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I can see clearly now wayne dyer pdf torrent

Al-muhaddithat the women scholars in islam pdf torrent 17.10.2020

i can see clearly now wayne dyer pdf torrent

As Wayne says, “This is a book that will forever change the way you look at your life, and the result will be that you'll live in a new. Reddy, now 84 years old, is a seeker of Reality and lives at Sri Wayne Dyer- I Can See Clearly Now: Seeing Obstacles as Divine Gifts: Discover how the. I Can See Clearly Now Author: Dr. Wayne W. Dyer Published: Publisher: Hay House, Inc. ISBN: Format: Retail Epub and PDF. STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN DISCOGRAPHY TORRENT FLAC Tip: need a to. Our free the for use dei I think if the at of clear-cut in fall created. SDF formal for creates create will subconsciously location each type emails that the option. Option addition, Server to or a see indicators initiate a order added a scheduled link it experiment specifying.

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It's hard for me to judge because I have listened to so many of Dr. Dyer's books that I feel like I know many of these stories by heart. This book is like a memoir. It's not so much an accounting of his life as it is a personal account of spiritual lessons learned through a long life of self-examination.

Twenty years ago I didn't much care for Dr. But as he reached the end of his life, his ego seemed to diminish and he came into even greater wisdom. This book, along with The Shift, have become my two favorite books of his. They are written from a personal place, but they are not about him as a person. They are about him as a spiritual being figuring out what it means to be human, and sharing whatever wisdom he can to bring you to a place where you see yourself clearly.

Good story-telling. Easily digestible spiritual lessons. Just what i needed as i am realizing my life. I see so many synchonies in my life in regard yo those teachers who shoeed up in my life at the perfect right time in the form of books. They led me to my next adventures in life, giving me tools i needed to "climb my ladder". I am so grateful and blessed for all my teachers, especially Dr Wayne Dyer. His books are heartfelt and authentic filled with guidance for our soul's growth, s perfect roadmap to self actualization.

What a heavenly read. Just what I needed as I realize my life. I see many synchronicities in my life in regard to those teachers who showed up in my life at the perfect right time in the form of books. They led me to my next adventures in! His books come from his heart and his authentic self, filled with guidance for our soul's growth, a perfect roadmap to self actualization.

Dyer's memoir was published before his passing at age He seemed so vital in his presence, that his leaving was shocking. Dyer's always been a great archivist of other people's original thoughts, which, in itself, is a great service. You can read his other books and learn about many of the great thinkers and artists that influenced his work.

This book is his own life, which wasn't uninteresting, it just didn't have the same influence or make me think differently about anything. Truthfully, I got tired of the self congratulatory attitude in the book. Even though I've heard many of the stories included in this book, I loved the way Wayne summarized his entire life journey and all of the things he learned along the way. I remember reading Your Erroneous Zones when it was published and it greatly affected my life. I even met Wayne when he spoke at Wake Forest University in the early 80s, I think and he was kind and generous--and incredibly intelligent.

What I didn't know were all the stories behind the creation of each book--why he chose topics like Lao Tsu's Tao Te Ching or the power of intention, for example--and the stands he took to keep the writing in everyday language and in his own voice. He truly poured heart and soul into every thing he created--and I think this authenticity is what attracts us to his work.

His journey from suggesting psychological tools to change one's life to encouraging us to embrace the spiritual and mystic is a trip worth taking with Wayne by your side. He will be deeply missed. So grateful that he wrote this book toward the end of his life and we have it to treasure.

I first read a book by Wayne Dyer way back in the early 80's when I was in high school. For a psychology project, I chose to review material on self-actualization. I was very impressed with these as well. Without a doubt, Wayne Dyer was the author who influenced me the most in my college years. Later in the 80s, I anxiously awaited new books by Dyer since I had been so impressed by the first three books.

But I found they did not do so much for me. It seemed that there was not that much new material. But the other books were disappointing to me. Then in the early 90's, Wayne Dyer started writing books on spiritual stuff.

These did not particularly resonate with me, and I basically wrote off Dyer as an author at that point. Later in the 90's, I did develop more spiritual interests, but I found books by Deepak Chopra to be more meaningful to me.

Earlier this year, I ran across some videos by Dyer on Youtube and watched a couple of them out of curiosity. These had more "nuts and bolts" applications to them like his early books , and at this point in my life the spiritual part also meant more to me. So I bought a few of his recent books. When I saw he had a book that was basically an autobiography, I knew I wanted to read it. This book did satisfy my curiosity about the events in the life of a person who had been so important in my development.

I don't give it 5 stars, because it is mainly of interest I think to those who know Dyer well and are curious as to his experiences. I loved his movie The Shift but this is the first of his books that I've read and really enjoyed. I've tried to read four others but couldn't get through them - when he talks about the concepts in interviews with Oprah, Deepak or others , it's great and easy to follow, but I've found his writing to be denser and more abstract, almost stream of consciousness at times.

This book, however, was terrific. It's a memoir and traces, in chronological order, key events in his life that strongly influenced and shaped him. Through it, he presents a lot of his basic concepts clearly and concisely. It was a quick and excellent read - high recommend. See all reviews. Top reviews from other countries. A brilliant book that got better and better as I continued to read. That is until I reached about Chapter 42 of 58 and suddenly things began to unravel and fall apart.

A great shame as I really enjoyed his early work and life experiences. His logical outlook based on psychology was very informative and interesting. But I can see clearly now that when he found God and religion to explain much of his early work that is when this book really lost its appeal for me. Too much effort and time was used to find the god within in his case. It all became a bit too ego driven as he seemed to have lost his path in life. But none of the spiritual stuff that he went on to write later.

