Part 1 of “An Unintended Adventure,” is told by Chris’s wife, Geri. (Link) Part 2 gets the story of his accident and physical rehabilitation from his perspective. It ends with the importance of remaining physically active when fighting back from the loss of limbs or an injury or just in living. (Link) Part 3 takes that message up again and also delves into the mental/spiritual state that makes conscientious rehabilitation possible. Another interview with Chris is about his adventures among a mountain tribe in Indonesia. (Link)
We spoke when Chris was at home in Florida and I was at home in the Philippines. Thanks to Geri for the photos.
Chris’s story
All my life I’ve been active—mountain climbing, swimming, coaching, running, kayaking, scuba diving, martial arts. Even before losing my legs, I understood the importance of physical activity. It’s the energy that will take away aches and pains: Motion creates the lotion. After my limb loss, I realized becoming more sedentary would increase the pain and make me become less capable of meeting my needs. Narcotics just mask the pain.
But I’m not so spring-loaded that I want to jump up and put my legs on and work, work, work. I go to physical therapy wearing my legs, and try to wear them whenever I leave the house. But at home much of the day I’m active in my wheelchair.
In therapy I walk around for an hour or so without feeling any pain, walking down slopes, walking backwards, sideways, doing squats and other difficult exercises. I guess when I no longer need to use a cane or any kind of support I’ve mostly recovered. Still, I’m blessed to be using sophisticated bionic legs that allow me ever greater mobility. I cannot run or stand up without using my canes against a solid surface, but I’m using my legs more.
Do you feel embarrassed when you have to hold onto something, like to rocks when walking up a mountain?
No, when you feel embarrassed, you’re not sensing the connection to the spirit, the source. I just stay open and receptive. I’ve come to understand that what I need will be provided, including whispers and nudges toward the next action or step.
The “little self,” the ego, too often tries to control us by insisting that whatever we have is not enough. It blocks the deeper awareness, the “inner self” from becoming attuned to the source connected to everything else.
In Bali I was in a wheelchair when we visited the Monkey Forest. The monkeys were confused by my four wheels and were nervously shrieking and jumping around me, but I remembered to be calm and not react, just trust. That calmed the monkeys down, so they became just curious, not afraid of something out of sync with nature.
What gave you the motivation or spiritual power to get to where you are now?
Chris in 1972 , when he was drafted.For the first four years of my life, my mother, dad and I lived outside of town on a small pond surrounded bye woods. My mother was very attuned to the interconnectedness of life. When I was a little tiny boy., she read to me—Hiawatha, wonderful stories of nature lore, poetry, Beowulf, and ancient heroes Walking in the woods, I learned that everything had a spirit and that, in living close to nature, we had everything we needed. As I grew up, l never lost that love of nature and my connection to it.
In the Methodist Church, the message was all about God’s love for all creatures great and small and about his son’s giving up his life for us. In other churches I attended, the message seemed to be “Jesus loves me, but isn’t so sure about you. “
At nineteen I was drafted. Boot camp seemed like playing games, hiding in the woods, crawling under barbed wire and under raised machine gun fire, shooting an M-16, learning hand-to-hand combat and bayonet drills. I realized I was being trained to go to Vietnam. I had marched and protested vigorously against this unnecessary war, but I’d stayed home rather than go to Canada. Fortunately, my high scores on the military aptitude test allowed me to become a medic.
In training at Fort Sam Houston, I met very high-minded, spiritual guys who encouraged me to recognize my deep need to follow the path of peace and reject violence. The spirit guided me to become a vegetarian and a conscientious objector and to refuse to carry a weapon. I began to study Kria Yoga and went to Austin to study the teachings of Sanat Yoga ,especially the spiritual discipline of Paramahansa Yogananda. He was an avatar of the Beatles, particularly Geroge Harrison, who handed out copies of his teacher’s book, An Autobiography of a Yogi.
