"Wake up Johnny!"

Another day: another horrible day in the making. I pulled the covers up over my head, grunted and prayed for ten more minutes of sleep.
"Get up now!" My mom brooked no disobedience.
I climbed out of bed and grudgingly got ready for another day in the seventh grade.
After a quick breakfast of eggs, grits and sausage, I went out the back door, uncovered my mix matched homemade bicycle and rode off in the early morning chill.

Our North Georgia neighborhood existed in the midst of two contrary worlds. On the one hand, we were locked in the old culture and traditions of the South that was, while on the other, it was 1969 and nearby Atlanta was fast becoming a modern city. Soon people would stop saying "Atlanta, Georgia" and merely say "Atlanta" as they said, "New York" or "Chicago." This was considered a big deal for reasons I didn't completely grasp! But in my family, in my neighborhood, in the world as I knew it, we were still immersed in the "Old Time Religion" and culture of the Old South, while the New Religion of Secular Humanism was already lapping at the doors and challenging our fundamentalist beliefs and convictions as a demon threatening to consume us all. The thing is you see, this wasn't just a metaphor, the world I grew up is no more. That world was devoured as surely as if an evil dragon had come and consumed it whole.

A couple of months before this day of destiny, I had finally walked down the alter at Harrell Grove Missionary Baptist Church and committed my life to God. It was something I hadn't done lightly. A month or so after this day three angels came to our church for a visit. And a month or so after that life changing event, I awoke in a cold sweat from a nightmare that would be repeated throughout my life. But this morning, this morning I just wanted to go back to bed!

My twelfth year was the most significant one of my life bar none. Had the key events of 1969 not happened, or had I dealt with them differently, my life today would be utterly different. The events of this day in particular, combined with the other experiences of this year, forever altered the course of my life and, for better or worse, made me the person I am today.

I coasted down Duke Road, going faster and faster. The wind slapped at my face and adrenalin charged me with excitement. Ahead, at the corner of Skyland and Duke Road, was the telephone pole that had gotten the better of me a few months before when I had failed to make the turn (the scar on my leg reminds me of this mishap to this day!). The real danger of course was the cars on Skyland. Although they had a stop sign, there was no guarantee they would actually stop. One thing was certain however: I would not! On my bike, I was invincible! No one could stop me and nothing could slow me down!

The corner was fast approaching; I peddled faster and faster and began to lean into it: no cars, so far so good. Faster and faster I went. I felt as though I was practically laying the bike down on its side onto the blacktop as I went into the turn. As the telephone pole rushed by, I felt a momentary throb in my left leg where a dozen recently removed stitches reminded me that it didn't always go this smoothly. As the bike righted itself, I raised my arms victoriously in the air and for a moment, I was alive, truly alive. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad day after all.

As I sped on toward the next hill, this time one I had to climb, I peddled hard. A few times, I had made it all the way up. That would top off the day for me! But no, a car pulled out of a driveway forcing me to hit my brakes and, in time, to get off and push my bike on up the accursed hill. That was all right, I reasoned: it could still be an OK day. On my ride so far, I hadn't seen any of the "neighborhood hoods" and no one had even yelled a dirty name at me or thrown a single rock; for what more could I hope? If I could just finish this year at Skyland Elementary School (now closed) without getting killed, next year I'd be going to Cross Keys High where most of the people wouldn't know me. My mom had already nixed the idea of my going to Chamblee High, where no one would know me, because of some rule that defined neighborhoods and districts. That had been my hope, to go to Chamblee, but at Cross Keys practically no one would know me and maybe, just maybe, I'd make a friend there. But first I'd have to survive Skyland..

I slowed nervously as I approached the school, eyes alert, ears listening for possible (likely) threats. My feet always ready to peddle away from unseen dangers. Now there were lots of kids around, but I didn't see any of the ones I had to worry about attacking me. In the distance, I heard someone yell something; I looked, but saw no one: piece of cake! I thought as I hoped off my bike and pulled it into one of the bike slots.

Just then, from the bushes on the other side of the bike rack four of five of the enemy kids stepped out. One of them grabbed my handlebars before I could flee.

"Hey, what have we got here?" he said, "A pansy with his wittle bike."
"Ain't that precious?" another asked sarcastically.
"You know what sissies like him want don't you?"
"He wants to go to the potty, 'cause he's so scared!"
"Yeah, and he thinks maybe he'll get lucky in one of the stalls, the faggot!"
"He should be scared, the little queer."

"Going to potty," as he was using the term, meant to get a "royal flush" where your head was held in a toilet, after your attackers took turns using it, and flushed, eventually.

With that, the boys and two girls grabbed me and pulled me away from my bike, but I held on for dear life. In my hand, I still had the chain with my bike lock attached. Without thinking, I swung the chain at the biggest kid, catching him in the face with the large lock. The chain flew from my grip with a meaty splat and the group momentarily loosened their grips in shocked amazement.

I had a reputation as a coward, as one who would always run away from a fight. Yet I don't think I really was a coward. My fear was always that I might hurt someone and that thought was more painful than I could bear. I felt so sorry that I had hit that kid, yet I yanked my bike away from their slackened hands and ran, pushing it as fast as I could, running down the slight incline and towards the playground finally to fly into the seat peddling for all I was worth.