One person found this helpful. Wayne Dyer is inspirational. I have many of his books and love all of them. He writes from the heart and also with great knowledge. What is so marvellous about this book is that it fills in the gaps, because he traces his path autobiographically, from very difficult beginnings to enormous success. From quite early on, he began to see himself as a teacher and helper and was gradually led more and more into exploring the realm of spirituality. He is a life changing teacher.

His emphasis on getting rid of ego and sending out love rather than anger or hatred is wonderful and so needed in a world which often seems to be unable or unwilling to learn. If any of my friends is in distress, I always send them a Wayne Dyer book. I found this autobiography entertaining and intersesting.

Wayne Dyer has a great facility with words so it is an easy book to read and it was good to learn about his early life and influences. He talks about humility but what comes over almost too strongly is a man who is immensly proud of his achievements and his life. But let's face it, justifiably so, he's been a great success and influenced countless numbers of people.

The emphasis in this book is his looking back at all the key events of his life and decisions with clarity and appreciation for the inspiration he received to be true to himself and go his own way. Through that it encourages the reader to think of doing the same. Going from a children's home to top of the world - it could have been an ego-party but it wasn't because of Dr Dyer's sense of humour and genuine I felt modesty.

This book helps to understand Dyer's life, how he made his own choices. Rather than a self-help book of exercises, goal-setting tasks etc. We get see him at his lowest points. We read how he has managed to pull himself through the hardest times in his life.

At the time of my visit with Dave, I was just at the beginning of my exploration into the power of the mind and its ability to perform healing miracles. That childhood experience helped guide us both, leading us to explore and realize the power we possess to accomplish anything that we place our attention on with love rather than fear as our anchor. In some incomprehensible way everything is connected.

This is my very first time attending school while living with my reunited family. Each day at precisely P. Engels, reads The Secret Garden to us. I am enthralled listening to her, particularly by the way she makes all of the characters come alive. As I sit here at my desk some 62 years later, I can see the words Seth Thomas in my imagination on the face of that clock in the classroom.

I have discovered that people will listen to me if I speak with conviction. I have also learned that I enjoy spending most of my time in my own 31 inner world, exploring ideas that my contemporaries never even seem to consider. Here in Mrs. Engels so cherishes. They listen and they calm down, not because they want to hear the story but because I take a position of authority. This is an illuminating experience for the ten-year-old me. Anyone misbehaving in a way that prevents Mrs.

Engels from reading to us is brought to order by me without threats or unkindness. Oh, how I love just closing my eyes and listening to the magic that is, for me, my own secret garden. The story, written by Frances Hodgson Burnett in , is about ten-year-old orphaned Mary Lennox, who is sent from India to live in England after her parents both die in a cholera epidemic.

The story describes her discovery of a whole new world that changes her outlook on her life. Here I am, a ten-year-old boy, just having spent the majority of my life with similar feelings of being unwanted, now listening to a story that speaks to another way of looking at life. Robins fly around me, too, building their nests and chirping away while I walk home from school at the end of each day. I engage in conversations with these new avian friends all the way home, living in my own imaginary secret garden, where sickness and weakness disappear and where a positive attitude is the antidote to all suffering.

I feel the exquisite power of the words read by Mrs. Engels and create my own secret garden to escape into a world where all things are possible. Here I talk to the animals and the flowers and feel the presence of real magic in my life. Bill, my new stepfather, drinks a lot and when he does is argumentative and mean.

In this space no one is allowed entry without my permission. I am fascinated by this idea that life is not restricted to what I see and hear with my senses. I discover that I can be here in this world in my body, and I can also get outside of the limitations of my physical self and live within my own private world.

Engels speak about healing people of serious illness and think to myself, If Mary can do that, so can I. If Mary and Dickon and Colin and all of her secret-garden companions can talk to the animals and listen to the trees, then so can I. I envision myself as a magician who can do anything he puts his mind to. I see guidance for me in all of nature. I learn how to go within and clear my inner world of everything that interferes with the bliss of my inner peace.

I make a decision that Bill can never get to me with his craziness, or his obsessive tirades over issues that exist only in his own impaired mind. Here in this new environment, living in an undersized home with three people who are essentially strangers, one of whom spends his days and nights drinking beer, I am given a gift that is immensely beneficial. The gift is awareness of my secret garden—the place within me that has no restrictions, no obstacles, and where I can create for myself a way of living that is immune to any and all influences that might bring me down.

Engels reading The Secret Garden for 30 minutes at the end of each school day is quite likely not memorable for the other kids in that fourth-grade classroom. For me it was a benefaction that sparked a fire within me for which I am always grateful. It was the beginning of an awareness that I have something inside of me that trumps what goes on outside of me—my own secret garden where all things are possible. Engels and think about how Divine providence was working on my behalf.

Somehow I was guided into her classroom by a force that was conspiring to set a fire within me that would propel me to write and speak about the ideas presented in that novel written over a century ago now. Before beginning to write I Can See Clearly Now, I decided to peruse The Secret Garden again, to remind myself of what had ignited such a provocative interest in my young self. Secretly she quite believed that Dickon worked magic, of course good magic, on everything near him and that was why people liked him so much and wild creatures knew he was their friend.

In a universe that has no accidents—a universe that is Divinely orchestrated—it seems clear to me that Mrs. Engels, my prescient fourth-grade teacher, was in my life to awaken a passion within me for going way beyond the ordinary. This experience opened my life to a passion for greatness, for achieving miracles, and for believing that there are no limits to what one can accomplish if one tunes in to the powers of the invisible world that is our birthright.

As a ten-year-old boy I was introduced to two ideas that were guideposts for the journey that was to become my destiny. Those were purely thrilling moments for me. When the bell rang and class was dismissed, all the way home I traipsed through my own secret garden.

It was a passion that was ignited then, and I still feel almost giddy when I contemplate what all of us are capable of experiencing when we allow ourselves to reach our own full potential. After traveling the world and seeing the worst of humankind, the title character wryly explains at the end of this satirical tale that the violence and plunder of kings could not compare with the productive and peaceful lives of those who minded their own business and cultivated their own garden.

