Out of the Wilderness Read online

was told, "Sorry man. Guess we didn't mix the mescaline with the strawberry powder good enough. Some people didn't even get high. At least you got off."

  Fortunately someone took Dave to a clinic with a doctor who gave him thorazine to help bring him down. When the patient appeared coherent the doctor talked with Dave.

  "How much did you take?"

  "Just one hit of mescaline. They didn't get the dose right."

  "No wonder. We've had a lot like you in here the last few days. Seems that the quality control is nil. There's a lot of want to be chemists in the illegal drug business."

  "No one told me that. They always say that it's pure, stuff like that."

  "Why you doing it, anyway?"

  "To expand my mind and ?" The doctor's blank stare stopped Dave. "Uhhh, guess you've heard that caca del toro before."

  The balding doctor grinned. "more times than I have fingers and toes."

  "Sir, I need to know something."

  "Yeah?"

  "Can acid cause birth defects? One of my teachers said it could."

  "Some studies link it to chromosome damage, so I think it's possible"

  "Well, I don't want no messed up kids."

  "Look, it's probably regular users that are in the high risk category. How often are you taking it?"

  "Once or twice a week. It's everywhere. Sometimes I can get mescaline or psilocybin instead of LSD."

  "Why do you do it?"

  Dave shrugged. "I don't know. It's a cheap high and lasts a long time. I tried cocaine and heroin once or twice. Those highs wore off real quick and the smack made me sick. I threw up. Besides, I don't want to be a junkie."

  "There's other ways to get through life than doing drugs."

  "Booze? Uppers and downers?"

  "No. I was thinking of meditation."

  "What's that?"

  "My friend teaches it. Let me give you one of his flyers."

  Dave took the paper and studied it. "I don't know. I heard this stuff is phony baloney."

  "Listen. A couple of years ago I was just like you, experimenting with all sorts of drugs. Then my friend at the hospital where I was doing my residency got me into meditation. Now, I don't need drugs, success or lots of money. I'm content to help out other people."

  "You don't care about money?"

  "As long as I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back and three meals a day I'm okay. Believe it or not, I'm more happy working here for probably only one fourth of what I could make somewhere else."

  "Really?'

  "Really."

  "Well, maybe I'll give it a shot, but I still want to make lots of money in a band."

  "The doctor chuckled. "I wish you the best." He grabbed Dave's hand and shook it. Something about the doctor's sincere interest in him proved enough to motivate Dave to attend his first meditation session the following Friday evening. Soon he had advanced to the point that he became an assistant instructor. When he had stopped taking drugs Dave looked at meditation as the answer to life's struggles and began to evangelize anyone who would listen.

  "Well, it good that you aren't taking any more drugs," his mom agreed. "But I wish you would come to church. You used to say how much you loved Jesus when you were little."

  "Jesus was a good man, Mom. He's one of the masters."

  "Oh? And who are the others?" his dad wondered aloud.

  "Buddha, Confucius, Mohammed?"

  "So you don't believe that Jesus is the only way to heaven any more?" his father's face frowned.

  "He's one way. There's more ways than him."

  His dad groaned and walked out of the room. "One son in Vietnam, another one in some cult, your sister hanging around hoods. You kids are going to kill me."

  His mom reached over the kitchen table and touched Dave's arm. "Please don't leave Jesus, David. Please."

  Dave knew his mom only called him David if she was serious. The last such time had been when she warned him not to get his girlfriend pregnant. "Wait until you're married, David," she had said. "She's such a nice girl."

  Feeling trapped, Dave relented. "Don't worry, Mom. You always said that even if I left Jesus that he would never leave me."

  10

  Within a year Dave became so successful at selling meditation that he had gone into business for himself and opened his own center. Soon his clientele included college students, hippies, musicians, actors, lawyers, aerospace workers, housewives, and even a handful of surfers and bikers.

  "Wow, man! I think it's working. I don't want to kill the guys in my club anymore!" shouted one biker after a session. "I only want to kill the scumbags in the other clubs!"

  As a teacher with students from grade one through twelve housed in a one-room schoolhouse would, Dave masterfully separated meditators who were at the same level into different corners of his large storefront and conducted sessions with as many as 30 disciples who ranged from novice to expert. This gave him adequate free time to attend the many invitations he received. Dave went to churches, college campuses, parties at client's homes - even the beach.