My attackers quickly recovered and were soon right behind me. I pushed myself harder and harder. I didn't mean to hit the kid in the face! Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that his nose was bleeding and I began to weep, not for fear, but for shame and the realization that I had hurt him. Still I peddled faster and faster and in time they fell away and I slowed down. But a moment later I heard them coming again, screaming at me, and I stood up and worked my bike peddles with everything in me.

As I approached the unofficial entrance to the Bragg Street woods on the Skyland Drive side, I jerked up on my handlebars, flew over the curb, and down the steep hill leading into the sheltering woods I knew so well. As I approached the cave-like entrance, I flew from my banana seat, letting the bike crash into the bushes, and ran for dear life into the woods. Down the main trail I ran. I glanced behind me and heard no one. When I got to the creek, I leaped over it, paused and looked back again. No one was there. No doubt, they'd steal my bike, but I was used to that. I built most of my bikes from scratch, salvaging the nearby dump for spare parts after hours. Sooner or later most of my bikes were stolen by the neighborhood hoods anyway. No real loss.

Hopping down from the embankment I made my way along the creek bed and deeper into the woods to my "special place." I called this haven Little Niagara because of a small downpour from the adjacent storm drains (I got the name not from the famous falls but from the commercial for Niagara spray that my mother used, "Niagara, like the falls!"). Funny how things stick in your mind.

My hidden sanctuary was a large bush with its interior hollowed out. An ancient weeping willow tree overshadowed it (like the one my dad had cut down in our front yard to my and my big sister's dismay). It was well off the main path, which many kids used as a shortcut and as a place to hide and smoke cigarettes and occasionally shag marijuana. Soft pine needles made for a comfortable floor. I had thrown old limbs over the edges further concealing it from view; the only entrance was on the backside and was well hidden. I thought my hide out was just about the coolest place on earth.

This morning however, I was far too upset to enjoy the splendor of my haven, and as I hurried inside I collapsed to the ground in tears. How had it all started? Why did they hate me so? I had no idea. My older (half unbeknownst to me at the time) brother was not popular either, and with good reason it seemed to me (no offense Tim if you read this hehe). But he was older than the other kids and there was little they could do to him. But I was a different matter! I was their age or a bit younger. I inherited his nickname and the anger they felt for him was readily transferred to me, an oh-so lanky introverted young boy who hadn't a clue and who refused to join the popular pastimes of fighting and robbing (several of them ended up in jail I'm told)!

But there was always God! Preacher Thomas said that everyone should love each other and live in peace (except of course with Blacks, Catholics and other no accounts), and we kids were all White and Baptist, so it made no sense to me. Why was I so hated? God's will? I was a bit effeminate; I was often ridiculed for the unintentional wiggle in my walk, my soft voice and general disinterest in sports. What sealed my fate however was my unwillingness to fight which was the local childhood obsession. My reasoning was that if I fought them and won they wouldn't like me because I had bettered them and if I lost they'd still think me a "sissy" and condemn me for that. To me then fighting seemed like a damned if you do and damned if you don't proposition and I already felt damned enough! Besides, it just wasn't right to hurt people.

From the first grade on when we moved to the area I had almost relentlessly begged my parents to move us out of the neighborhood. Preacher Thomas warned about the dangers of Hell, but I knew the truth: I was living in Hell already and had no way out! I would merely get older, suffer more and then die. Maybe if we could move... I thought... O well, at least I'd go to Heaven once I got out of here! Of that, I was certain if of nothing else! To escape my so-called life I tried everything my young brain could think of to convince them of the necessity of our moving. Had we moved away early on, my life would doubtless have been quite different and my early years probably far more enjoyable. Living in Georgian Hills, our neighborhood, from around 1966 until I left home made my childhood something to be endured, rather than a time to begin a happy and well-adjusted life. I still have inner scars from the daily abuses I underwent there. At the same time however, I now realize that God places us where will grow and develop, so I have to assume it was all for the best.

With the exception of a couple of fleeting experiences – a boy three years my junior whose family moved in one September and left the following July and two other boys who occasionally deigned to be civil towards me if no one else was around – I had no friends. I had become everyone's favorite punching bag ... when they could catch me!

But man I could run! Had I had the opportunity to join a track team, I could have been a real contender! I've always wondered where these red-necked kids heard the story of Phidippides, the famous Greek courier, but that became my second nickname because I ran so fast. I only found out who Phidippides was by asking Mr. Chetwyn, one of the two teachers I felt I could talk with (the other was Mrs. Rockstrau). But whether I was on one of my bikes or on foot, there was no way anyone could catch me unless they set a trap, as they had this morning.

Moving closer to the creek I removed my shoes and soaked my tired feet in its cold water as my eyes filled with warm, salty tears that ran down my face like rain. Like most Southern kids of the day, I hated shoes (the schools required we wear them but otherwise I was always barefooted and wore only cut-off shorts or nothing when I had the choice). The hatred, the fear and not knowing why these things kept happening to me, suddenly filled me with inconsolable grief and I remembered something Preacher Thomas had told me the night I was "saved" at the alter. "Even if everyone on earth hates you, never forget that God loves you."

God loves me, no matter what! What a great thing to know! That conviction has sustained me through many hardships and uncertainties!

I turned my tear-laden eyes toward the sky and began to beg God to "take me Home" to heaven. I no longer wanted to live here on this cruel earth. My unshakable certainty of the afterlife and of God's unconditional love for me was my only solace in an otherwise hellish existence. Life was just too painful for me to bear any longer. I wanted out!

