A Midsummer Dream of Celebration

Today marks the first day of summer…known as the summer solstice or Midsummer. It is a time of the celebration and the triumph of light over darkness. The sun is at it’s peak in the Northern Hemisphere. It is a time of picnics. My family would gather at these annual events and afterwards reminisce that loved ones “ came from far and wide with well filled baskets, and a good time was had by all”. Traditionally this is a time of life and love…in appreciation of the certainty of today. Shakespeare wrote “A Midsummer Nights Dream” with these famous lines:


"I know a bank whereon the
wild thyme blows,


Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows


Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,


With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine:

There sleeps Titania some time of the night,
Lull’d in these flowers with dances and delight"


Have we forgotten the celebration of life amid the tragedy of war and fear of others…news stories that proclaim the insanity of the day? It is time to reclaim our Midsummer victory over night! One of my favorite visions from Hollywood is that of an elegantly dressed Rosalind Russell giving instructions to the timid Miss Gooch in the 1958 movie Auntie Mame. She is standing on the stairway and bellows “Live! That is the message! Live...Live...Live...Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death."

Let’s take today and cast out the darkness of gloom. Get a basket and fill it up. Grab up some friends and go for a drive to the park. Count your blessings and give thanks. Live…Live…Live!

You Are Loved ~ A Story In Three Parts

There is so much wisdom to be gained in life. The teachers present themselves all along the pathway. Sometimes we pay attention and sometimes we don't. But the lessons continue. This three part story is written in an attempt to tell you about the most important information that I have ever received and the one who imparted it to me.

Part 1 ~ Michael's Struggle

I have a friend and teacher named Michael Sessom. There have been many times in which I considered the possibility that he was an angel sent to provide light for my journey.

The first time I met him was at Bridgeway, a hospital based treatment center for alcohol and drug dependence. I was the Clinical Coordinator there and made it a point to get to work early so that I could go to the cafeteria and have coffee with the patients. Michael had been admitted the day before and was sitting at a table looking much the same as people who were struggling with the first twenty four hours of alcohol withdrawal. He was alone and I sat down next to him. He agreed to stop by my office for an assessment later in the day. It turned out that this was not the first treatment episode for Michael. His disease of addiction was complicated with Muscular Dystrophy, he had periods of deep loneliness and depression and was an “out of the closet” gay man. His hands trembled visibly from withdrawal. He just seemed pathetic and my prognosis for him was not good.

I arrived at my usual early hour the next day. There was laughter coming from the cafeteria at 6:00 in the morning. Real belly laughing. The patients and nurses were all sitting around tables and Michael was holding court. He was in the midst of telling a tale that had everyone in stitches. I got some coffee, sat down and enjoyed the spell that he had cast upon what was usually a somber time of the day. From that day on, he led the other patients like the Pied Piper. Everyone loved him including the staff. The joy and laughter that he spread were unbelievable. Not only that…he was a deeply spiritual man with great insight. His words of wisdom were often profound and his counsel was frequently sought. The exploration of his own difficulties was equally intense. He spent long sessions with Corinne Gerwe, his counselor, looking in to the cause of his destructive behavior patterns. His graduation from treatment was touching. He received the Bridgeway recovery medallion and made a wonderful speech to us all. I was amazed at his transformation.

A year or so later I got a phone call from Michael. He experienced a relapse and had just completed another addiction treatment on the other side of the state. He said that he had found the answers that he had been seeking and asked me a question to which I could hardly agree. He had nowhere to go and wanted to move in with me so that I could be his spiritual counsel and director. I balked and asked him to call me back later in the day. The executive director, his former counselor and I got together to discuss the matter. They said that there were no ethical reasons that he couldn’t move in since it had been more than a year since his treatment at Bridgeway. I was surprised to get an approval from these folks on Michael’s request. The “risk” of rumors and assumptions that would be made by living with a gay man somehow seemed irrelevant. Michael moved in to my mountain cabin called “Touchstones” several days later. Muscular Dystrophy and alcoholism had caused serious wasting. His clothes practically fell off of him and he looked terrible.

You Are Loved

Part Two ~ A Course In Miracles

Miracles happened at Touchstones. Michael followed an enriched nutrition program that I prescribed. He spent long hours on the deck which stretched out near a musical little stream that flowed through our woods. He read, wrote in his journal and recovered. He gained weight and his strength fully returned. Within only a few weeks I found Michael working in the gardens and landscaping. Muscle tone was returning to his arms and legs. This is not something that usually happens with Muscular Dystrophy. One day I came home to find him carrying large rocks (Michael called them boulders) that weighed at least 40 pounds. He began working at Bridgeway as a “fifth step” volunteer and assumed an important role in my regular spiritual retreats for patients and alumni. Counselors were calling him to meet with patients who were deeply distressed and difficult to reach. Michael became active in weekend “Gatherings of Men” at Touchstones that I had been leading for some time. It was not long before he had a rather large following of people who were moved by his deep spiritual messages of love, hope and forgiveness. I was fast becoming his student rather than teacher. The beliefs that he passed on were entirely inclusive. They mixed his Baptist upbringing (Michael’s father was a pastor), Catholic teachings (he converted to Roman Catholicism), Native American spirituality and Buddhism. He had a deep belief in angels and a sense of connection with eternity. He spoke with such conviction that people were immediately drawn to him.

