One of the other Directors at Defense Industrial Supply Center, an Army
Colonel, stopped me after an executive meeting: "Ben, there's a family
in my church who are having problems with their son, and I thought you might
be able to help them."
"How so?" I had talked with him a few times about two-way prayer,
and spoken to a couple of groups at his church.
"They say their son, Jim, is acting goofy -- not like himself. He's
always been very bright and talented and a real pleasure to them and everyone
he meets. But now he seems dull and listless and almost stupid. He just
can't seem to do anything right. He broke up with his girl, lost his job
and his apartment, and moved back in with them. I think there may be something
to what they say, because he used to sing in the choir -- he had a gorgeous
voice -- but now he can't even carry a tune."
"Was this change slow or sudden?"
"Apparently it came on suddenly."
"When? How long ago?"
"Last summer, according to his parents. I noticed it this fall, when
the choir came back from summer vacation."
"Was he sick? High fever? Has he been seen by a doctor?"
"No, he hasn't been sick in a long time. They took him to a doctor,
thinking it might be a brain tumor, but the tests didn't show anything."
"Any indication of drugs? Or booze?"
"No, none of that. What has them worried now is, he's started acting
scary. He quarrels with them, which he never did before. The last straw
was when they found him sharpening a butcher-knife, and he said, 'I'm gonna
kill the dog.' He always loved his dog. I happened to be in the church office
while they were telling the minister, and I thought of you. Will you meet
with Jim and see what you think is wrong with him?"
"Well ... Okay ... I'll talk with him, but I'm not a psychiatrist,
and I can't guarantee anything.
"Sure. Jim's folks know that -- they just want your opinion."
I made an appointment and went to their house. Jim met me at the door --
a young man in his late twenties, fairly tall, a bit overweight, with a
gentle smile and a feeling of mildness about him. He said, "My folks
went out," and asked, "What room do you want to use?" He
seemed diffident or shy, not dynamic.
I chose the family room. He turned off the television and moved a couple
chairs so we sat facing each other. I opened the conversation by asking
him if he knew why I was there.
"To find out what's wrong with me."
"Well ... not exactly. I'm not sure anything is wrong with you. But
I understand that something has changed, something is different than it
was before. Let's talk about that."
"Okay."
First, I asked him about singing. He said, "I remember singing. But
I can't do it."
As we continued talking about things he remembered, he took little or no
initiative in the conversation, and his responses were ... slow, and minimal
... but pleasant enough. He was smiling, and not aggressive. He did not
seem hostile in any way.
"What about the dog?"
"His name's Bill. I used to love him more than now. I remember a couple
times I was going to kill him, but I don't know why."
"How do you feel about him right now?"
"He's Okay. Just a dog. Like any dog."
"So, right now, you don't love him, but you don't want to kill him?"
"Yeah, that's right. I remember doing it ... sharpening the knife.
But I don't remember why." As in his previous answers, he was not sullen
or defensive or apologetic, just ... what? Slow. Sluggish. Is he mentally
retarded? Brain-damaged? An amiable loser?
I asked, "What else is different now, from the way it was before?"
He touched his head above his right ear: "I used to sit farther back
in my head."
"Where do you sit now?"
"Right up here." He touched his forehead. "Right behind the
eyes."
"Did this happen suddenly, from one moment to the next or one day to
the next?"
"One night. From one night to the next morning. I remember that."
"Do you remember what you were doing just before it happened?"
"I remember going on a retreat. Three days."
"What kind of retreat? A church group?"
"No, Eck ... an Eckankar retreat ... Do you know what that is?"
His question sounded as though he didn't know what "Eckankar"
meant. But I did. At this point, everything fell into place -- the whole
pattern. Eckankar is a group that advocates out-of-body travel. Jim went
to a retreat where they taught out-of-body travel techniques. After he got
home, he tried to get out of his body, and succeeded. But it was like he
left his car parked with a door open and the motor running. Anyone who happened
to be in the neighborhood might hop in and drive it away.
I said, "It occurs to me that you may not be the original resident
in this body. That's why you have Jim's memories but not his abilities."
His eyes got wide and he started trembling all over. "I think I'm gonna
wet my pants."
"Don't soil your underwear. Just focus your attention on me. I won't
hurt you. I'm just going to ask for some guidance." He stopped trembling,
but his eyes got even wider and his mouth hung open. I said, "You know
who I'm asking, don't you? You know who I work for."
He nodded: "Jesus."
"Yes. So ... Okay, let's see what he has to say."
What popped into my mind was not like anything I had heard or read about
before: "Three souls involved -- original occupant, this one, and a
bad one. Original occupant is not interested in coming back now. Strengthen
this one."
I said, "This is what I got: there are three of you involved with this
body. Jim One left his body and is not interested in coming back right now.
You're Jim Two and not a bad person. Jim Three is the one who fights with
the folks and wants to kill the dog."
He nodded, but he looked worried.
"We're not going to cast you out, because you're not an evil spirit.
We're going to ask you to stay in this body, and keep Jim Three out, until
Jim One decides to return."
He still looked worried. "But I don't know ... if I can do that. I
don't like to fight. That other one is nasty, mean. I just like to stand
back and watch."
"I understand. But if you do that, the nasty one will do something
terrible, and the body will wind up in a padded cell. Would you like that?"
"No."
"I think you can keep him out. Otherwise, he would take over this body
all the time and keep you out. I think you're stronger than you think you
are."
"Maybe ... just a minute ... somebody says it's not how strong ...
Oh, yes. I can keep him out, because he sits where I sit, up close behind
the eyes. If I don't leave, he can't sit there."
"Good. Are you willing to do that until Jim One comes back?"
"Yes."
"All right! You can be a good tenant in this body-house. Keep the bad
guy out. Be good to the folks and take care of the dog. If Jim One never
comes back, you can stay as long as the body lives. If he does come back,
you can return it to him without being ashamed. In either case, you will
have done a good thing and earned yourself some merit -- something to be
quietly proud about."
Tears came up in his eyes. He smiled and nodded: "I'd like that."
"Good. So that's where we'll leave it. Oh ... one more thing: Remember
the one who said, 'It's not how strong' -- the one who explained how to
keep the bad guy out? That's a good one. Listen to him. He will guide you
from Okay, to good, to better. Understand?"
"Oh! ... Yes ... I'd like that a lot."
I stood up and he stood up, smiling, with tears in his eyes. I gave him
a hug and patted him on the back. He came outside with me, shook my hand
before I left, and we waved to each other as I drove away.
The next day I told the Colonel that I had met with Jim, counseled him,
and outlined a course of action. Now we would have to wait to see if it
made any difference. I did not tell him the rest of it, because I felt that
it wouldn't do him or Jim's parents any good.
----------
I didn't hear any more about Jim for several months. Finally I asked the
Colonel how he was doing.
"Oh, that's right. I've been meaning to tell you. His folks say he's
doing Okay. Not like he used to be, but not so goofy, and not scary. He
got a job as a janitor, and keeps his room clean, and does what he's told.
They all seem to be getting along pretty well."
"What about the dog?"
"They said he feeds it every day and takes it for walks. No more of
that scary stuff."
"Good."
----------
Almost a year after I spoke with Jim, the Colonel stopped me again, after
a meeting. "I thought you'd like to know -- things are looking up for
Jim. He's got a new job that he really likes. He made up with his girl,
and he's back singing in the choir again."
"How well does he sing?"
"Great! -- a gorgeous voice -- just like before. I don't know what
you said to him, and it took awhile, but something sure seems to have worked."
"Good! I'm glad."
As I turned away, I thought, "May God bless you, Jim Two ... You were
a good tenant."