After AIT I was transferred to my first duty station, the flat open brushlands of FT. Hood, where mysterious things started happening. I’d be out on maneuvers with Bravo Company, an M‑6 tank unit. Resting between exercises I would sit outside and read. Sometimes tear gas was thrown to test our unit’s response. Twice when a sergeant yelled “Gas!” I realized my gas mask was yards away, too far away to reach before the noxious yellow gas had me retching and blinded. It was rolling toward me, and there was nothing I could do. But suddenly a big wind would come and blow the gas away.
When I’d been in Texas for six to eight months, the colonel called me in and said, “As you know Operation Gallant Hand starts next Monday. You are going to be in that war exercise. A three-star—at least—is flying over, and we won’t have anything amiss. Now, according to records, you were not drafted as an A-1 conscientious objector. Since coming in, you have some letters of support from the chaplain and others, but regardless, for this war exercise you will be carrying your M-16 rifle. And you will also throw away that damned stick you walk around in the bush with.”
“Respectfully, sir, carrying weapons is against my beliefs. As a medic, I’m not going to need a weapon. It would just get in my way when I need to get to someone quickly. I can carry my stretcher and my ambu bag and even a split set, but a weapon….”
“Private, listen carefully. I’ve given you a direct order, and If you don’t shoulder your weapon upon command during the exercise you will be court-martialed and jailed when you return. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Being a capable, always on point medic was all Captain Leary had demanded of me . I took good care of his men and my lack of a weapon had never been an issue. So far during Gallant Hand, I had stayed below the brass radar of insubordination. Besides treating the usual heat injuries, splinting a smashed hand and bandaging cuts after an APC-armored personal carrier failed in its attempt to run over a tree, everything was relatively calm.
Part 1 of “An Unintended Adventure,” is told by Chris’s wife, Geri. (Link) Part 2 gets the story of his accident and physical rehabilitation from his perspective. It ends with the importance of remaining physically active when fighting back from the loss of limbs or an injury or just in living. (Link) Part 3 takes that message up again and also delves into the mental/spiritual state that makes conscientious rehabilitation possible. Another interview with Chris is about his adventures among a mountain tribe in Indonesia. (Link)
We spoke when Chris was at home in Florida and I was at home in the Philippines. Thanks to Geri for the photos.
Chris’s story
All my life I’ve been active—mountain climbing, swimming, coaching, running, kayaking, scuba diving, martial arts. Even before losing my legs, I understood the importance of physical activity. It’s the energy that will take away aches and pains: Motion creates the lotion. After my limb loss, I realized becoming more sedentary would increase the pain and make me become less capable of meeting my needs. Narcotics just mask the pain.
But I’m not so spring-loaded that I want to jump up and put my legs on and work, work, work. I go to physical therapy wearing my legs, and try to wear them whenever I leave the house. But at home much of the day I’m active in my wheelchair.
In therapy I walk around for an hour or so without feeling any pain, walking down slopes, walking backwards, sideways, doing squats and other difficult exercises. I guess when I no longer need to use a cane or any kind of support I’ve mostly recovered. Still, I’m blessed to be using sophisticated bionic legs that allow me ever greater mobility. I cannot run or stand up without using my canes against a solid surface, but I’m using my legs more.
Do you feel embarrassed when you have to hold onto something, like to rocks when walking up a mountain?
No, when you feel embarrassed, you’re not sensing the connection to the spirit, the source. I just stay open and receptive. I’ve come to understand that what I need will be provided, including whispers and nudges toward the next action or step.
The “little self,” the ego, too often tries to control us by insisting that whatever we have is not enough. It blocks the deeper awareness, the “inner self” from becoming attuned to the source connected to everything else.
In Bali I was in a wheelchair when we visited the Monkey Forest. The monkeys were confused by my four wheels and were nervously shrieking and jumping around me, but I remembered to be calm and not react, just trust. That calmed the monkeys down, so they became just curious, not afraid of something out of sync with nature.
What gave you the motivation or spiritual power to get to where you are now?
For the first four years of my life, my mother, dad and I lived outside of town on a small pond surrounded bye woods. My mother was very attuned to the interconnectedness of life. When I was a little tiny boy., she read to me—Hiawatha, wonderful stories of nature lore, poetry, Beowulf, and ancient heroes Walking in the woods, I learned that everything had a spirit and that, in living close to nature, we had everything we needed. As I grew up, l never lost that love of nature and my connection to it.