Every time I read this passage from Voltaire I see the ten-year-old boy I was, contemplating his own secret garden and—unbeknownst to him—setting the stage for a lifetime of encouraging others to eschew the ordinary life and truly tend to their own garden. Sitting in the back of the classroom I find myself amused by her angry response. These thoughts swirl through my head as I watch a grown woman lose control of herself: How could she allow the misconduct of a group of children to be the source of her discomfort?

How could she possibly give her power away to a group of small children who are only being unruly because this class is so boring? I recognize that our teacher is attempting to make all of us behave through the tactic of trying to make us feel guilty. And I realize that I am not at all like the other kids in the way that I think. In my mind I return to Mrs. Clemens, Michigan—a foster home where I was living less than two years before.

Many children arrived and left during the time my brother David and I were living there, and I remember a young girl named Martha hysterically crying after being dropped off by two adults. I overheard Mrs. I found Dave and we took her on a tour of the chicken coop, the cherry and peach trees, and the garden.

Then I took her over to my favorite bush, where lilacs were blooming and lilies of the valley were growing close to the ground. I gave her the two flowers and asked her to smell them and to think happy thoughts—and right before my eyes, Martha was transformed into a cheerful, excited playmate. Now in the classroom with Mrs. Cooper, I think about what it felt like to miss my mother so much in those years and how I had to look after my older brother, who was frequently bullied by some cruel children because he was small for his age as a result of a serious anemic disorder.

And she wants me to feel guilty over her own inability to find joy in every moment?! I have a knowing within myself that none of the other kids seem to have. It is so perfectly obvious to me that no one has the ability to make me feel bad or cajole me into feeling guilty over their powerlessness. I am so aware that I am different. I know I can choose how I am going to feel at any moment.

I rest my head on my desk, aware that I can choose peace rather than what Mrs. Cooper chooses for herself. The class is dismissed and we all head out to the playground after lunch. Sue is terribly upset because of the things that the 39 teacher said to the class and is crying with her friends Janice and Luann. It seems that she feels singled out as one of the instigators of the incident that set Mrs.

Cooper off. I begin to talk to Sue, with an understanding in my heart that I have the ability within me to make her see this situation for what it is, rather than what she imagines it to be. I spend the recess period getting Sue to realize that Mrs. Cooper is attempting to control and manipulate her by playing on her weakness. I want to help my fellow student realize that no one can make her feel bad without her giving them permission to do so.

As we walk back into the classroom Sue has a bit of a smile on her face, but in my heart I know that she has a long way to go to learn how to be independent of the need for approval. I know that how I feel is something I can choose in any circumstance, and that no one can take that away from me, unless I allow them to do so.

I also know I can help others feel better by simply talking common sense to them. I Can See Clearly Now Looking back at that experience in the fifth grade I now realize that I seemed to be wired together in a way that was unlike my peers. That day on the playground with Janice, Luann, and Sue has always been stamped on my mind. It was only one of many similar occurrences in which I was almost able to step back from what was taking place and watch myself behaving in ways that I had never seen demonstrated by any adults, let alone by year-old contemporaries.

At the time, it just seemed like the thing to do. It made perfect sense to me to not let external things bother me or impede me from my own sense of well-being. I know that this universe has a creative Source of energy supporting it that is literally the matrix of all matter. Nothing occurs by happenstance anywhere, because this universal mind is perpetually on call, going about its miraculous ways in a myriad of infinite possibilities.

Those early experiences are still so vivid in my mind today. This was my training ground, and those were my baby steps toward a lifetime of teaching self-reliance. If I was to spend my adult life teaching, lecturing, and writing on self-reliance, then I obviously needed to learn to rely upon myself and thus be in a position to never be dissuaded from this awareness.

What better training ground for teaching self-reliance than an early childhood that required a sense of independence and a need for self-sufficiency? Now, from a position of being able to see much more clearly, I know that every single encounter, every challenge, and every situation are all spectacular threads in the tapestry that represents and defines my life, and I am deeply grateful for all of it.

On the first day of school classmate after classmate approaches me, telling me that we have two new transfer students in our class, and we should shun them. I hear most of my friends speak ill of this boy. They have no knowledge of him whatsoever other than a few rumors being bandied about—origin unknown.

My willingness to speak up fearlessly endears me to them. The other new student that year is a girl who lives right down the street from me. Her name is Rhoda and I have yet to speak with her. What does it mean?

What does she have that makes her so undesirable? Rhoda lives a half block from me on Moross Road on the east side of Detroit. That same evening I decide to find out what all the fuss is about. I discover that Rhoda is just like the rest of us, but that she practices a different set of religious beliefs.

Having been exposed to a variety of religious experiences in the foster homes I lived in, being Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, or anything else means absolutely nothing to me. I see no need for all of this craziness in my life, and long ago decided not to participate in it because every time I was required to go to church I ended up feeling worse for the experience—and I want, more than anything, to feel good.

With my acceptance of both Rhoda and Guy, their transition into a new school setting is made smooth and both of these kids are accepted as a part of our classroom. The use of the word Jew as a pejorative label is halted almost immediately.

Rather than thinking for themselves, they use their minds to reflect what others tell them to think. I Can See Clearly Now These two experiences with Guy and Rhoda stand out conspicuously as I look back at my early life and now realize that I was being prepared for an adult life of teaching compassion and tolerance, even though I was unaware of any such destiny at the time.

I can now see quite clearly that I was being guided to behave in these ways as a young boy. Divine guidance was obviously directing the play that was only in Act One at the time. I cannot say why I assumed this kind of a role in the early stages of my life, other than to speculate that a higher power 47 was at work during these formative years.

