laugh, I tell you
And you will turn back
The hands of time.
Smile, I tell you
And you will reflect
The face of the divine.
Sing, I tell you
And all the angels will sing with you!
Cry, I tell you
And the reflections found in your pool of tears -
Will remind you of the lessons of today and yesterday
To guide you through the fears of tomorrow.”
And so our visits went: we bobbed on the surface of a fathomless blue river of knowledge and experience. Occasionally we would dive deep into a discussion of some treasured topic for which we found a mutual appreciation. We challenged each other to cast our thoughts across the waters in new directions, often with one of us as the adventurer and the other as a trusted guide.
On one of our visits, we walked on a path along Los Gatos Creek. This picturesque and idyllic trail runs through a busy part of the city, though you would not know it without a map. We spoke of many things, but the aspect of that conversation that sticks with me is Jim's concern for the feral cats that live along the creek. He described, with great admiration, a lady who had spent years caring for these cats thrown away and ignored by others. The "cat lady" would feed the cats and get them neutered/spade. Jim had contributed money to her informal effort over the years. He deeply admired this person for her dedication to lives to which most of us don't give a second (or first) thought. In this way, he poignantly expressed his compassion for all living things.
Jim loved to walk that path along the stream, and as we walked and talked, I came to see why. The path is lovely, relaxing, and an oasis in the busy city. But, it was also a metaphor for him, a comforting place because of the parallel to how Jim lived life. That creek was like consciousness, ever flowing, connecting to many other streams. Jim lived every moment as close as he could to the universal consciousness stream.
During our brief time together, Jim and I discussed various topics: computer science, Psychology, the Silicon Valley computer industry, Philosophy, Physics, and more. He was a learned man, a great thinker. Whatever we talked about involved a deep dive into the details and connections. It was always a pleasure to swim in those rivers of knowledge with Jim.
“If it weren’t for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song.”
A topic that came up often was the role of luck in our lives, how he was lucky to have come to TM, found his soulmate in Malinda, and had such a brilliant and kind daughter. He acknowledged the role of luck and the random path of turns that our choices take us. We both agreed that there is just chance, neither good nor bad luck, just chance. In that acceptance, Jim could appreciate everything he had accomplished.
We spoke of the concept of the Multiverse a few times. The Quantum Physics and philosophical theory that multiple universes come into being with every set of human choices. The idea is that when we face a selection of two different forks in a river, A, and B, there are immediately two new universes, one for each option; a universe where you take fork A and a universe where you take fork B. In this way, there are all possible realities simultaneously. One can think of this as a stream that forks with every human choice so that, like a mega river delta, there are vast, arguably infinite, streams flowing beside each other.
When it came to his death work, Jim and I spent an afternoon floating down a brook of his memories guided by a photo album that chronicled his life from birth to the present. Jim also told me some life stories about the children he helped at a school for special students when he was in graduate school. He recalled, with great fondness and satisfaction, one student he connected with and helped learn and open up to others.
“These parallel universes are not ghost worlds with an ephemeral existence; within each universe, we have the appearance of solid objects and concrete events as real and as objective as any.”
The last time I sat with Jim, he was listless, turned inward, well into his final, internal death work. He could not talk to me, so I read to him from Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite spiritual writers. I chose to read from Nouwen's The Genesse Diary because, in our penultimate meeting, Jim mentioned that he had heard of a catholic priest who spent the last part of his life living among the mentally disabled residents of L'Arche Daybreak community in Toronto, Canada. Jim expressed a desire to have learned more about this person. I felt that hearing some of Nouwen's beautiful writing would be an excellent final gift to Jim. Nouwen's writing is calm and deep and evokes Jim for me. This book is taken from the diary that Nouwen wrote while spending seven months in deep spiritual contemplation at a Trappist monastery. I am sure my friend enjoyed the excerpts that I chose.
Finally, I meditated beside Jim during my last 15 minutes with him. I felt I mingled with him in the relaxed stream of his consciousness. It was a touching goodbye to this man with whom I became fast friends and deeply regretted not meeting earlier in our lives.
In the early morning of September 30th, Jim slipped from his body. He merged with the universal stream of consciousness, that flow that he was already so close to in life.
Jim is the most enlightened person I have met. He gave me a glimpse into the collective streams of consciousness in which he readily swam. Malinda and I talked about how Jim felt the same disappointment that we had so little time together. She saw this connection between us at our first meeting. In my grief, I was sad that I did not meet him sooner. We would have enriched each other's lives for years.
The greatest lesson I received from Jim was his way of being. I wish I could stand in the flow of consciousness and reality and be both a part of it and apart from it as he was able. I hope one day I can be as tranquil as Jim.
The answer to my feeling that we had too little time came from our conversations about the Multiverse. I have decided that in that infinity of forking streams, in the universal mega delta, there is a fork where Michael and Jim meet much earlier in their lives and spend decades as close friends. I see them spending hours swimming in the waters of knowledge and learning. I find great comfort in this. As for my Jim, I see him as fully part of the endless universal stream of consciousness. He sculls across and up and down those waters at will, seeking knowledge, making countless connections, and being at peace with the infinite.
Addendum
When it comes to luck, there is no good or bad luck, just chance. Because we don't know what will come next in the constant forking of the stream of reality, Jim understood this and was grateful for all he had on his path. Ultimately, we cannot regret anything as we cannot know how far-reaching even the simplest change can be on other "luck." When I think about my path to now, I don't regret any pain or want to change a thing because there are experiences that I have that I do not wish to lose. Ultimately, we must accept where our path has taken us and all the luck, both "good" and "bad." A famous Taoist story exemplifies this and shows an appropriate reaction to "luck."
*Maybe
There was an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. “Such bad luck,” they said sympathetically. “Maybe,” the farmer replied.
The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. “How wonderful,” the neighbors exclaimed. “Maybe,” replied the old man.
The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. “Maybe,” answered the farmer.
The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. “Maybe,” said the farmer.
*This version of this story is taken from Charlie Ambler’s wonderful Daily Zen blog. I recommend visiting for other instructive Zen stories.
https://thedailyzen.org/2015/03/20/zen-story-maybe/