In the Methodist Church, the message was all about God’s love for all creatures great and small and about his son’s giving up his life for us. In other churches I attended, the message seemed to be “Jesus loves me, but isn’t so sure about you. “
At nineteen I was drafted. Boot camp seemed like playing games, hiding in the woods, crawling under barbed wire and under raised machine gun fire, shooting an M-16, learning hand-to-hand combat and bayonet drills. I realized I was being trained to go to Vietnam. I had marched and protested vigorously against this unnecessary war, but I’d stayed home rather than go to Canada. Fortunately, my high scores on the military aptitude test allowed me to become a medic.
In training at Fort Sam Houston, I met very high-minded, spiritual guys who encouraged me to recognize my deep need to follow the path of peace and reject violence. The spirit guided me to become a vegetarian and a conscientious objector and to refuse to carry a weapon. I began to study Kria Yoga and went to Austin to study the teachings of Sanat Yoga ,especially the spiritual discipline of Paramahansa Yogananda. He was an avatar of the Beatles, particularly Geroge Harrison, who handed out copies of his teacher’s book, An Autobiography of a Yogi.
After AIT I was transferred to my first duty station, the flat open brushlands of FT. Hood, where mysterious things started happening. I’d be out on maneuvers with Bravo Company, an M‑6 tank unit. Resting between exercises I would sit outside and read. Sometimes tear gas was thrown to test our unit’s response. Twice when a sergeant yelled “Gas!” I realized my gas mask was yards away, too far away to reach before the noxious yellow gas had me retching and blinded. It was rolling toward me, and there was nothing I could do. But suddenly a big wind would come and blow the gas away.
When I’d been in Texas for six to eight months, the colonel called me in and said, “As you know Operation Gallant Hand starts next Monday. You are going to be in that war exercise. A three-star—at least—is flying over, and we won’t have anything amiss. Now, according to records, you were not drafted as an A-1 conscientious objector. Since coming in, you have some letters of support from the chaplain and others, but regardless, for this war exercise you will be carrying your M-16 rifle. And you will also throw away that damned stick you walk around in the bush with.”
“Respectfully, sir, carrying weapons is against my beliefs. As a medic, I’m not going to need a weapon. It would just get in my way when I need to get to someone quickly. I can carry my stretcher and my ambu bag and even a split set, but a weapon….”
“Private, listen carefully. I’ve given you a direct order, and If you don’t shoulder your weapon upon command during the exercise you will be court-martialed and jailed when you return. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Being a capable, always on point medic was all Captain Leary had demanded of me . I took good care of his men and my lack of a weapon had never been an issue. So far during Gallant Hand, I had stayed below the brass radar of insubordination. Besides treating the usual heat injuries, splinting a smashed hand and bandaging cuts after an APC-armored personal carrier failed in its attempt to run over a tree, everything was relatively calm.
Now, after moving positions during the night, our unit had reached high ground, an effective observational point for attack or defense for the third day of Gallant Hand. Perched on this bluff with Bravo‘s camouflaged command tent and the radio man within shouting range, I surveyed the big tank batteries nestled in, encircling the hill top like numbers on a clock.
Fascinated, I watched this massive war game come alive, a firestorm of antlike activity, distant sounds of power and machines, scurrying men and clanking machines far across the plains, swallowed up in the dust storms of maneuvers on the ground.
In the distance, off the left side of the bluff, a small light observation helicopter appeared, shuffling up and down between the other hills. Suddenly, from the other side of the big ridge, rose the workhorse of the air, a giant Chinook capable of transporting massive weight—tanks and tactical units all at the same time. As it rose it lifted left, its great twin props beating the air to ascend quickly despite its bulk. Agog, I watched the small helicopter veer directly into the giant’s spinning path. Suddenly, the sky exploded in fire, thunder and falling debris. There was no warning. Twin rotors sliced and exploded, everything plummeting down into the nearby ground forces.