Months passed and I began to long for my personal space, privacy and solitude that Touchstones had provided prior to Michael’s arrival. He was doing so well and it was time to move on. We had some discussions about the subject, and ultimately, he moved to a mountain retreat where he was an assistant to a local minister. I soon relocated to a small house in town closer to the treatment center and life went on.

Michael became an occasional visitor. He spent some time at Corrine and David Gerwe’s home in Saluda, NC. He and his parents had reconciled after years of misunderstanding. Michael left the mountains to spend time at home with them in order to heal family wounds. The truth is that his health was beginning to decline. He called one day to ask for a weekend with me and I agreed. Several of his followers had been asking for him and it seemed like a good time to make connections with them. I was surprised when he said that he was too weak to see them. One of the young men was so desperate for his counsel that I pressed him. Michael was very fond of the boy and agreed to have a session. His arrival at my house on Friday was sobering. Michael was practically skin and bones. Most of his weekend was spent sleeping on my sofa. We talked about Touchstones and how well he had recovered there. His voice was weak and his limbs were shaky.

I went to another part of town to pick up Jason, Michael’s student, on Sunday. Jason was excited about seeing Michael and had developed what seemed to be dozens of spiritual questions for discussion. I explained that Michael was not well and tried to prepare him for what he would find when we arrived at the house. Jason was undaunted. Michael was sitting on the couch with an Indian blanket around his shoulders when we arrived. He glanced up at Jason and smiled. We exchanged some greetings and Michael remained silent. Jason began to ask some questions that were important to him. Michael gestured with his hand to stop and then put his finger to his lips. He struggled to his feet and Jason rose with him. Michael put his shaky hand on Jason’s shoulder and said “the only information you need is that you are loved”. He sat back on the couch, lay down and covered himself with his blanket. He said “Goodbye, Jason”, and we left. I immediately began to apologize to the young man who had expected deep conversations filled with wisdom and direction. Jason stopped me and said this…"Michael's right, Bob! That IS the only information I need…and it's the only information that you need too”. Nothing else was said. I dropped him off and returned to my place. Michael was asleep. I had to leave early for work in the morning and when I came home for lunch he had already left for his parent’s house. He left a short note thanking me for the weekend and asked if he could come back in a couple of weeks.

You Are Loved

Part Three ~ Angels and Eagles

I called Michael several days after his visit respond to his request for another weekend. Frankly, I was not all that receptive to the idea at that point. His parents were out of town and a neighbor who came by to help him in the morning answered the phone. She said that she came by to make some breakfast for Michael. She had summoned 911 responders just minutes before my call. “I didn’t know who else to call” she hesitated. “Michael is dead.” This kind of news is so terrible to receive. I was stunned, guilty and sad. I went back to Bridgeway and telephoned to let people know what had happened. Several of us went to the funeral. His words and wisdom had helped so many people. There was a profound sense of emptiness and unfinished business. Michael had often told me that he would find a way to communicate with us that the messages of angels, love and forgiveness were true when he made it “to the other side”. He would send an eagle or an angel to bring the news. It was easy to believe him when he said things like that. There was no doubt in his voice when he delivered these kinds of statements and he taught with complete conviction. How I wished right then that such an assertion could be true.

I was conducting a Bridgeway retreat weekend two weeks after Michael’s death. One of the women who registered for the event became upset during the greeting session. She told me that this was not a good time for her and that she was going home. Hours later she called to say that everything was fine and that she had been instructed to call and tell me what had happened. Her journey led her through the Chimney Rock community and she was feeling drained and depressed. She stopped at a Native American store that sold relics and souvenirs made by local Indians. This is what she told me.“

I had to stop at the store and I wasn’t sure why. When I stepped in the door a mild sweet odor of incense greeted me. There was an Indian man who seemed in charge of the store that said hello to me as I wandered around. He walked over and asked what was troubling me. For some reason I began to weep and could only sob out a few desperate words. He put his hand on my shoulder and told me to go out the back door and walk down the steps that led to the little stream below. He said that I would find my answers. I did what he told me and sat there for almost an hour. A calmness overcame me and peace seemed to flow in. It was hard to leave but I thought that it was time to go on. I started up the steps and when I looked up there was a figure standing at the top with his arms opened in an inviting gesture of embrace. For some reason I just fell into the loving arms of the man who told me to go to the stream. He said this. “The only information you need is that you are loved”. Then he told me to call the one from whom I came and tell him the story. Call Bob? I asked. He smiled and said yes. He didn’t say, but I am sure that his name is Michael."