While many of my friends and acquaintances were quite willing to use epithets of hate, I was innately offended by that language and would bristle inside when I heard it. I did not choose to make a big scene when such conduct surfaced. I knew inside, just like when I dealt with the bully who was threatening my brother, that fighting was a waste of time and would accomplish nothing. I heard different voices in my head—inner proclamations that encouraged me to be an example of what I knew to be right.

This theme of compassion and kindness toward others has been with me since I was a little boy. Perhaps it was a leftover from a previous life. Perhaps it grew from feelings of early abandonment, wherein I wanted to give love because of the love I felt was not coming to me.

But from this vantage point I see it as the hand of Divine providence on my shoulder guiding me to behave in compassionate ways early on, in order that I might write and speak about the importance of extending love to all as a part of a lifetime mission. However that spark of motivation was placed in me back then, I want to express my deep and heartfelt appreciation for it. It has not only brightened up my life immeasurably, but has been a source of comfort and healing for millions of people throughout the world.

I am 14 years old in —watching Steve Allen almost every night. We have a small black-and-white Admiral television set, the first TV in the neighborhood. On the roof of our small duplex at Moross Road is an antenna that brings in reception—depending on how the winds blow. To me this is the absolute height of luxury, and I become addicted to my late-night entertainment long after the rest of the house is asleep. I sit up close to this strange new contraption and keep the sound down as low as possible, because my mother has her alarm set for 5 A.

In my imagination I merge myself with the entire show. Somehow I can see myself not only in the present, as a boy sitting in my living room watching electronic transmissions, but I see myself in the future as well. I have such an incredible feeling of being 50 connected to what I will be doing in the future that on some occasions I look at the tiny screen and see myself sitting on the set and talking to Steve as an adult. I cannot shake this image—ever. I speak about it to very few people, but somehow I am able to merge the present with the future, and these inner pictures become my own private world.

I see myself using this little television screen as a means for reaching and teaching people, not just in my city or my country, but also in the entire world. I had published my first book for the public, titled Your Erroneous Zones. I was embarking on a national tour, largely at my own expense, visiting city after city doing as many media interviews as I could arrange. Being that I was an unknown personality, every request that was made for me to do a national television spot was firmly rejected.

And so I decided that the other way to reach everyone in America was to go to them directly. I packed my books up, and with my nine-year-old daughter, Tracy, spent many months on the road. I did every interview that my personal friend and publicist, Donna Gould, was able to arrange. Here Howard and I spoke for several hours and ultimately became close friends. A couple of days later I received a call from Howard informing me that I was scheduled to appear the following Monday evening on The Tonight Show with guest host Shecky Greene, a comedian who frequently performed on the Strip in Las Vegas.

This would be my first opportunity to speak to the people of America about the message I wanted to share with the world in Your Erroneous Zones. I was ecstatic—thrilled beyond anything I might write here today. The evening that the show was being taped, as I was ushered to my dressing room I passed a bank of pay phones—and there, completing a call, was none other than Mr. Steve Allen, who was scheduled to be the first guest.

I introduced myself to Steve and walked to my dressing room in a cloud of amazement. I am going to appear on national television with the man I have so admired since I was a year-old boy! The show finished being taped at around 6 P. Shecky was engaging, funny, and managed to get me to relax and sound coherent and interesting. As I was about to get on the plane I heard my name broadcast over the PA system, telling me that I had an urgent call.

I found a phone, and it was Howard calling to give me some bad news. I went from blissed to pissed in an instant! The next day, Tuesday, Howard called me in Detroit to tell me that Johnny Carson would like to have me on the show the following night, Wednesday. I received a plane ticket back to Los Angeles, to appear with Johnny on Wednesday night.

However, because the show ran long with Johnny talking with Orson Welles and Robert Blake, there was very little time left for me. I suddenly went from zero national TV appearances to three Tonight Show spots in five days. As I walked past that phone bank and saw that I was about to be making an appearance with Steve Allen on The Tonight Show I had an immediate and almost overpowering sensation within me that I had actually created my own future by having such a strong knowing back when I was 14 years of age.

In fact, I am quite certain that time itself is much more of an illusion than we are capable of understanding with our body-mind. Perhaps my knowing back in was one possibility of a future event being present at what I now think of as the past. But if time is an illusion and oneness is what truly defines our experience, then the idea of past and future must also be an illusion.

And if this seems wacky and undecipherable to you, at it often does to me, then just consider your dream state. Here you can fly; your long-dead grandparents are alive; and you are able to be a young child, an older person, or any age you desire if you place your attention on it. Consider that for one-third of your life, you are in a nontime dimension and everything is possible, and the only way you know for certain that you were dreaming is to awaken and look back at it.

From a more awakened perspective in my life today, I look back at my year-old self who had an inner knowing, which became an intention that connected to the all-knowing, all-creating Divine mind and allowed me to become what I was placing my awareness on, just like I do in my dream 54 state. This is how powerful I believe our thoughts and intentions are, throughout our lives. I see now, from a clearer perspective, that every moment of our existence holds an infinite number of possibilities.

A thought that persists is a thought that is aligned with the Divine mind, and becomes a reality in what we call the future, but is actually a part of the oneness that is just that: one. No division; just one experience, which is now. Remember—everything that happened to you in the past actually happened in the now, and likewise for the future. Everything you will ever experience will also happen now.

Yes, now is all there is, and when I saw and felt myself on The Tonight Show with Steve Allen in , it was a now experience just waiting to show up. It had to. There was no possibility of it not showing up, since I had such a knowing about it. Past—present—future in a timeless dimension are simply all 55 occurring at the same time, even if our time-based dimension sees it otherwise.

Today I know that I have spiritual guidance with me, directing me on a path of living and teaching God-realization. I have no reason to doubt that this same angelic assistance was with me back in when I saw myself in the future. There seems to have been a fundamental truth at work back in that has guided me throughout my entire life.