Because I was so close, a fight started inside my head. Half of me said, “Medic, get down to the crash site and help.” The other half said, “It’s court-martial if you leave your duty station.” Then a deeper voice, “Go , get your aid kit and Go!“ I ran down the hill and across the plain to a chaotic, smokey morass—a wall of panic-stricken soldiers standing frozen, blinded as if by headlights. A voice said, “These are sheep!”
I moved through the fire and the crowd of soldiers as if through parting waves. Close to the helicopter I saw a man lying on the ground. His face was turning blue. I dropped to the ground, cleared his airways and started CPR while telling some soldiers to pull off a tail section that wasn’t burning and make a litter. As the oil-fueled flames increased in fury, I said to move away from the fire. I continued mouth-to-mouth as we were pulled up into the air on the makeshift stretcher and lifted into another helicopter.
During the flight my patient’s heart stopped, so I alternated mouth-to-mouth with closed cardiac massage. After we landed another specialist began the cardio. We got the patient into the ER, and he survived.
When I got back to the crash site, I realized I had lost gear, glasses, everything in the fire. I went looking, and found my snake stick halfway down the hill, but I couldn’t find my glasses, helmet or aid kit anywhere.
Then an officer came up in a big ATC personnel carrier and said, “Where the hell is your helmet and your weapon, Private ”
“I don’t know, sir. I lost them in the helicopter crash.”
What’s your name? What unit are you “in?”
I recited my name, rank, social security number and unit. With a few more threats, promises and a bit of cursing at privates like me, he ducked back down in his armored monster, and the big machine rumbled away.
About a month later, when we were sitting in our aide station, two dark suited men came in and asked our NCO if they could speak with me privately. Outside the clinic, they began asking me if I was the private involved in Operation Gallant Hand.
Fearfully, I asked, “Aare you arresting me?”
“For what?”
“Refusing to carry a weapon.”
“No, your company commander, Captain Levry, has recommended you for the Soldier’s Medal—for heroism.”
This series of happenings was the beginning of my spiritual adventure, with a lot of other “coincidences” in between.
As you know, I became a teacher for the Department of Defense, moved all around, and then met Geri in Korea. The following summer I came back to Florida to visit my family. I was staying with my brother when I lost my legs in a terrible car crash. In the hospital operating room, I left my body. The people around the table were down below, and I could hear them say, “We’re losing him.” I soon felt a deep warmth coming over me. Strangely. I could look down and up at the same time. I was surrounded by a white light with blue edges lifting me up.
As I rose up higher, I thought, “Well, okay, I guess this is the way it’s supposed to be.” I felt calm as I was rising up to the place beyond time, seeing my mangled, bloody body down below, yet feeling profound peace that passes all understanding.
Then a voice said, “What is your intention?”
From inside myself I heard, “Service.”
Suddenly I was back in my body, struggling, trying to keep it together, wrestling with the pain.
Then I heard, “we’re losing him again.” The machine made a flat line beep, beep. From above I saw blood and a transfusions and part of one leg. One gone and the other bleeding profusely. Total release came, and I thought, “Not my will but Thine be done.”
I had a sense of family warmth. As I looked up, I saw gold and white and blue lights vibrating. Down below, there was a spot where I was releasing and saying it was okay.
Then a powerful voice spoke again. “What is your intention?’”
Suddenly another voice: Manifestation.” Then I was back in my body, making it through a stronger force.
About two days later, I woke up, and they told me I’d lost one leg above the knee and the other one above the ankle. In the end they had to remove much of that because of the infection from the road.
Way back before the accident, what happened after you got an award instead of being arrested and court-martialed?
Right after soldiers learned of the incident, in the mess hall they observed that as a vegetarian I was getting much better food than they were, so they decided to speak to a chaplain and try to become conscientious objectors and vegetarians.
The colonel called me in and asked whether I was trying to start something.
“I didn’t do any of that, sir. I’m just trying to live my life.”
“We’re transferring you to South Korea.”
Usually everyone who trains together moves together. But me, they just put me in a pipeline, a big tube, and just blew me to a medic’s position on a missile base outside of Seoul. At that point I realized life was not going to be an ordinary adventure.