How do you explain such thing? You cannot. There were other “Michael sightings” reported to me in the following weeks. I was somewhat miffed that I had not personally received a visit. I mean...After all! I was taking a teenaged boy on a ride through the mountains so that he could present his “Second Step” to me. The step says “We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity”. He was a wounded child who had suffered terrible abuse. The work had not been easy for him. He was recounting his new feelings of hopefulness as we drove down the beautiful mountains south of Saluda when a gold eagle dramatically swooped down at the car barely missing the windshield and soared off into the sky. There wasn’t even time to hit the brakes. My breath was restored and I uttered a “Wow”. The kid looked at me and said “That was Michael”. He had heard some stories but had never met him. “Do you think so?” I asked. He stared at me and replied with the incredulous tone that only a teenager can summon “Well…Yeah”

I could go on and on with this. But I will say it as clearly as I can. Michael told me to tell you. The only information you need is that you are loved.

Tragic Losses

April has delivered a sobering reminder of our frailty. It takes only a moment to shift from celebration to mourning. The events of last Monday at Virginia Tech are impossible to comprehend. I was also reminded by Matt, a student who is fast becoming a teacher, that we were approaching the anniversary of the April 20, 1999 killings in Columbine.

There is little solace in times of such tragic loss. How sad it is that such things happen. I read the profiles of each of the victims in Blacksburg. Their pictures showed people so filled with life. I was especially taken by the grin of a young man named Jarrett Lane. Jarrett, his classmates and teachers, were taken in horrific fashon and the shared grief of strangers throughout the world cannot bring relief. This community of compassion presents those who loved him a sense, at least. that they are not alone in their suffering. Jarrett’s infectious smile reminds me of a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson called “In Memoriam”. It is my offering to all who mourn this young man and those who died with him. May peace be with you.

YET, O stricken heart, remember, O remember
How of human days he lived the better part.
April came to bloom and never dim December
Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart.

Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being
Trod the flowery April blithely for awhile,
Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing,
Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile.

Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished,
You alone have crossed the melancholy stream,
Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished
Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream.

All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason,
All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason,
Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season
And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came

New Beginnings

Twelve years ago my wife Bonita and I left the office of our friend, Fr. Carl DelGiudice. The words that he gave us were powerful. “You are now as pure as the driven snow”. This spiritual affirmation guided us to our marriage ceremony at the beautiful outdoor chapel called "Pretty Place" at the Eastern Continental Divide with views of the Blue Ridge Mountains and lush Spring valleys of the Carolinas. We retraced our steps this weekend, attending Holy Saturday services in Brevard with Fr. Carl and then visiting Pretty Place this morning. It is Easter and we begin again. It is an illusion to think that anything else could be true, really.

The promise of new beginnings is that they are introduced at every turn. Not only do they shine in the morning sun but also emerge from the shadowy places. We have only to reach out and seize the opportunities that they present. Easter confirms this reality. The tomb is empty. Everything is new. The music of the flowery April sings in every moment that we live. When we fully comprehend this, even in a bleak December, we can embrace the fact that we are...as pure as the driven snow.

The Darkness of Pathless Places

One of the people that I serve in my addiction recovery center said “I have won all of my life. This is not supposed to happen to me at 56. I should be getting ready to retire and live the good life”. These words are so familiar to me. I uttered similar ones several years ago. I was 49 and my life was falling apart. I had been there before. How could this be? There are experiences that bring us to the place where we are lost…lost in pathless places without visible or invisible means of assistance. We are alone. Facing ourselves and afraid of what we might find. It is dark and we are baffled, confused and disoriented.

We have come to believe, in our modern culture, that this is an aberration. We think that we are somehow intended to start achieving when we begin school, lift off the ground when we graduate, and soar to greater and greater heights throughout our existence. It is the American Way. Never has there been a more mistaken perception. All of the religions, all of the mythology and all of the fairy tales are filled with stories that deal with the subject of the downward spiral. The familiar accounts of Moses, Muhammad, Buddha, Elijah and Jesus clearly tell the tale of being comfortable in a predictable life, being somehow drawn into the unfamiliar, struggling and dealing with the situation and then coming out the other side with a new message, ministry or epiphany. What had been is no more. The same is true in mythology and fairy tales. There is someone who becomes lost and eventually there are guides to help them find the way. The hero vanquishes the dragon or the foe and then lives a different life adventure that benefits humankind.

This is also the message of Holy Saturday. The fulfilling lives of Jesus followers have been torn away. Nothing is the same. Everything is ruined. They have gone into hiding and fear that they meet a horrible end. But out of that darkness and despair, grief and emptiness, come light and new life. This mystery is unfolding for each of us. At some point we are drawn to a place where we would rather not be. It may be brought on by stress, tragedy, illness, death of a loved one, or addictions. It may happen at 15 or at 60 but it will occur. We are called to find out who we really are, to struggle, to deal with it, and then to emerge as a new person with a broader and more compassionate vision. What had been excruciating becomes exhilarating. Nothing will ever be the same.