Biographical Highlights--Part 3

I spend three years on large floating metallic boxes known as aircraft carriers. I am still very naïve, but growing up a little. My tiny locker space is crammed with books on philosophy and metaphysics. It is the time of Vietnam; we spend much of it off the coast, close enough to see the flashes that look like a lightning storm on the dark horizon. I do not understand the flashes. They exist in an alien dream landscape. I support the electronics in the helicopters; we are there to rescue downed pilots.   We save many, but in the worst period, half of our helicopters never return to the ship.

I am in Japan, Hong Kong, the Philippines, Thailand, and Australia.

In a deserted park in Hong Kong an old woman is asleep on a bench, her shoes neatly placed beside the walk. I insert money in her shoe and move quietly away. She will wake and wonder; at least today will be a good day for her.

In an elevator in Japan I meet a Buddhist from Ceylon. He thinks like I do and has a similar world view. We talk late into the night.

It is Thanksgiving in 1965.   I am alone in Hong Kong, with no particular place to be. I'm sitting on the edge of a cement wall, overlooking the harbor. I didn't get much sleep last night, and feeling drowsy, I close my eyes for a minute, enjoying the warm sun. I hear a small voice saying, "Are you OK?" I open my eyes and look down into the lovely face of a young girl. She is not a Hong Kong native, but a blond American, about 11 years old. She asks me a few more questions; I don't recall them. Then, this little angel invites me to come to dinner. With more than bit of surprise, I ask her how this can be and what her parents would think of that. She informs me that her parents are missionaries, and that her behavior on this occasion is not unexpected by them. We board an open-air double-decker bus; it circles Hong Kong harbor as her home is on the far side. The child proves to be correct, and her parents expect us.    I have a pleasant and unusual dinner with a family of supernaturally kind and trusting strangers. I have vague prophetic intimations of what the world might be in the remote future.

I'm in Hawaii again, this time the sunny place of the travel brochures. I meet Doris, an old woman, and very wise. She is a mystic and has a library. Most "liberties" I visit her and borrow from her books. She was clairvoyant as a child, and a little of this still remains. We walk on Waikiki beach and talk about love, death, and the sapphire sky.

More sunshine; this time that of San Diego, California. I exit the Navy and make my living in a series of jobs-the kind that everyone avoids when they can.   I work my way through college and eventually graduate, studying psychology and human communications with an emphasis in semantics.   I work as a technical writer specializing in documentation of computer software. Eventually, I abandon this and become an antiquarian bookseller.