In Korea I met my first martial arts instructor, a KATUSA (Korea soldier assigned to the US Army) who would leave the military base and go down to the village and teach the kids.
After he left, I traveled all around looking for the right form of martial arts. I didn’t like Taekwondo, but I thought maybe Taichi or Kungfu. In one place I saw that Instead of energy that was all snap and pop, this had a flow to it. It was being taught in a village and was known as Hapkido, universal energy motion. So I began studying the style whenever I could. After 18 months I was able to get my black belt. I intended to travel around with my teacher and eventually start a school in America, but the universe had other ideas. I was sent back before I’d planned.
While I was still in Korea, I was told about an old woman and her son who lived up in the mountains and who did an early form of Kungfu. Since this was on the mountain above our missile base, there were dogs and machine guns protecting it, but one of the dog trainers—who had also been a KATUSA—guided me up the back way. Mother and son lived in an old chalk mine which she cleaned up and made into an open porch home on the outside and a Buddhist temple and small winter home inside. In clear English she said to call her ajuma (auntie). I would go up and stay with her and her son when he was home from doing Kungfu in the Diamond mountains of the North. After several visits, she became one of my teachers.
At first I found it strange that she always knew when I was coming and had a bowl of rice waiting for me, despite the fact that I couldn’t be seen on the path until the last hundred yards or so.
“Ajuma, how do you do that?”
“The Buddha told me.”
Once I asked her about an altercation between a Christian boy who didn’t think the Buddhist shoeshine boy had done a good job on his shoes, so he slapped him and told him to do them over. Because the shoeshine boy was not Christian, the other was offended, and religious beliefs became the basis of the ensuing argument.
That upset me, so I asked Ajuma about it. She took my hand and said each finger was like a different religion on God’s hand. She touched my heart and said I would come to understand that all religions were one. She taught me about the universality of spirit, and I realized what happens to me is intended to help me understand the mysterious oneness and beauty of communion with people, nature and spirit.
That was thirty years before I lost my legs. Over time I was drawn as if to a magnet to experience the universal spirit in other cultures. Friends on similar yet different paths were also drawn together. An older, very spiritual woman who lived in the apartment below me in Okinawa became my dear friend. and I also visited her on the Big Island. She is very attuned as an active devotee following Universal Christ-Hindu- Buddhist teachings.
Around Christmas time, I was scuba diving in Hawaii when that big tsunami hit in South Asia. Parts of Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines were decimated. I was worried about friends of mine who were diving in the area. My friend , and I were driving from Helo to Kona to this holy Kuhuna site on the opposite side of the island , and as we came over the hill I saw this blazing light pouring into the sea ,not just a rainbow, but a circular bolt of rainbow light that went down into the sea and turned the ocean itself into a spectrum of chromatic radiance; a sign from on high conveying everything was all right.
It triggered a deep truth and vibrational message from the other side. Sitting next to my mom on her hospital bed just before she passed. She took my hand saying: when I die, don’t look for me here, because I’m already there. I’m sliding down rainbows and riding on comets’ tails.”.
So I just go along in life, and all of a sudden pieces of this divine design I didn’t even know about connect. Every move and every home we find is almost perfect. My need for exercise and therapy is always met. I know things keep changing, as I do, and as I progress and strive it keeps me in a better physical mental and even spiritual shape. Life is a fascinating, beautiful adventure. With Geri as my partner, our journey is always getting brighter, stronger and more wonderful.
Now, after moving positions during the night, our unit had reached high ground, an effective observational point for attack or defense for the third day of Gallant Hand. Perched on this bluff with Bravo‘s camouflaged command tent and the radio man within shouting range, I surveyed the big tank batteries nestled in, encircling the hill top like numbers on a clock.
Fascinated, I watched this massive war game come alive, a firestorm of antlike activity, distant sounds of power and machines, scurrying men and clanking machines far across the plains, swallowed up in the dust storms of maneuvers on the ground.
