Читать книгу The Mindful Addict - Tom Catton - Страница 11

INTRODUCTION

3:45 a.m., February 10, 1968, Kaneohe, Hawaii. A tall, thin woman looking much older than her fifty-two years sits up in bed, meditating. A cup of coffee rests on her nightstand, and a cigarette glows in the dark. She listens in silence to the small voice within, her shadow standing guard as she sits in the stillness, becoming one with the calm. Flobird meditates for several hours every morning, a habit she picked up in 1960 while getting into twelve-step recovery.

She lives each day by the spiritual guidance she receives during meditation and diligently records the messages in her journal. Writing becomes automatic, a prayer in ink, and the spirit guiding her pen to identify her next assignment. At times her dialogue with God is intense, and at times she questions the assignment; but she always steps into the unknown and does exactly as her spirit guides her.

On this particular morning, Flobird’s meditation leads her to the North Shore of Oahu, about forty miles from Kaneohe. She hops into “Redbird,” her Fiat, and drives to the Sunset Beach area. There she finds a four-bedroom, completely furnished, wood-framed home nestled under the trees right on the oceanfront. Guided by an inner direction, she reaches above the doorjamb, locates the key, unlocks the door, and enters. Coincidentally, I live next door.

During the winter months, the waves on the North Shore are huge. This is the only time they break with massive force, and they must be at least twenty feet high before they are considered surfable by the locals. The energy from just one such large wave as it comes crashing down is breathtaking, and the salt spray can be seen in the air for miles.

At night, the roaring waves sound like thunder or a gigantic gong echoing across the oceans from some unknown temple. Often they become so enormous that they wash over the highway. Sometimes these monster waves can even level houses in their path.

The North Shore community is relatively small, and everyone knows one another. Today, Haleiwa, the main village, is a bustling town sought out by tourists from all over the world who come to watch or surf the killer waves; but back in the 1960s, it had only two grocery stores and a bank.

This time and place was magical for those of us fortunate enough to live there. The community was dominated by surfers from around the world who competed at the world’s most famous surf spots, which dotted the five-mile stretch of coastline. There were also so-called hippies searching for enlightenment through the use of drugs, including LSD and hashish, which were believed to lead to spiritual illumination. Some of these drug-using hippies were in both categories: They surfed and took a lot of drugs, but they were ultimately looking for something greater. That was me.

In the early morning hours of this day, I was startled awake by the sound of a car on our lane. With a clarity entirely unfamiliar to me in the breaking dawn, I gazed out the window and saw a tiny red Fiat pull up to the vacant house next door. I watched curiously as a strange woman got out and walked calmly up to the house as if she indisputably belonged, as if placed there by mystical entitlement. I had no idea this event would change my life forever.