During the next several hours time became irrelevant. I was no longer aware of its passing, nor did I even think about it. Therefore I don't know how long I lay there crying out to God to free me from this life, but looking back now it seems like this day lasted an eternity! Soaking in the cold waters, my feet became numb and I remember pulling them out at one point and tucking them under me for warmth. That's about the only memory of physical reality I have of this entire experience.

What happened next is difficult to describe. It didn't so much "happen" as... I don't know... transpired ... if that makes any sense. Whether anyone else would have seen a thing had someone else been present I can't say. I'm not even sure if what I "saw" I beheld with my physical eyes or my inner vision. A few people I've shared this with have suggested that due its diverse elements this experience was not granted to me by God at all, but from another! Yes, this has been suggested several times. And yet I am certain that the One God I met at the alter of Harrell Grove has led me to where I am today just as He promised this day. I must therefore accept that it was God who led me to this point -- however unorthodox the path here has been.

This was one of the most "real" events I have ever experienced in my life and as I try and share what happened with you I know before writing the first word that I will fail in the attempt, but I'll try just the same.

My eyes were focused upward towards the top of a tall tree on the other side of the creek. Its wood was old and its limbs seemed like ancient arms and fingers reaching protectively towards my hideout, protecting me, shielding me from harm. It was in the shade of this noble tree that my little hideout sat. I'd always thought this tree a most splendid elder of the Wood. One time in fact, after returning from a vacation in Florida with my parents, I brought home a large bag of Spanish moss I had collected to my parent's chagrin and used it to decorate the tree. It seemed pleased I thought.

But this morning laying on my back and gazing up past the ancient tree I saw in the distance, through my tear stained eyes, a bright silver light like a shining ball of rounded polished crystal. At first I watched the light in the sky, playing with its reflections through my tears -- a game that gave some peace to my sobbing heart -- as it moved slowly closer.

The light grew gradually brighter and stronger and yet ever so gently it began to take on human form. I watched this with an oddly detached reaction. Logically it seems I would have been awed or even frightened by such an experience, but I was not. To me the situation seemed perfectly right and good (which is one reason I know it was of God). I had no doubt that God loved me -- Preacher Thomas had made that very clear and once I was adopted into God's Family I felt His presence, his Love. And now He had heard my prayers and was sending someone to take me Home! I was in a rapturous joy such as I don't think I had ever before known.

The afterlife has always seemed like Home to me. This temporary world never has. For much of my childhood I yearned to escape to that place where I would finally be loved and accepted, where there would be peace and light... I think I had some concern that going Home might be considered selfish or cowardly but as I gazed into the sky watching the figure materialize my heart was filled with such stunning joy that I realized I didn't care what anyone else might think! At last I was going Home! Nothing else mattered.

As the figure 'solidified' and stood before me I sat up, wiped the tears from my eyes and looked expectantly at him. In church, we had been told how Jesus ascended into Heaven "in a cloud." That seemed amazing to me but now, the scene seemed perfectly natural because that was how he came to me. Since he went up that way it made sense that he'd come to visit me in the same way. It wasn't an angel, it was Jesus himself.

I don't recall his exact words but the figure standing before me looked like the Jesus I had expected. At Harrell Grove there was a copy of the famous painting of Jesus praying in Gethsemane -- this was the Jesus standing before me.

"You want to go Home?" He asked me. His voice was so soft, so tender and kind.
I nodded, wiping my eyes. I was so ready to go!
"If you really want to go Home now I will take you with me. But first I'd like to show you the things to come if you stay." Again, I'm paraphrasing.

Jesus told me, or I somehow I perceived from him, that I was living in very important times when something was going to happen that had never happened before. He told me that there would be seven teachers coming into my life. Each of these would teach me an important lesson. I nodded my understanding and the person before me -- Jesus -- how shall I describe this, 'fizzled away...?' That's not really it though. It was more like one vapor being replaced from the inside out by another. As though they were one and yet they were not. It's hard to explain. In this day of movie special effects I guess you might say he "morphed" into a different character, however in 1969 such technology had yet to be invented and I'd never seen such a thing as I saw next.

Before me, where Jesus had stood a moment before, was an elderly East Indian gentleman. His weathered face looked serene yet stern and his eyes were inquisitive. In time another elderly man -- who appeared to be in better health I noted mentally -- 'replaced' him. He seemed agile, spry, and there about him a kind of sensuality.

And 'soon' (time had become meaningless) standing before me was a most beautiful young woman in perhaps her late teens or early twenties. In my eyes she was a veritable goddess! I could not look away.

As she "morphed away" there came an Asian man, also somewhat elderly although he appeared healthy and strong.

Then entered another Indian Swami. Whereas the first had been bald and clean-shaven, this man had a full beard and long stringy dark hair.

Next came a man who at the time looked sort of like a hippie to me, ragged and unkempt. His skin was reddish, tanned and his gaze was strong. He was intimidating and he left very quickly.

Finally there appeared a man wearing a dark suit who looked incongruous in his normalcy. He could have been anyone.