In the distance, off the left side of the bluff, a small light observation helicopter appeared, shuffling up and down between the other hills. Suddenly, from the other side of the big ridge, rose the workhorse of the air, a giant Chinook capable of transporting massive weight—tanks and tactical units all at the same time. As it rose it lifted left, its great twin props beating the air to ascend quickly despite its bulk. Agog, I watched the small helicopter veer directly into the giant’s spinning path. Suddenly, the sky exploded in fire, thunder and falling debris. There was no warning. Twin rotors sliced and exploded, everything plummeting down into the nearby ground forces.
Because I was so close, a fight started inside my head. Half of me said, “Medic, get down to the crash site and help.” The other half said, “It’s court-martial if you leave your duty station.” Then a deeper voice, “Go , get your aid kit and Go!“ I ran down the hill and across the plain to a chaotic, smokey morass—a wall of panic-stricken soldiers standing frozen, blinded as if by headlights. A voice said, “These are sheep!”
I moved through the fire and the crowd of soldiers as if through parting waves. Close to the helicopter I saw a man lying on the ground. His face was turning blue. I dropped to the ground, cleared his airways and started CPR while telling some soldiers to pull off a tail section that wasn’t burning and make a litter. As the oil-fueled flames increased in fury, I said to move away from the fire. I continued mouth-to-mouth as we were pulled up into the air on the makeshift stretcher and lifted into another helicopter.
During the flight my patient’s heart stopped, so I alternated mouth-to-mouth with closed cardiac massage. After we landed another specialist began the cardio. We got the patient into the ER, and he survived.
When I got back to the crash site, I realized I had lost gear, glasses, everything in the fire. I went looking, and found my snake stick halfway down the hill, but I couldn’t find my glasses, helmet or aid kit anywhere.
Then an officer came up in a big ATC personnel carrier and said, “Where the hell is your helmet and your weapon, Private ”
“I don’t know, sir. I lost them in the helicopter crash.”
What’s your name? What unit are you “in?”
I recited my name, rank, social security number and unit. With a few more threats, promises and a bit of cursing at privates like me, he ducked back down in his armored monster, and the big machine rumbled away.
About a month later, when we were sitting in our aide station, two dark suited men came in and asked our NCO if they could speak with me privately. Outside the clinic, they began asking me if I was the private involved in Operation Gallant Hand.
Fearfully, I asked, “Aare you arresting me?”
“For what?”
“Refusing to carry a weapon.”
“No, your company commander, Captain Levry, has recommended you for the Soldier’s Medal—for heroism.”
This series of happenings was the beginning of my spiritual adventure, with a lot of other “coincidences” in between.
As you know, I became a teacher for the Department of Defense, moved all around, and then met Geri in Korea. The following summer I came back to Florida to visit my family. I was staying with my brother when I lost my legs in a terrible car crash. In the hospital operating room, I left my body. The people around the table were down below, and I could hear them say, “We’re losing him.” I soon felt a deep warmth coming over me. Strangely. I could look down and up at the same time. I was surrounded by a white light with blue edges lifting me up.
As I rose up higher, I thought, “Well, okay, I guess this is the way it’s supposed to be.” I felt calm as I was rising up to the place beyond time, seeing my mangled, bloody body down below, yet feeling profound peace that passes all understanding.
Then a voice said, “What is your intention?”
From inside myself I heard, “Service.”
Suddenly I was back in my body, struggling, trying to keep it together, wrestling with the pain.
Then I heard, “we’re losing him again.” The machine made a flat line beep, beep. From above I saw blood and a transfusions and part of one leg. One gone and the other bleeding profusely. Total release came, and I thought, “Not my will but Thine be done.”
I had a sense of family warmth. As I looked up, I saw gold and white and blue lights vibrating. Down below, there was a spot where I was releasing and saying it was okay.
Then a powerful voice spoke again. “What is your intention?’”
Suddenly another voice: Manifestation.” Then I was back in my body, making it through a stronger force.
About two days later, I woke up, and they told me I’d lost one leg above the knee and the other one above the ankle. In the end they had to remove much of that because of the infection from the road.