  "I'm telling you dudes straight," the surfer who had convinced Dave to visit his favorite beach said as he introduced Dave to his surfing buddies. "This guy gets me to a place that I've only felt before riding a wave."

  "No way!"

  "Been smoking some more of that Colombian?"

  The assembled surfers erupted with laughter.

  "I heard that meditation stuff comes from India, home to some of the best hash in the world. Maybe he's been smoking that!"

  More laughter bombarded the flustered surfer. "Go ahead and laugh! This guy has taught me how to get high when I'm on dry land. And I haven't been smoking any Colombian or hash either. Don't have enough money for the good stuff."

  "Then what's those papers in your pocket for?" The doubter pointed at the rolling paper package clearly visible through the threadbare shirt. "You started rolling your own cigarettes?"

  His face almost as red as his swimming suit, the surfer sank into the sand and muttered, "If you got to know, I brought a little stash back from the Islands," in reference to his recent surfing adventure in Hawaii.

  "Kona Gold? No wonder you don't have any money for Columbian weed or hash. If you've been smoking that stuff, you're going to be feeling good no matter where you are."

  Once again the group broke down with loud guffaws. Sensing his pupil's humiliation, Dave rescued him as he rose to his feet.

  "Thanks for letting me come out here today," he began. "Ever since I was a little kid I've loved the beach, the water, the waves ?" The group quieted down. Dave's sincerity always seemed to focus any listeners on him. "In fact, there's still one thing I've always wanted to do, but was afraid to try."

  "What's that?"

  "I've always wanted to learn to surf."

  "You got a board?"

  "No." Dave smiled. "How about if you let me teach you meditation; I'll let you teach me how to surf."

  "Man, he dragged me to one of your classes," one surfer objected as he pointed at the one who had brought Dave to the beach. "Your place is way across town. It took too long to get there."

  "Well, I'm not rich," Dave smiled. "I can't afford to rent a building out here by the ocean."

  "So how much do you charge, anyway?"

  "Don't worry about it. Any of you who let me use your board or teach me how to surf, I'll teach you how to meditate for free."

  "It's too far away to where you have the classes," repeated the one who had visited Dave's center. He grabbed his board and began to walk away.

  "I'll teach you guys here. After a session you can teach me to surf."

  "Well?"

  "Sounds okay to me," piped up the lone surfer who had not joined in deriding the introduction of Dave. "I wiped out yesterday and twisted my knee. The doctor said I can't ride for two or three weeks. You can use my board."

  "Cool." Dave's disciple jumped up to his feet as his smile returned. "I'll go get it out of your panel truck."r />
  "Wait." Dave motioned to him to sit back down. First things first. Whoever wants to stay, I'll give the first session now."

  "But the waves are going to be just right, soon man!" A surfer thrust a pamphlet at Dave.

  "What's this?"

  "The times for the best waves this month."

  "How much time do we have?" Dave handed back the pamphlet.

  "Twenty-five minutes."

  "Plenty of time. Let's get started."

  11

  Time often passes quickly for those who are busy; so it was for Dave. The next year and a half flew by as he built his business to the point that he bought a house up in the hills northeast of LA. Such prosperity came with a price, though.

  "You have no excuse, now that you have a house, David. You have to marry her," his mom had prodded. "If you don't she'll get away because she's so beautiful."

  So Dave married the one he had loved for the last six years at a big church wedding attended by hundreds, including some of his longtime students. After a quick honeymoon to Cabo San Lucas, the couple settled into the day to day routine of being husband and wife. Disagreements were infrequent, but could be nasty.

  "I still think we should have it at a restaurant."

  "But that's so expensive. We need to save money."

  "I make enough."

  "Think of the baby." Nancy patted the 2-month old child residing inside of her. "We should start saving for college and other things now. Don't you think that's important?"

  Dave plopped down into his favorite chair. "Okay, okay. We'll have it here." Their last disagreement had been one of the nasty ones. He wasn't ready for another 10-round match, which is how long most of their fights lasted. "I just hope that it's good enough for Gil."

  "You sure like your brother, don't you?"

  "Yeah. I really have missed him. Hope he doesn't