As the "message" from the seventh teacher was completed Jesus returned in the same shimmering way he had left. As I looked at him scenes from my future experiences flashed before my eyes. I will not include the details of these here. A large percentage of these events have already past now. Several of these are described elsewhere on the MyStory web site as I recount my various experiences. What I will say is that there have been very few major experiences in my life -- with the exception of my illness and the death of my son -- that I did not foresee. Had foreseen his death I would have gone Home then. There is no doubt in my mind. At this point I'm glad it was not revealed to me. Nothing has occurred that violates anything I saw in 1969 and I am convinced that the remainder will occur as well, although I will be older than I expected when some these vents take place. As I discuss elsewhere this is because of the successful work of the Hinderers.

I do not write this with the intention of claiming any prophetic knowledge etc., but only as a key event that effected my life. What is coming is sure and true and we are not prepared for it.

None of these people actually 'spoke' to me I don't think, and yet I seemed to know the essence of their messages as though they had. I'm currently 52 years old (in 2009) and have thus far met six of these seven teachers, and in the order I was shown. I met the sixth teacher on August 26, 2001 in preparation for 9-11. I await the seventh with some anticipation.

When I was sixteen, in 1973 (four years after the vision), I met my first teacher:

His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada, founder acarya of the International Society for Krsna Consciousness and one of the most holy and righteous human beings ever to walk this planet.

As I was riding my bike in North Atlanta I took shelter from a sudden shower under a freeway overpass. Soon a woman wearing a brightly colored Indian sari rushed under the bridge also escaping the rain. She gave me a copy of "Back to Godhead" magazine and three sticks of incense. She told me about her Swami and his international movement. On the front of the magazine were two figures -- one a beautiful white female and the other ebony black male yet also transcendentally beautiful. I was awestruck by the pair. The woman explained that this was an actual photograph of God and His girlfriend! Sri Krsna and His chief consort Srimati Radharani. Coming as I was from my ethnocentric Missionary Baptist background I was utterly stunned to think of the Divine in such forms! Here was a religion that not only believed that God might be black, but that His girlfriend is white! The notion of God even having a girlfriend, let alone being in an interracial relationship, was something I had never even considered! At this point I was still functionally illiterate but the photographs were inspired and I drank them deeply with my eyes!

I don't know why I didn't see my first teacher in the magazine, his image was on nearly every page -- but I didn't and as we stood under the bridge I don't believe I made any connection with him. I was in awe of the photos. It must have been God's kindness because the next morning I met Srila Prabhupada. I visited New Panihati dham, their Atlanta temple, early the next morning while it was still dark and saw the holy Swami during his only visit to Atlanta! I knew him immediately. As I squeezed into the crowded temple room he was walking back from offering his respects to the Deities. On one end of the room was an alter with the forms of the Lord and on the other was Srila Prabhupada's vyasana (seat). When I saw him I literally collapsed to the floor at his feet in sheer awe. As he approached me he looked down and smiled as a devotee pulled my body out of his way. Later I was initiated as his disciple in New York while taing part in a traveling sankirtan (preaching) party and named Jagannatha dasa.

My relationship with the organization Srila Prabhupada founded spanned many years. I would live in one of his temple ashrams for a while, study, serve, and then move on. Later I'd move into another temple or visit for a while as my wanderlust would again kick in. I knew from my vision that I had to keep moving and learning from various sources. From the first time I saw the photographs in Back to Godhead Magazine I always felt a strong connection with the Deities so whenever I was near a Temple I would always stop in and visit Them. But there was something wrong as well. More and more often we were told to do dishonest things to raise money. The emphasis was shifting from bhakti yoga (devotional service to God) to making "laxmi points" (i.e. raising vast amounts of money).

And then on November 14, 1977 Srila Prabhupada left his body and the Movement changed forever, and not for the better. So, from 1973 until... well I'm still writing about it now in 2009! In 2005 I again became briefly involved in the Movement at New Jagannatha Puri dham (ISKCON) in Berkeley Ca., with the Gayatri Foundation (Gaudiya Matha) in Oakland and with another Gaudiya math, the Sri Gopinath Gaudiya Math and was granted second initiation by His Divine Grace Srila Bodhayan Maharaja (I only received first initiation from Srila Prabhupada).

Several years after Prabhupada left the planet (enlightened Vaisnavas never "die"), I was initiated by Dr. Srila Ramamurti Mishra (Yoga Society) in San Francisco and given the name Om Prakasa. Upon the advise of my guru from my previous life who I met near Vrndavana India I began using the name Jagannatha Prakasa ("Jagannath Prakash").

My second teacher I met shortly afterward:

He was a Welsh Traditionalist known as "Old Man Witty." Welsh Traditionalism, as he referred to his Way, was his ancestral religion. His family had practiced this ancient form of the Crafte of the Wise since before the Burning Times (those days when Nicean Christians practiced genocide on the Old Religions throughout Europe and the British Isles). Mr. Witty lived in Ashford Park, the neighborhood next to ours, although he hailed originally from Snowdon in Wales. I met him one day as I crept out of the woods behind his house making sure the coast was clear for my race home. He asked what I was doing and we struck up a conversion and important friendship. This was in 1973 as well. Over that summer and the next several months, Old Man Witty -- who had a small shrine to the Lord and Lady in his basement -- taught me the essentials of his Welsh Tradition of the Old Religion. It was more than just what I learned from him directly that impacted my life however. His complete acceptance of me, along with the realization he sparked within my young mind -- of an endless diversity of possibilities I had never even imagined -- is what impacted me most. Mr Witty woke me up.