Way back before the accident, what happened after you got an award instead of being arrested and court-martialed?
Right after soldiers learned of the incident, in the mess hall they observed that as a vegetarian I was getting much better food than they were, so they decided to speak to a chaplain and try to become conscientious objectors and vegetarians.
The colonel called me in and asked whether I was trying to start something.
“I didn’t do any of that, sir. I’m just trying to live my life.”
“We’re transferring you to South Korea.”
Usually everyone who trains together moves together. But me, they just put me in a pipeline, a big tube, and just blew me to a medic’s position on a missile base outside of Seoul. At that point I realized life was not going to be an ordinary adventure.
In Korea I met my first martial arts instructor, a KATUSA (Korea soldier assigned to the US Army) who would leave the military base and go down to the village and teach the kids.
After he left, I traveled all around looking for the right form of martial arts. I didn’t like Taekwondo, but I thought maybe Taichi or Kungfu. In one place I saw that Instead of energy that was all snap and pop, this had a flow to it. It was being taught in a village and was known as Aikido, universal energy motion. So I began studying the style whenever I could. After 18 months I was able to get my black belt. I intended to travel around with my teacher and eventually start a school in America, but the universe had other ideas. I was sent back before I’d planned.
While I was still in Korea, I was told about an old woman and her son who lived up in the mountains and who did an early form of Kungfu. Since this was on the mountain above our missile base, there were dogs and machine guns protecting it, but one of the dog trainers—who had also been a KATUSA—guided me up the back way. Mother and son lived in an old chalk mine which she cleaned up and made into an open porch home on the outside and a Buddhist temple and small winter home inside. In clear English she said to call her ajuma (auntie). I would go up and stay with her and her son when he was home from doing Kungfu in the Diamond mountains of the North. After several visits, she became one of my teachers.
At first I found it strange that she always knew when I was coming and had a bowl of rice waiting for me, despite the fact that I couldn’t be seen on the path until the last hundred yards or so.
“Ajuma, how do you do that?”
“The Buddha told me.”
Once I asked her about an altercation between a Christian boy who didn’t think the Buddhist shoeshine boy had done a good job on his shoes, so he slapped him and told him to do them over. Because the shoeshine boy was not Christian, the other was offended, and religious beliefs became the basis of the ensuing argument.
That upset me, so I asked Ajuma about it. She took my hand and said each finger was like a different religion on God’s hand. She touched my heart and said I would come to understand that all religions were one. She taught me about the universality of spirit, and I realized what happens to me is intended to help me understand the mysterious oneness and beauty of communion with people, nature and spirit.
That was thirty years before I lost my legs. Over time I was drawn as if to a magnet to experience the universal spirit in other cultures. Friends on similar yet different paths were also drawn together. An older, very spiritual woman who lived in the apartment below me in Okinawa became my dear friend. and I also visited her on the Big Island. She is very attuned as an active devotee following Universal Christ-Hindu- Buddhist teachings.
Around Christmas time, I was scuba diving in Hawaii when that big tsunami hit in South Asia. Parts of Indonesia, Thailand and the Philippines were decimated. I was worried about friends of mine who were diving in the area. My friend , and I were driving from Helo to Kona to this holy Kuhuna site on the opposite side of the island , and as we came over the hill I saw this blazing light pouring into the sea ,not just a rainbow, but a circular bolt of rainbow light that went down into the sea and turned the ocean itself into a spectrum of chromatic radiance; a sign from on high conveying everything was all right.
It triggered a deep truth and vibrational message from the other side. Sitting next to my mom on her hospital bed just before she passed. She took my hand saying: when I die, don’t look for me here, because I’m already there. I’m sliding down rainbows and riding on comets’ tails.”.
So I just go along in life, and all of a sudden pieces of this divine design I didn’t even know about connect. Every move and every home we find is almost perfect. My need for exercise and therapy is always met. I know things keep changing, as I do, and as I progress and strive it keeps me in a better physical mental and even spiritual shape. Life is a fascinating, beautiful adventure. With Geri as my partner, our journey is always getting brighter, stronger and more wonderful.