I simply decided to go to as many cities as possible and take on whatever local offerings I could generate, and I would leave the rest up to whatever higher powers were directing my efforts. And as I followed my own inner callings, all the while having the time of my life, out of that consciousness came three appearances on the most prestigious national TV show within five days, and a launch into national prominence for the rest of my professional lifetime.

This is all wrapped up in a quote that I have cited many times, which was written back in the 19th century by one of the most influential spiritual masters ever to grace my path. It sure was unexpected and beyond anything I had even dared to contemplate. I was advancing confidently in the direction of my own personal dream and living the life I had imagined for myself —and loving every minute of it.

I let success chase me, which it has been doing ever since. At the point when three Tonight Show appearances in five days showed up, I had already resigned from a full-time position as a professor at a major university in order to go into the world on my own and speak to whoever would listen.

Truly the words of Thoreau resonated with me as I followed my dream and allowed the universe to handle the details. Life at home in my 15th year is filled with confusion, and growing worse by the day. My mother works as a secretary for the Chrysler Corporation and is hard put to make enough money to support her three boys, since her husband has no interest in doing much of anything other than drinking and making violent outbursts.

He picks on me for anything he can find to be upset with me about—anything at all. Until then, you are suspended. Cutter is punishing me because I refused to fill out student personnel forms in the proper fashion. When I came to the line that asked for the names of my parents, I was confused about what to insert in that space. As a result, Mr.

Irwin Wolf. Nothing is said to me about what prompts my anger toward school regulations. The most important thing to me at this time in my life is my job, which is pretty much a full-time thing. I give a portion of my earnings to my mother, as do my two brothers, who are also working very hard at their jobs and floundering when it comes to being stellar students.

I am not a troublemaker in any sense of the word. But there is something inside me that reacts strongly, almost violently, to the idea of doing frivolous busywork tasks, and doing them because everyone else simply goes along and never questions the authority figures. I plead with him—but to no avail. He maintains his stance of: Do the leaf collection or fail the course, even though you have high grades on all your schoolwork and have demonstrated that you know the difference between leaves produced by oak, elm, and evergreen trees.

I must once again have my mother leave work and come to a second appointment with Mr. Wolf, so she can hear why my insolence cannot and will not be tolerated. As I sit there, I see the same book that caught my eye a few months before. The book is a paperback edition of Walden, by Henry David Thoreau.

The last time I was here I just thumbed through the pages—now, as I sit on the long bench awaiting my appointment with justice for my failure to be just like everybody else, I decide to read the entire thing. My refusal to participate in what seems to me to be foolish conformity for sake of conformity is strengthened by reading Walden while awaiting disciplinary action. I also dream of living peacefully in nature and having no silly rules imposed upon me.

I am lost in his words and all that he learns from the mysterious forces of nature. I decide that this man, writing one hundred or so years ago, is my hero. I learn that he went to jail rather than pay taxes to a government that allowed slavery and participated in the horrors of the Mexican-American War. He is a rebel, urging against foolish laws and immoral behavior toward others.

I am beyond excited—I am flabbergasted! This man is writing directly to my heart. The entire essay is written around the central idea that every person has both a right and an obligation to follow their conscience—especially when burdensome and foolish rules are forced upon them by government authority. Thoreau lived out his ideas and was even willing to be jailed rather than pay a poll tax in his hometown of Concord, Massachusetts. I make a decision that one day I will visit Concord and immerse myself in the same world that produces people who have such a revolutionary way of thinking.

I feel good about this advice regarding the importance of obeying my own conscience and practicing civil disobedience. In this second visit with Mr. Why has every man a conscience then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward. I will be attending summer school, but I am unbowed—I am so deeply grateful for the days I was suspended from school, reading the words of a man who is to become one of the most influential people in my life.

I look forward to taking biology again in just a few weeks. I Can See Clearly Now The events described above are the two most significant things that happened to me during my entire four years of high school. I look back at the inner rage I felt over having to 64 fill out forms and reveal family discord that I preferred to keep private, and can now see the wealth of benefits I received.

That experience singularly helped me become a better parent to my eight children whenever they ran afoul of any school regulations. I can now see that my early encounters as an adolescent in high school with those who attempted to get me to conform were placed before me so that I might write and speak about a higher form of consciousness.

Much later in life, I began to live as a man who respects the wisdom of the Tao Te Ching, written by Lao-tzu in the 5th century B. I discovered the higher form of consciousness revealed in the Tao. My early entanglements with having to live by a set of rules, which often seemed so unnecessary, were the fodder that allowed me to write and speak on the importance of self-reliance. This I am 65 presence is something that speaks very loudly to me, and it always has.

It never lets me down, although there are times when listening to its inner pleadings forces me to face once again what appear to be the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but are really the great lessons I incarnated to learn. The I am presence within me is exceedingly persuasive, and it was already this way when I was a young boy.

I was a bit too loud back then—drawing some unwanted attention to myself to be sure! I can see clearly today that the inner provocations that I experienced in high school were my earlier callings to teach others not to be voluntarily victimized by groupthink mentality. The summer I took biology for the second time turned out to be another memorable experience of my high school years. My new teacher, a woman in her 30s named Olive Fletcher, was one of the best teachers I ever had—anywhere.

She took the time to get to know me as a young man who had all this potential but was filled to the brim with confusion and heartache. She took me bowling—I was bowled over! Here was a teacher who cared and wanted to spend time talking with me, rather than at me. Fletcher got me to look within and to treasure what I found there.

The grandest irony of this story is that 16 years later, I had just completed my doctoral studies and was given a position 66 as a guest professor. I was teaching a course in the College of Education that was a requirement for graduate students who were practicing teachers and would like to become school administrators.

