It’s 1984, I’m walking through Boston University, it’s not my campus, it’s Sunday, no one’s around, and I’m just exploring. It’s a vast place, the buildings are all empty, a man in a wheelchair is having a heated conversation with a security guard. The guard looks at me and I see something imploring in his regard. So I approach. He is embarrassed, the man in the wheelchair needs help, and the guard says he’s not allowed to aid him: rules apply.
The man in the wheelchair tries to explain but I can’t understand him, his speech is all garbled. His head tilted to the side, his body twisted in an unnatural position, he manages to communicate that he desperately needs to urinate and can’t do it on his own. I don’t answer, I don’t seem to be there, but someone inside me answers for me anyway, and hears that I agree to help him. I’m afraid, what’s going on?
There is serenity somewhere; it’s there, but I don’t understand.
His spastic hand pushes the little lever on his electric wheelchair, and we enter the nearest toilet block. He tells me to reach into the bag hanging behind him. I find a plastic hospital bottle. He tells me to undo his zip, and contorts his body, thrusting he pelvis upward with big heaves, straining against the braces holding his arms in place. The rest is obvious. I take his penis, place it in the bottle, and he relieves himself of all his urine. He is concentrating hard; this is quite an accomplishment for him. He tells me to tip the contents into the nearest toilet.
I’m calm. Very calm. It feels like the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps the first and only really natural thing I have ever done. I am helping myself go to the bathroom, to fulfil the simplest biological function that can become a nightmare if it is not done in union with another part of ‘me’. I must seek another one of ‘me’ in order to piss, or I’ll explode, simple as that. And ‘we’ urinate. The guard wouldn’t help me, he was afraid. I am incredibly happy this man was there. But both are a part of me.
The man in the wheelchair is over the moon, he is radiant; we complete the ritual in harmony together, putting the bottle back in the bag, zipping up his pants, making sure his penis is out of the way. He looks at me with shining eyes and asks if I am a hospital aid. I don’t know how to answer. I have never helped someone like this, but the person who helped him had done this many times before and was confident and completely relaxed. I smile and say no.
Now he is chatting with me as he wheels out of the toilet block and asks if I am a student at the campus. I say no. He asks if we shall see each other again, and I say I don’t think so. He doesn’t know what to say. He is happy and sad at the same time. We have met, Oneness meeting Itself, in Love. And that was enough. He thanks me, and I wonder seriously who he is thanking, because I certainly wasn’t there. I was just watching curiously as this body did things that seemed completely foreign and yet utterly natural at the same time.
I bump into the guard on my way to the car. He was grateful I could help the handicapped man, he is chagrined and tries to explain himself. The man in the wheelchair works at the university in Administration, he shouldn’t come here on a Sunday if he knows he has a problem, he should…
I listen and wait patiently till the guard has finished relieving himself. I smile with him; all is well in our miniature universe of three, dancing a trio on a strange planet full of Life and Sound and beloved Urine. I return to the car and there is an intense peace in everything: the creaky door of my battered old Chevrolet Chevette, the empty McDonalds soda cup on the seat, the acrid smell of the ancient seats.
And I feel love. For all of it. It’s all just so… present.
Bernard Groom
Pauloandthemagician.com
Wow, Bernard –
What a neat story. Excellent. Thanks.
ps. Boston/Cambridge – one of my favorite places in the world.
Bernard,
I have read this several times today, and it is so powerful. I often struggle to put aside my judgements of others, analyzing ad nauseum, so I can say without doubt, “I am not like them. I would never do that. I am better.” My ego demands seapration. I could have helped the man with the disability as you did, but would that have been enough? Would it be because he is me and I am him…..because I recognized that we are members of one? Or would I have walked away from the event, all puffed and self-satsified with my altruism? And the guard….ah, yes, I might think that he was just heartless and unsophisticated…..not like me. I am not proud to tell you these things about myself, not proud to admit them aloud, and yet I do because it is how my forgiveness begins. Thank you for sharing this.
Dear Bernard: Thank you!!! This is the kind of reassurance we all need there is another way. And the most important, for me, no analyzing, just allowing Jesus or H.S. to do their work. And their work was done perfectly. Three that in truth are just one. One that experiences there are not three. And the beautiful outcome, just peace and love.
Lots of hugs and love, Lisi
What a wonderful state of grace.
wow Bernard… what an awesome story about members of the universe..and so beautifully written – Thank you – that was a treat…
and Murrill thank you for sharing your thoughts…xoxo
Thanks for your comments, everyone. This little piece came to me suddenly, a memory from far, far away. I really felt it while I was writing it. It made me think about another way of writing, of expressing my inner world. If you like it (which I think you do), then I’ll try to get back to that place more often. Hugs all around.
Bernard –
I read it again. I love it. And you. And all of you/us in this Village.
Now that’s a lesson that outshines the best lecture ever given on that campus or any University in the world.
Beautiful…just Beautiful.
Quick hello to Anil and a Happy Belated Birthday!
Thanks for the Love
Thanks, Annie –
And you have no idea how joy you bring me (:
(and how many smiles too )
Lovely to see you here again.
A
Bernard, truth looks only one way, as did you. How beautiful to look and see the simple truth in front of you, and to be present and accounted for. Well done my friend, and as Winne said beautifully written, and I might add beautifully lived.
And Murrill, what beautiful sharing and honesty.
God bless you
God bless us every one
Murril: Thanks for your sharing. That honesty is what we need if we really want to walk this path. Without it forgiveness is impossible. Like to read all your comments.
Hugs and love, Lisi
I have been somewhat ambivalent about what I posted…on the one hand taking a risk to be so honest, on the other confessing something so egregious & shameful. I’d like to tell you that I didn’t need your validation, but I do. So I appreciate that I was not ostracized, that my post was recognized for what it was intended, and that you all continue to share your collective journey with me.
Murrill,
this about needing others validation – yes – I think most of us do, and almost none of us like to admit it – that’s what you help me see, and the it is so easy to smile kindly at – we’re just like children -‘thank you
Murrill, In my humble opinion what you shared (both posts) is the honest “looking” that the Course asks us to do. You go girl! Hugs
Dear Murrill –
As Nina says, we all need validation – at least I know I do. And I love your honesty, and hope to emulate that in my own life as well. You are a blessing to the Village.
Bernard…thank you for sharing this story. While there was an experience of seeing this through your eyes and your view of Oneness…what struck me the most was how you regarded the security man at the end. You didn’t guilt trip him, you didn’t lecture him, you didn’t consider yourself a step above him. For me, I find myself wanting to go down the road of the Hero of The Dream so many times on good deed occasions. I’m learning how to look at this and what purpose it serves. This story reinforced for me a sort of “blending” with others…seeing them as ourselves. And leaving the Hero role by the side of the road. You helped me so much in renewing my effort to blend.
Hugs!