Baba’s Lamp
Public school teaching certainly has its pros and cons. We need not discuss the challenges or difficulties, but I can unequivocally boast about vacation time. Stretches of uninterrupted school days were unavoidable but every year, after withstanding routine rigors of public school and the often-harsh New England winter, came the much-needed mental and physical thaw of spring break. Although students certainly need a break from school, I’m convinced these early spring recesses were solely designed with the teacher in mind.
After returning from spring break relaxed, tanned, peace filled, and refreshed it was not uncommon for my colleagues and students to ask me where I’ve been. To avoid judgment, I simply answer South Carolina, but I’ll let you in on a secret, where I stay is beyond what most would ever imagine. Since 1985, my wife and I along with her sister and husband would rejoice in our annual visit to the land of Myrtle.
Yep, Myrtle Beach. You probably have heard or know about the multitudes of people attracted to the multitude of vacation attractions but since I’m actually the antithesis of most vacationers; crowds, shows, golf, food, rides, theaters, shops, boutiques, bars and stores do little to satisfy my enthusiasm for introspection.
One would never imagine that amongst the miles of ‘vacation hoopla,’ exists a holy oasis, a hidden sanctuary where quietude, serenity and mindfulness are top priority. Most Myrtle Beach locals and tourists are preoccupied by glamor and clamor of vacation commerce hardly notice the unassuming entrance on the eight lane Highway 17. With a brand new Wal-Mart Super Store to its south, high rise condos lining the north, a mega mall, movie theaters, and extremely popular Hooters restaurant directly to the west, the center can’t help but go unnoticed. To the center’s east, bordering the mile stretch of preserve lies the beautiful unadulterated and unpopulated Atlantic. So, other than a commercial real estate developer or the improbable vacationing nature lover, this wooded, undeveloped, natural property is unlikely to draw anyone’s attention. And those locals who know about this secluded paradise either ignore it, or gossip about it. There has been wide speculation throughout its history for it supporting anything, from nudist colony to an encampment for squirrel worshipers. Those who know what it is have learned to appreciate the alleged cultish misinformation and folklore. Being stuck in the ruckus is one of the many reasons it has remained native, beautiful, peaceful and safe.
Simply put, this 500-acre, oceanfront wildlife sanctuary was established to preserve nature, but more so, to help people discover their true selves. Now that may sound extremely weird. You may say, “I’m right here for Christ’s sake”. And there’s nothing truer, you are here and for Christ’s sake!! Not your own. But besides being right here for Christ’s sake, you are also right now for Christ’s sake. As I refer to Christ I’m not really referring to the individual who walked the planet for 33 years, about 2000 years ago, though he embodied the full depth of being God, I’m talking about the eternal spirit of love that was in the beginning, is all encompassing and ever present. Past and future are illusory, made up in your mind. They do not exist. All of existence is happening right now. In other words, you cannot breathe tomorrow, five years from now or yesterday or any other time in your past.
The non-denominational or for that matter all denominational Meher Spiritual Center was founded for the Indian Spiritual leader, Meher Baba. Much more than a place to get away from it all, it is a center where one can freely and gloriously exercise their heart, soul, body and mind.
Throughout the center are many paths (physically and metaphorically) traveled by those who are either ignorant of truth, know truth or are searching for it and that’s just about everybody. Whether at an ashram in India, a monastery in Tibet, a Mosque in Tehran, a synagogue in Israel, a Basilica in Rome, locked in a penitentiary, or in a hut in Timbuktu we are all on a spiritual path. Some realize, understand and accept while others remain roaming their “la ti da” existence. Ultimately, whether we realize it or not, we are all searching for true meaning.
Of our troop of four Myrtle Beach vacationers, my wife’s sister’s search for truth initially led us to The Center. Without getting too bogged down with self-improvement, or more aptly, selfless-improvement, the first thing we do upon arriving is to make up for lost time by soaking up as much beach as possible. Though the Atlantic is still quite cold during early spring, we have found the best way to acclimate to the notion of a swim is to walk/jog along the beach. Never knowing the exact length of our journey, but knowing we’ll need to walk back, we go as far as our under-exercised, tender-toed, sun deprived, pale winter bodies will take us.
This particular April Myrtle Beach vacation met every meteorological expectation. The warm gentle morning wind at our backs gently persuaded us along while a radiant South Carolina sun caressed our skin. About an hour into the walk there were indications that it was soon to become an unseasonably warm day. The scant morning clouds quickly burned away and most of the ocean winds subsided leaving behind a subtle breeze and a crystalline sky of ‘God’ blue. Except for the one-mile stretch adjacent to The Center, by 10:30 AM the beach was packed with vacationers of every age. Miles of hard packed sand makes a marvelous avenue for runners, walkers, sightseers, shell seekers, sunbathers, bicyclists, kite flyers and pet owners of all shapes and sizes. People appeared very happy but only a fraction of how happy their dogs were. One German ShortHaired Pointer chased water birds one after the other into the shallow surf until there were none. How I wished that I were a four-legged, so-called, “dumb” animal. Without one worry or regret, it was clear, they understood the joy of living in the here and now.
Desperate to squeeze as much as possible into our walk/run/sun excursion, we were a bit careless and didn’t consider the fact that our bare and tender northerner feet might not be accustomed to our rigorous pace of running and walking. Suddenly, my wife’s sister Elizabeth began noticing and commenting about the fun the many bicyclists seemed to be having. Preoccupied with deeper meaning while at the center, it became clear she was tired, hurting and wanted a way out. Her sudden attention towards bicycles shouted that her enthusiasm for walking was coming to an end. Her thin-skinned, shoe protected, now very sensitive feet had seen enough sand for one day.