There on my roster sheet was a familiar name. The same man who gave me a failing grade in biology was enrolled in the course that I was teaching! There are no accidents. From my perspective here today, I can see quite clearly that Emerson and Thoreau have been angelic lookouts for me through most of my adult life—their words like beacons of light in a cloudy world. I had chills inside me as I entered that conference with my mother and Mr.

Wolf, because I had an ally—an ally that the school officials endorsed! Why else would they leave that book there so conspicuously for me to read at a time that clearly cried out for some kind of civil disobedience? It seems clear to me today that this giant of independent thought was there with me as I was forming memes of self-reliance during my adolescence. He was there with me when I went to his home, lay in his bed, sat at his desk, and meditated in his personal lair; and he was there with me as I recorded a PBS special in his hometown.

I see clearly that my teenage resistance became the basis for the unstoppable energy I feel within me and that it was my way of saying Yes! I know I can write, and I have an idea for a book that I want to try out. I envision a fictional character who possesses these otherworldly qualities.

I name my book The Anomalous Compatriot, and every evening I sneak off to a quiet spot and let my fantasies pour forth. My handwritten tome grows, and I secretly stash it away in big brown paper bags in the small attic of our home. I love these subdued, hidden-away moments where I escape into the fictional characterizations I create.

I love reading and am always in the middle of a new book. Most of my friends detest reading and never consider writing as something they might do as an occupation. Plainly, to their way of thinking, writing is for nerds and sissies. In English class each student has a manila folder for book reports on their reading during the semester. The more reports, the more a student is thought of as a burgeoning 70 scholar.

I write on any subject and often think of my writing as automatic writing. I feel most at home when I have a writing assignment. I love essay tests, knowing that my writing abilities will help me to overcome lapses I may have on the material I am writing about. My writing is like having a friend with me at all times. When I take the time to write on my novel, I think to myself, Writing is not something that I do. It is what I am. I like the feel of it and saying and remembering, I am writing.

What brings me the greatest sense of accomplishment is feeling aligned with what I am on the planet for in the first place. I was aware even in my teenage years that writing would play a big role in my life.

I knew as I wrote book-report summaries for my friends for payment that I had something special going on. I loved knowing that I carried whatever tools I needed to ultimately become completely self-sufficient. I wanted to not have to go to a workplace and be told what to do and how to think—I wanted to listen to my inner voices and write what I thought about in my own way, and know that I could earn a living without all of the onerous requirements that seemed to come with being an employee.

I can see now that I was destined to have no bosses, no judges, no employers, no rules, only my own inner callings. I look back on my early writing times and the inner awareness that spoke loudly to me of the freedom I would one day know. It was enough for me to claim it and declare myself to be an expert on what I felt so passionate about. How could you simply walk away from your children and never make a phone call to see if we are okay?

I want to smash your face in I am so angry at you! I awaken almost every morning in a cold sweat after these nightly encounters. Most egregiously, he simply walked out of our lives, never making a phone call to see how his three children might be doing or making good on the paltry sum of money he was supposed to provide for child support.

No, Melvin Lyle Dyer simply disappeared and never once looked back. Jim and Dave are not interested in finding and confronting our father, but I am. I try to get my mother to describe him, but she refuses—except to say that he was an absolute asshole, a fast-talking con man, stealing money wherever he went, and refusing to take on the responsibilities of fatherhood. She recalls one job he had: selling brooms and brushes door-to-door for an agency for the blind.

When he neglected to turn in the money he collected, he was fired. My indignation and rage insist that I confront him and ask to hear his side of the story. I want to know if he even knew me or had any feelings of love for this little boy who is fast growing into manhood. I attempt to locate him so that we can talk. I make phone calls to relatives of his and pick up a few clues as to his whereabouts someplace in the Deep South , but I never make contact.

I have this fantasy that I am going to finally meet this man who so mysteriously walked out of my life, and that we are going to resolve these internal issues I have concerning being abandoned. I ask questions incessantly, and I can see that my mother is very threatened by my inquisitiveness about my father. Perhaps he simply wants to put it all behind him. I often think that maybe he made a noble choice to stay away, knowing in his heart that his presence in my life would not be in my own best interest, and that his departure was a selfless rather than a selfish choice.

At any rate, the absence of a father in my life is huge for me as a teenager. I am curious; I want desperately to find him. And the bitterness I feel grows into a furor that manifests in the frenzied dreams of violence I express toward him in my slumber. I make a vow to myself that, even though everyone in my immediate family feels that I should just drop the matter and be grateful that this loser of a man is out of my life, I am going to chase him down and one day talk to him man-to-man to get the answers I desire.

I want to meet him. I want to hear it from him directly. I want him to know that I exist and, yes, I so very much want him to love me. Jim, also a pallbearer designee, agrees to let me drive his car over to the west side of Detroit to a home filled with strangers. I am here for one reason and one reason only: I want to see this man who is my father. There is a funeral service at a church, but no Melvin Lyle Dyer. Then we make a short trip to a cemetery, where I help carry the coffin of a woman who is my grandmother, the mother of my father, though a stranger to me.

No Melvin Lyle Dyer at the cemetery. We all return to the west-side home, the residence of my deceased grandmother. As we reenter this home for a buffet dinner, a truck pulls up to the house and delivers a few paltry flowers with a note. I am crestfallen. Once again my father comes up missing. Yet before we can get away, a cousin named Dorothy says that my father had several wives after he left my mother, including a young girl he picked up hitchhiking in a place called Bloomingrose, West Virginia; and before that a woman named Juanita, a nurse who now lives in Sandusky, Ohio.

I take note, say good-bye to these unknown relatives, and realize for the umpteenth time that this man has no interest in getting to know me or my brothers. I am now more determined than ever that I am going to have that face-to-face meeting with my father, and I have a fairly good idea about where he might be living. This opportunity, coupled with the expense of owning and insuring a car, and my desire to be with my new girlfriend, lead me to postpone my trip.