In his magical basement, we "danced the Old Black Stone." He taught me how to make simple candles and wicks for oil lamps. He spoke of places and times long gone and of those he was convinced were yet to be. In his tales what I had been told in my vision found resonance. He used different words he also spoke of a great awakening that would follow difficult times. I was also amazed to learn that an entire religion had been all but wiped out through terror, torture and murder by Nicean Christian intolerance. It was freighting to learn that the Church that had given me such a sense of safety had also waged countless atrocities. This you must understand was a couple of years after the three angels had visited Harrell Grove so I knew the Church wasn't as accepting as I had once believed. In these tales my faith in my relationship with the One grew and I learned to sense the Divine everywhere. In his words, I heard an echo of one of the angels saying, "If you're any sign of what God's like, then I think I'd rather go to Hell!" Mr. Witty was evidence of another option! I recognized Old Man Witty immediately from the vision. He was my second teacher. I think one of the main things I received from him was the importance of balance and of trusting the Light I receive and perceive. He did wonders for my self confidence! Yet he also demanded humility. He used to say, "In balance there is freedom." It has taken me many years to appreciate this teaching!

The young woman's name was Linda/Melody.

Late 1973 or early 1974 I hitchhiked to Florida with another lost young soul. We were arrested on the Daytona Beach Boardwalk while making sandwiches and I was charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor (he for being a run-away). I was seventeen years young, and six months older than he was! Daytona Beach was the traditional place of escape for runaway Georgians or so it seemed to me at the time.

While I was in Daytona Beach, I met a man who ran a place called Eden House (described as a "semi-Taoist ashram") and was invited to move in. I agreed to help in the house candle-making factory in exchange for a room. Mr Witty had taught me the basics.

The evening I moved in, as I was walking up the steps to my room, I met her in the hallway as if she'd been waiting for me there. She was the most beautiful human being I had ever seen. I heart was in my throat. I recognized her at once but hadn't realized how absolutely breath taking she was until then. I was reminded of Old Man's Witty's lustful descriptions of the Lady Day. I hadn't understood how the mere sight of another being could transport a person into a state of near ecstasy. Now I did! Her long strawberry blond hair flowed down her shoulders and back like golden rivers of light. An aura of love and peace exuded from her. Through her loose fitting nearly transparent cloud-colored blouse her firm, perky breasts were visible and invited my touch, my caress. Never had I been so utterly thunderstruck by, well... lust.

It seemed as though she was "Melody" when she was feeling happy go-lucky, but Linda when she was practicing Tarot and other occult arts. In any case, Linda taught me a unique system of Tarot and related occult practices that were nothing short of amazing. Melody taught me the arts of love, of touch, of energy massage and manipulation and so much more. Her impact on my life was profound. I longed to share these things with Mr. Witty but by the time I returned to my Georgian Hills neighborhood he had moved away to points unknown, another life lesson learned. Melody/Linda was my third teacher.

My fourth teacher, the Asian man came next:

His name was Chôgyam Trungpa Rinpoche of the Dharmadhatu Buddhist sect. While I'm positive he was the Asian man I saw in the vision his direct influence on my life was much less than the others. I've always assumed he operated more on a spiritual plane with me than on a physical. While I learned much about meditation and mental discipline in his Dharmadhatu studies, I think he marked a turning point in my spiritual path rather than a particular player in it. I never met him personally nor did I receive any formal initiations from him (although I did from certain of his students). Sitting in his meditation houses in various cities, reading his books and talking with his students did open doors to new and deeper understandings of spiritual realities for me. Until then I had only thought of God in the personal form. I am still a committed Personalist however his teachings, especially his book Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, helped me understand that God is more. That God is not only imminent but also truly beyond form. As came to understand Lord Sri Caitanya's teachings of acintya bheda abheda tattva I discovered a balance in these two approaches that resides at the core of my beliefs. My limited experiences with Hinduism to this point had focused on the more religious aspects of that Way. It was not until later that I began to understand and practice meditation and yoga, other than japa yoga (chanting on prayer beads) etc. From Chögyam Trungpa, indirectly at least, I learned how to sit in meditation, a skill I don't believe I fully appreciated at the time. During this time I studied with several wonderful teachers and applied the things I learned to my own practice. Chôgyam Trungpa Rinpoche represents this important period of my life.

I am absolutely convinced that God is leading me gradually Homeward through the fog. Once the Dark Times begin in earnest I hope to be of some service to the One God. As a lifelong Hinderer I seek to serve however the events that will occur during these final few years will be the reason for my life I believe. This is what I was shown and everything appears to be heading in that direction. Everything up to that point is preparation. I believe that Day is almost at hand. About this period in time I began to understand that my purpose was to act as a Witness and a hinderer. I began to understand why the major cataclysmic events would soon befall the planet and I could only agree with the decision. Along with many others, it would be my responsibly to acknowledge the justice of God's coming verdicts upon the planet. Not that the Holy One needs the testimony of mere mortals of course! I'll discuss this elsewhere, as it isn't directly pertinent to the consideration of my 1969 vision. Suffice it to say for now that I began watching or paying attention in ways I had not before. I also began to intuit underlying causes for the things I beheld. I would see anger in a person for instance and know its cause. I would sense religious zeal and understand its source. This is why I have such respect for the deen of Islam even as I oppose them. This made my Tarot readings all the more potent!

It was also around this time that I had my second encounter with beings not of this world. I'll be sharing these encounters elsewhere.