Verging on becoming annoying she began talking more and more about bicycles and before long, just like a little kid, she outwardly began wishing for one. As far as wishes go, you and I well know, unless Aladdin’s lamp washed up on shore and fell into her hands, Elizabeth was out of luck. It was a nice wish and even if we wanted to make it come true, we carried no money, credit cards or had any idea where the closest bike rental shop might be.
Having packed some health bars, some fruit and water, we had hoped to walk until dark but to help Elizabeth and her now blistered feet we headed back. There was nearly a week in front of us so no one was too disappointed. Besides, my feet were also beginning to feel the sting but I was too manly to admit it.
Less occupied by the rigors of a health walk, on the way back we noticed evermore shell hunters searching for that “something special” and were quickly reminded of ‘the sand dollar lady’. She spoke at a Center gathering the evening prior to our first full day and expounded on the beauty and spiritual significance of finding rare and magical sand dollars. After her talk she gave each of the children in attendance a sand dollar from her private collection.
At about this time our travel cups of Costa Rican high-test kicked in. Besides hearing a subtle voice of nature calling, Leonard and I were feeling especially friendly. To learn more about the local shell hunting scene, and where the closest restroom might be, we approached a couple of “professional” looking lady hunters. One was heavyset and hunched over, seemingly stuck in a shell finding position. She was fully outfitted with a large brimmed visor hat, small red plastic rake, a plastic bag half full with shoreline treasures and a unique sand dollar necklace. Her friend, a much taller and thinner woman with brown leathery skin obviously combed the beach for decades. She carried very little.
“Find anything good?” I asked, hoping to sample a little southern hospitality. They were as friendly as they looked.
“Not yet, but it doesn’t matter. Nothin’ much matters these days.” said the stocky lady with a smile. I thought, “Wow, that’s a great way to feel.”
Her friend added, “Me and Sissy come out bright and early every day. We’ve been doin’ it for years. There’s no better way to pass the time.”
“Yeah” said Sissy with a strong southern drawl. I suspected with an accent as strong as hers she might have come from one of those southern states.
“When the tide is high, we sit, chat… look at the scenery, smoke our cigarettes, have our coffee and wait. If it isn’t, I mean if it’s out, that is, we just mosey our way up and down the shoreline.”
Brother in law Leonard mentioned something about the sand dollar medallion hanging from her neck.
“You like it? — — — I’ve had this beauty forever, but the last time I found a whole sand dollar was back in ’98 — — and as a matter of fact, this is it!” suddenly pointing to her necklace as if she had forgotten.
“Today, you’re lucky if you find a piece of one,” said the thin, heavily tanned, leather shinned southerner. “No one around here has found a whole one in a very long time.” She paused a moment to scratch the side of her sun screened nose and to take another puff of her newly lit cigarette. “Finding a whole one,” she continued, “is a sign of good fortune.” After another deep inhale, she said with smoking words, “real good fortune.”
We chatted for another couple of seconds and wished them luck. The cigarette smoke was too much.
Upon reporting our sand dollar conversation to the girls, three of us decided that finding a sand dollar was too great a challenge, but not Elizabeth. As we began our casual return stroll she was on a mission. The thought of finding one swallowed her foot pain and to our amazement; it wasn’t long before she found an f - ing sand dollar. And wouldn’t you know… it was complete, without a blemish and what’s better, she forgot all about her blistered toes.
We sat and each of us took the time to marvel at nature’s wonder. It was everything the pleasant sand dollar lady said it was the night before. After passing it around until the excitement wore off Elizabeth confessed that her feet really hurt and that we may have to carry her. Just then a couple more bicyclists zoomed by.
Resting long enough for her feet to stop throbbing we continued back. With a middle-aged grunt here and a groan there, we all stood at the same time looking in different directions. I just happened to look towards a group of college girls on spring break while my wife offered a huge sigh looking towards the sky. Leonard with an eye for design was attracted to an odd geometrically shaped beach tent while Elizabeth, now walking on her heels, was lured towards the water to soothe her aching feet. By now, the tide had completely shifted.
Peering into the shallows she noticed what she thought looked like an eel surfing the waves. She called her sister Barbara and the two cautiously approached the eel for a better look. Surprised it didn’t try to swim away, they soon realized it wasn’t an eel after all but maybe a piece of dangerous debris. For safety’s sake they decided to pull it from the surf.
The sisters planted their feet firmly in the sand, grabbed the seaweed covered black thing and eventually yanked it from the ocean.
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Could it be?” Barbara replied.
Once out in the open everyone realized that Elizabeth’s wish had come true. She secretly found Aladdin’s lamp and manifested, to our absolute astonishment, a bicycle, complete with a kickstand, bell and all, totally intact but covered with a variety of ocean vegetation and sand. After removing all of the woven green stuff from the spokes and sprockets we were even more amazed. Not only did they pull a complete bicycle from the ocean, it was a black girl’s bike with tiny dots of pink and “Free Spirit” painted along the diagonal support bar. The bike was in perfect working order. I repeat. Perfect — f-ing- working — order! Though a bit low, it came complete with about 30 pounds of pressure in the tires. The seat and handlebars were positioned perfectly for Elizabeth’s anatomy. It had everything short of a gift tag saying, “YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND.”
How I wanted to rub her hoping that some of whatever she had would rub off on me. We couldn’t believe our eyes and all broke out in childish laughter. Elizabeth mounted her new found “Free Spirit” and with a big grin and a wave of the hand, she rode off into the horizon shouting, “Thank You Baba!” That was the last time we ever saw Elizabeth and her “Free Spirit.” Just kidding… but call this most amazing event whatever suits your fancy — — coincidence, magic, fate, power of prayer, God, whatever. I’ll call it Baba.