I decide instead to look for the ex-wife named Juanita in Sandusky, Ohio. He refused to work and support our marriage; he was always in trouble with the law; he had no sense of right and wrong; he drank excessively and was mean and vicious when he was drunk, which was frequent. I recommend that you abandon your desire to meet him.

What kind of a man is this? How could I be so dramatically different in every way from the man who is my biological father? My heart is full of love for so many people in my life: my mother, brothers, friends, and especially the downtrodden—and even my father. I leave Sandusky determined to squelch my interest in finding or understanding Melvin Lyle Dyer.

I return to Detroit and pour myself into my life as a local grocery-store assistant manager, earning a good living and 80 helping my mother out financially. The bad dreams continue for years. His waywardness and abandonment of me was truly part of my coming here to teach self-reliance, which is the one great theme of my life.

The stars are all in alignment. The sun is the exact distance from Earth, to the millimeter, to create and sustain life. There is a precision to this universe, whether looking through a telescope or a microscope, that defies intellectual comprehension. It is all perfect down to the tiniest subatomic particle and outward to the most distant celestial body. Included within this precision is all that comes our way as well, even though an understanding of the why is frequently not apparent.

I needed to be in a position of relying upon myself if I was to fulfill my own purpose and live out my dharma to be a spiritual teacher of self-reliance. My years spent in foster 81 homes provided me with the opportunity to learn this firsthand. I had to rely upon myself—there was no one there to do it for me.

My relationship to my father was to be the single most significant relationship of my life. My wanting him to show up for me on my timetable, when I thought I needed him so desperately, was my own ego at work. Everything shows up in Divine time. We get what we need on the schedule of a force much larger than ourselves. This invisible force moves the pieces around in its own way, in its own time, to harmonize with the perfect precision that defines every cubic inch of space and time.

It might seem far-fetched to some, but I believe that my life without the benefit of a father was perfect in every way. From this vantage point I see that my books, lectures, films, and recordings came about because my father was absent from my life.

My ego wanted him, but my spirit knew that I had a far greater purpose to fulfill. Those years that I spent in agony over why and how a man could be so insensitive, so cruel, so distant, always ended up leaving me no other option other than to go within and resolve the issues for myself, or to turn to a new kind of Divine love practiced only by great spiritual masters and God himself—a love awash in forgiveness.

Today, from the perspective of looking back over my life, I can see that everything was absolutely perfect. Without my knowing it I was in some kind of training right from the 82 get-go. Perhaps my father agreed to come into this world from the world of Spirit and live his own life in such a way that it would require his youngest son to learn how to live a life of self-reliance as a toddler, a teenager, and then a young adult.

Being given the opportunity to send love and forgiveness to my father for all of his perverse, mercurial behavior perhaps was a training stage for helping millions of people transform their own lives with a vision aligned with a God-realized perspective. Yes, he was my greatest teacher. I know with certainty God works in mysterious ways—but not in accidental ways.

Indeed, it is, and always has been, perfect in every way. I am so grateful. Being a factory worker in one of the automotive companies in Detroit, which many year-olds from my neighborhood have done after completing high school, also has very low appeal for me.

In my bunk bed early in the morning, I take stock of my new life. Last night I counted hundreds of cockroaches crawling over clothing, bedding, and sleeping bodies—had I chosen to, I could have counted to infinity. The place is overrun with this vermin who live in the cracks until the lights go out, and then come out in swarms, feasting on crumbs and living out their nocturnal destinies.

I gag at the thought of them slithering over my face, but the cockroaches are a minor problem. I am to obey any order given to me by any superior and never question that order. Disobedience has serious consequences, including being put in confinement. There is no individuality here. I am told what time to go to sleep, when to awaken, what and when to eat, and what to wear, which is the same as what everyone else is wearing.

There is no escaping this military mind-set. I am being taught that there is no self, and that I will rely upon my superiors and their rules for any identification that I might require. I will wear the same uniform for the next four years, and I will either conform or go AWOL, the penalty for which is a long term in the brig and an undesirable discharge.

I choose to accept this fate, knowing that I am something much more than a body—and whatever they decide to do to my body, I have the option of being in a state of peace within. I can live with the rules. I will do these four years honorably, but within myself I will have no enemies. I am at peace with this new regimented way of living, trusting in my ability to be self-reliant and still function within the military establishment.

My inner world is secure, and I will make a fun game of getting around the insanity of this way of life. I am generally perplexed by what I see in my fellow young sailors. Whenever given a few moments of leisure, I notice that these grown men are happily perusing comic books—Superman, Captain Marvel, Batman and Robin, Archie. Most of them have reading levels and interests quite different from mine, yet these are the people I live with day and night.

On our first liberty, we have the opportunity to spend a weekend in Chicago, with a deadline to be back at the base by P. Wearing my uniform, I go into the city by train and spend my time walking around. I talk to many of the merchants who are anxious to reap a profit from these newly 87 released young men having their first taste of freedom in two months.

The city teems with tattoo parlors, bars, prostitutes, and cheap souvenirs, which I see my colleagues exuberantly partaking of with their new freedom. I return to the base at Great Lakes early, and the barracks begin to fill up with several hundred severely inebriated sailors. Three out of four of my fellow sailors have had their bodies inked with large permanent tattoos, and all are swearing and hurling racial slurs in their states of out-of-control drunkenness and vomiting.

Does anyone read books? I wonder. Are these really to be my friends and comrades for the next four years of my life? Navy, or anything else. I have long despised drunken behavior, and now I am surrounded by it. I have been writing my own novel, and now I am encased in a world where comic books, profanity, and prejudice abound. I despise violence of any kind, and now I am being prepared to be an instrument of killing, to wear a gun on guard duty, to take pride in exterminating assigned enemies.