Shortly after leaving Linda/Melody in Florida, I learned to read (thanks to Jehovah's Witnesses). This made a huge difference! I also began working with Christians and others as described elsewhere. Although Arthur Blessitt wasn't one of the teachers I saw in my vision (I did see myself carrying a cross but frankly thought it was a metaphor), he was absolutely one of my major spiritual influences! The vision was one of the main things moving me forward and during these years, it was always on my mind. It gave my life direction and meaning. In small ways, I seemed to be growing, becoming more… spiritual in ways I couldn't quite identify.

A noted Christian songwriter opined, "I can't believe God is leading me, unless he led me here, where I'm lost enough to let myself be found." I sincerely believe that God has always been directing my steps and using these various teachers to lead me Home. Despite this, several years went by without my meeting another of my teachers. Of course, I had met scores of teachers and holy people during these years, but I'm referring to the seven who were to teach me. The few people I shared this vision with, I mainly kept it hidden within my heart, often asked, So, where's the next one? All I could say was, God alone knows. The following information is relevant here because it shows the situations that brought me to the next teacher.

In the 1980's I was living in Berkeley California and working at the Free Clinic as a fundraiser. It was there that I met the mother of my son, the woman I sincerely believed destiny had intended for me as my soul mate. I had seen her in my1969 vision and recognized her almost immediately. According to the timeline of my vision, the time had come for us to meet, and so we did.

I was a rather well known Tarot reader in the area. She asked a mutual friend, Berry, to introduce us, and he arranged a time for her to get one of my full natal (eight-hour) readings, more as a ruse I assume because he knew I didn’t date. It was love at first sight I suppose, yet I was concerned, settling down was the last thing I wanted to do, especially with the daughter of a very wealthy military man! She eventually convinced me that we were meant for each other and I gave in. After all, I had seen her in the vision, in time we married. Who was I to deny God's plan for my life? We had two sons, one in 1984, the second in 1988. Our first child did not survive.

In 1989 I unwillingly joined the thousands of people being hit with a nasty new illness called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or CFIDS (Myalgic Encephalomyalitis) that seems to have been cooked up by US government labs and released into Incline Village, near the California/Nevada border. I spent the next two years in bed violently ill with this illness. My wife, who I had considered my true soul mate, divorced me after a couple of years of the illness. A disabled husband did not fit into her life plans.

While I didn't see everything that would come into my life in this vision, I had seen a great deal of it. I had recognized her and I knew we would have a son. I didn't see the first son. The idea that I would be hit with such a nasty illness but not see it in my vision was hard for me to understand. I spent many hours in prayer, meditation and contemplation over this issue. What I now believe is that this news would have shattered my resolve to go on with my life. Considering my life in 1969, being told that I would face this illness and loose my son, would have been more than I could have handled. I did realize as I pondered the dream later that I hadn't seen her again after this point and that my son didn't seem to be a presence either. This is not to say I wouldn't see either of them again. I love my son dearly and see him as often as is possible. We IM almost daily. He is now 18 and despite countless wonderful visits together, I have not been able to be the full-time dad I deeply wish I could have been. This is one of my life's greatest disappointments.

My fifth teacher, the yogi

I met this wonderful tantric swami in Vrndavana, India in 1991. After my wife and I divorce, even though I was still very ill and a hundred pounds heavier due to the illness, I decided to move to India, find an ashram and wait there to die. It soon became obvious to me however that I needed to return to the US. God had other plans for me. This Swami, who has requested I not publish his name, was nothing short of amazing. In part, he told me that in my past life I had lived in two different bodies. He said that while this was not the usual course of events, it was not that uncommon either. He revealed this information prior to my sharing my past life memories. He said that in one of those lives I had been his disciple. He explained that a group of his disciples had left him to join Gandhi's Ahimsa Movement of Indian liberation. As several of the others, I died in the riots. For his part, Gurudev had promised that he would not leave the planet before personally forgiving us and imparting a gift upon us. He asked Srila Prabhupada to arrange for me to visit him in the Holy City of Vrndavana. Unbeknownst to me at the time, I went to India to meet my former (and present) Guru. While I had felt drawn to Indian spirituality since the time I first beheld Sri Radha-Krsna under that north Atlanta overpass, I had (and have) no memories of living there as his disciple, although his words struck me as true and I fully accept them as such. The shock came as he described my second life as a Bulgarian teenager living and dying and in the greater Nazi Reich. This life I did and do remember in some detail and have since I was 12 years old!

My sixth teacher, Sheik Hamdi, I met in Vallejo Ca.

In the intervening years I returned to the US, settled in Santa Cruz, connected with Andrea, and later moved to Vallejo. In the week prior to August 26th, 2001, someone from the little church across the street from our apartment left a flyer on the windshield of my car inviting me to attend a "Men's Meeting" at their church. I had been meaning to visit the little church for a while, so this seemed like a good time to do so. As I approached the church on August 26, two men in cheap suits met me and welcomed me as "a fellow soldier of Jesus" to "resist the evils of our godless society." As they spoke, it become clear to me that this was not God's will for me. Their words, or more their "vibes," struck me as hypocritical and counter to true spirituality, so I returned to our home without going into the church.

Sitting down at my computer, I received an e-mail notification that someone had posted to a discarded BeSeen.com discussion board I had created three years or so before. As I read the post, I knew within my heart that this was what I’d been seeking, that the piece discussed what I inwardly needed to hear for the next phase of my journey. I've written the author several times and have not yet received a reply from her. The article was called "The Truth about Islam," a religion with which I was well acquainted through reading, but had never personally been involved with (with the exception of a few Sufi groups).

After re-reading the post, I visited an Islamic web site and did a search to find a local masjid (mosque). I had no intention or even thought of converting, I was just curious and following my heart. To my surprise, I found that there is a masjid in Vallejo near my home. The listing offered a phone number, which I called. I was warmly invited to come over for a visit.

Walking into the masjid, I was met by the imam (Sheik Burhaan) who welcomed me warmly and explained that it was time for prayers and would I please wait in the rear of the room; we would speak afterwards. I asked if it would be acceptable for me to join the prayers, as Christians and Muslims worship the same God, and was told that I could. I stood behind the other worshippers and followed their lead. I already knew the basic form of Muslim physical prayer.

As the evening prayer (magrib salaat) was about to begin, brothers hurried in and joined the prayer line (Muslims observe a very formalized method of prayer which is practiced standing shoulder to shoulder).

The last of these men to enter was my sixth teacher! I recognized him immediately and almost fell over when I saw him. He looked at me, smiled, and readied himself for prayer.

When the prayer was finished he walked over to me, tugged my shirt inviting me to follow him to a rear corner of the room and began telling me about Islam. I listened with joy as he discussed the five pillars of the Islamic faith and other issues. As he spoke, a number of people surrounded us and listened in to his presentation.

After explaining the basics he said, (and I paraphrase) "So how to become Muslim? It is done like this. You must say the Shahada. It goes like this..."

Someone interrupted and asked me, "Do you understand what he's asking you to do?"

I thought for a moment, "I do," I replied. I knew beyond any doubt that God, Allah Subhana T’alla, had led me at long last to the very man I had seen in my 1969 vision; my sixth teacher. I also knew that should I to refuse to accept the faith of the prophets being offered, I would be denying the promise I had made to God when I dedicated my life to His service at Harrell Grove Missionary Baptist Church all those years ago. There was therefore no question of what I should do. I became known as Muhammad Yahya Saleem.

The Shahada ("the Testimony"):

La ilaha il Allah, Muhammad -ur-Rasool-Allah:

La ilaha il Allah: There is no deity other than Allah
Muhammad -ur-Rasool-Allah: [Prophet] Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.

I only saw Sheik Hamdi a few times after reciting the Shahada. As with Chôgyam Trungpa, my fourth teacher, the servants God uses to reach us are not always the important thing; it is our submission to God's will that matters and I was now back in a position to submit and follow the One wherever that might lead. I was quite excited and soon became deeply involved with the Bay Area Muslim Community.

An interesting point here, Islam teaches that everyone is born a Muslim, a servant of Allah. Most people leave the truth as they age however hence, one does not "convert" into Islam but "reverts" back to submission to God's Will.

Then came 9-11...

Imam Burhaan and I developed a close relationship and I learned many things from him. Prior to 9-11 Sheik Burhaan had managed to get us a great deal on an apartment in the complex where he was living, right around the corner for the masjid. Almost immediate after the attacks of 9-11, the US government (or someone) began spying on our apartments and following us when we went anywhere. Our phones were tapped (you could tell by the clicking sounds) and frankly we were all getting concerned! "They" would follow me to the masjid, and when I left, I'd see them parked across the street waiting to follow me back home. The same was the case with the imam. As they made no serious attempt to hide their presence from us, I assume their intention was to intimidate us... it worked!

A couple of weeks after 9-11 however Burhaan, his wife and newborn child Osama (hence a US citizen) left the US. The months that followed were difficult ones for me. My health, which had been in a state of mild remission for a few months, collapsed again and for a while I was largely house bound. Despite this, I continued to observe most of the five daily prayers at the masjid and grew in my faith and knowledge of Islam, as I was able. In the photo nearby, I'm preparing to take a group of peace activists to our masjid to show their support for the local Muslim community in the face of the post 9-11 persecutions.

The government surveillance continued for a few weeks but in time it either ended or became more covert. My knowledge of true Islam (rather than the Islamic propaganda printed in books and other mediums) developed and certain truths became apparent than I had not formerly understood. This is isn't an appropriate place to discuss these issues however. I will simply say here that Islam, both Shiite and Sunni, is a far more devout faith than any other religion on earth. As others, they believe the end of the current age is at hand. They also believe that Islam will be the inheritor of all the earth. When George Bush Jr. declared a new "Crusade" against the Islamic world, that call was heeded! Islam IS preparing itself for global war. It DOES view Israel and the West, especially the US, as Great Satanic powers that must be overthrown. Islam IS committed to doing this! This coming war was NOT started by Islam but if the West does not act now it WILL be won by them!

I am no longer associated with the masjid or with Islam. There are a few key reasons for this, and yet I continue to believe that God led me to these devout people even as my own quest leads me onward. I have not seen Sheik Hamdi, my sixth teacher, again nor do I expect to.

I began my Quest with the central belief that people and their religions are all basically the same. I no longer believe this.

This is one of the things my time with Islam helped me to understand more fully. For Hindus, Buddhists, Taoists, most Pagans, etc. we exist within an eternity of basic bliss. Life is a flowing process without beginning or end and we need but to realize this oneness.