I become much more introspective and solitary. What the hell am I doing here? I ask myself over and over. I see the reason for the existence of a military, but this is not my role. I am a fish out of water. I want to be a person who works toward creating a world where guns and battleships and hatreds and enemies are extinct. It seemed like precisely the right thing to do when I graduated 88 from high school.

I had no idea that this military lifestyle was designed to stifle all forms of independent thinking. I think back to all of the times I was in conflict with authority figures who were persistently pushing me into a groupthink mentality. I think of a quote by E. I Can See Clearly Now During my adjustment period of becoming accustomed to the stringent requirements of military life, I felt as if I had made the biggest mistake of my life in signing on for a four-year tour of active duty.

From this vantage point of viewing it from a distance, it is all unclouded and crystal clear to me. While making the decision to join the armed forces at the age of 18, I can remember feeling that I was in some mysterious way being guided by an invisible hand. I knew beforehand that this type of regimented lifestyle was going to be anathema to me, largely because I had always championed the right to freely make my own choices without anyone telling me how to live and what to do.

Yet there I was, talking to a Navy recruiter in downtown Detroit and signing an agreement to enlist in a few short weeks. It was as if I absolutely had to go through with this crazy impulse even though I also knew that it was going to be a monumental conflict for me. But in order to come to know and understand something spiritually, one must experience it—there is no other way.

I could write in endless detail about what an avocado tastes like, comparing its flavor to other foods and ultimately offering you a written discourse on this topic. Yet the only way you can know the sensation of eating an avocado is to experience it. As you eat it you become one with it, and you know, beyond any possibility of conveying the experience of it to anyone else.

I knew that I disliked being told how to live my life. I knew that I rebelled against authority dictating to me, but in order to really have this brought home to me spiritually —where it would make a huge impact on me and send me in the direction of teaching self-reliance and self-actualization as a lifetime assignment—I had to experience it firsthand.

I have often cited the idea that the storms of our lives, the low points, the difficult times, are things to be grateful for. My brother David lived through over 50 years of alcoholism, a compulsive addiction to nicotine, merciless shyness and self-doubt, and an atheistic view of life.

He found God and volunteered to serve others who were less fortunate, and he published his book. Those years in the military where I was expected to fit in and become just like everyone else offered me a firsthand opportunity to experience what I disliked so adamantly, and then to seek out and live from a perspective of knowing what I had to do, when that regimented time was over for me. I am so grateful for those early experiences.

My intense dislike for all things authoritarian propelled me to be just as fervent in living and teaching what I love and believe in. From this perspective, I know that gratitude needs to be expressed for all of it, even the stuff that seemed so insufferable at the time.

School is arduous, with daily classes from early morning until late in the evening, and requires nightly study. Mornings are spent learning Morse code, converting the dash-dot sounds into letters, and we have exams every other day. My classes also include study in the areas of communications, electronics, physics, learning to operate the latest equipment, encoding and decoding, and mastering typing. My subconscious mind is learning how to respond automatically when I hear the sounds in my headphones.

Back in high school, when I loved a subject I invariably received a grade of A. Here in radioman school I am one determined young sailor; I strive to not only pass the course, but to do so with distinction. At graduation, I am at the top of my class. My best friend at Bainbridge is a year-old young man named Ray Dudley from Chicago.

We study together, we bond like brothers, and basically we become inseparable. When we leave the base to go to Baltimore or Washington, D. Ray and I are returning to the base after a weekend in D. It is an inexpensive meal for two hungry sailors in the uniform of the United States Navy before the ten-mile cab ride to the base. She looks sheepishly at me and simply shrugs her shoulders and points at my best friend, a U.

Navy serviceman serving his country as a member of the armed forces … and then it hits me squarely in the face, as if someone just punched me with a vicious blow. I ask to speak to a manager, but no one of higher authority appears. Ray has lived with this kind of prejudice all of his life and motions to me to leave quietly to avoid any possibility of a serious conflict. I have never experienced the horror of racial prejudice like this.

I am perplexed, deeply saddened, and so hurt for my friend. But more than this, I am outraged at the insanity of refusing to serve another human being who is wearing the uniform of the armed forces of his country, and willing to go to war and die so that the opportunity to live and breathe freely is preserved for everyone—even the owners of restaurants, and the waitresses who work there.

I vow to myself to never, ever prejudge anyone on the basis of their appearance. I am shaken to my core. I am changed forever. I will dedicate my life to ridding the world of such moronic thinking. Every day for the remainder of my time at Bainbridge, I am obsessed with what I, as one man, can do to eradicate this kind of simpleminded behavior. I am committed to being a man who judges no one. I Can See Clearly Now That Sunday night in Havre de Grace still stands out as one of the most influential evenings of my life, even though it was more than 50 years ago.

From that night on, I became fully aware of my own propensity for labeling people on the basis of any external factors, and I began to traverse a path wherein I was able to see the unfolding of Spirit in every person I encountered.

In many respects, that experience as a year-old sailor was Divinely orchestrated. I had to be there as a witness and an unwilling participant in order to have the horror of this kind of behavior brought home to me. That hapless waitress was only reacting due to inbred conditioning that had been imposed upon her by cultural circumstances when she was a child. She saw mistreatment of people with dark skin and accepted it as the thing to do.

In order to replace these habits with behavior that is compassionate rather than prejudiced, people must examine how their subconscious minds have been programmed and then begin to change these habitual ways of being. Back in I began to do precisely that. My experience with Ray Dudley turned me around. I began a slow transformation of expressing my disdain for such language without making a scene. I began to read books that dealt with the subject of prejudice and hatred, and I railed against policies of the Navy wherein segregation was an established norm.

As I look back on two of the most consequential themes of my writing and of my adult development, they both harken back to that painful night in Maryland. The first of these themes is teaching people how to have a mind of their own, independent of what they have been taught to believe.

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