For most Christians we have a beginning and a single opportunity, one lifetime, to make a decision with critical eternal consequences. This decision must be made even though each of us have been born into sin and hence in separation from God. Despite having been thus sinfully conceived into ignorance, those who fail to come to the 'correct understanding', which includes the vast majority of people ever born the majority of humanity will be tortured for all eternity without hope of escape. As foretold by Jesus to John the Apostle, the Christian Church is falling into hypocrisy and irrelevancy (Rev. 3:14-19). Western leaders do their work not from Christian sensibilities, but from Secular Humanist utilitarian need. For the vast majority of Christians today their religion consists of something they "do" for a couple of hours on Sundays.

For Islam the case is doctrinally similar, except that Islam, like Judaism, rejects the notion of Original Sin. Salvation is ours to loose, not to achieve. Islam adds however, that willing service to God ("islam"), especially to the point of death, will result in unimaginable bliss in the hereafter. The Apostle Paul said the same, "For me to live is Christ, to die is gain," however Islam, unlike Christianity, puts it into practice. It is the duty of all faithful Muslims to further the cause of global reversion by any means and despite personal costs. Historically, most Muslims have shown an unwillingness to use extreme measures to this end. Today, as we approach the end of the world as we know it, that willingness is quickly growing among faithful Muslims in every nation. The number of children being born to Muslims in the western countries may well provide a vast army of devout Muslim warriors, fully conversant with Western ways, for the coming global jihad. The popularity of multiculturalism makes it possible for Muslims and other ethnic minority groups in the west to maintain their traditions in ways formerly not possible for immigrants. This is not alarmist talk; this is the stated intention of devout Muslims. At this point there seems no way to avoid this coming war that will take place within every nation on earth within the next 20 or 30 years, unless the Messiah comes first. As far as Islam is concerned, they have two choices. Either they surrender their historic faith and bow to the global Capitalist New World Order as Christianity largely has, or they stand and fight. The leaders of Islam will not surrender.

For Jews the situation is a bit different. They don't seek to convert anyone. Indeed, conversion into Judaism is very difficult! They trust in a God of justice who will deal fairly with everyone, regardless of their religious beliefs or ethnic identities. Once Messiah comes, Israel will rule the world. Until then, the Jews are just trying to survive within it, not an easy task for Jews!

There are of course several other religions and sub groups within these. This sampling however is enough to demonstrate how diverse people and their religions can be.

As I await my seventh teacher, I do so in a world facing unprecedented global turmoil, as I saw in 1969. I behold this situation, still believing my primary function is as a watcher. This I believe however, my seventh teacher will come in due time just as his predecessors have. At this time I can only theorize who he will be (and I do have a theory ;-). Everything I was shown in this vision is coming to pass. I shutter to realize the remainder surely will as well. We should all brace ourselves and prepare for hard times.

For more on How and why I converted to Islam, and Why I later left, Click here

Back to the vision:

There were several things I "knew" as this experience was completed. Some I recall, some I fear I have forgotten. These things stay with me as intuition and a sense of dejevu.

As I left the Bragg Street Woods it was growing dark outside. I had spent most of the day in my haven, although the time had passed so quickly that it seemed no more than an hour. I carefully made my way home, cutting through backyards and quietly slipping into my bedroom window. I crawled into bed exhausted and went quickly to sleep. Tomorrow would be another day, but now I had the assurance I needed to face it.

In June of 2002, my son and I took a trip back to Georgia and visited many of the old places mentioned in this piece. Unfortunately, Little Niagara is no more; an apartment complex has replaced my peaceful woods. Harrell Grove is still there and I was pleased to see African Americans leaving the Sunday morning service as I drove by. "The times they are a'changing!"

As I mentioned above, back in 1976 I lived in an ashram in Virginia Beach, Virginia. At that time, I was really into writing poetry and prose. One day I wrote a poem trying to explain this vision. It's from an old collection of my writings I seldom open these days. While the quality isn't great (please be kind!) it reflected my take on the vision at the time:

You appeared to me first in this life
As best I can recall
When I was at the age of twelve.

I sat by a stream in the woods
at my "special place"
And I cried out for understanding
Then You gave me Your Grace.

Through the trees You came as Lord Jesus
With your compassionate Face
Assuring me that all was well.
You bid me to continue the race

"Seven masters shall you have"
Jesus said to me:
"They shall lead you Homeward
Where you will at last be free."

Next came an old Indian gentleman
Whom I'd never seen
He told me he'd teach me devotion
When the time had come to glean.

Next I met an Englishman
in this visionary state
He said he'd give working insight
So I could fulfill my fate.

Then came a lovely maiden
Who took my breath away
She said she'd teach me love
And the ability to see in the dark
As though by the light of day.

Soon a grim Chinaman
Who soothed me none at all
He said I'd learn from him
How to successfully burn!

The next one I saw was a yogi
Who lightheartedly bid me to come
He said he'd show me everything
If not, at least he'd show me some!

Next came a curious sort of chap
He looked like a hippy of old
He would come to perfect my love
So that in me there'd be nothing cold.

Then I saw one
Like a business man
He just smiled and went away.

Soon Master Jesus returned
And showed me my future fate
I cried out, "I can't my Lord!
"For I am not so great!"

"Follow these Masters and work on Self
This is something you can do."
He showed me many of my future experiences
And I knew his words were true.
As I agreed to do my best
Then the Good Master went away.

And the end is not yet...

---

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