In the last episode, I'd had a dream where my father appeared to me, told me he never really died and had me give him back his ring, then a few hours later, after my first period gym class, the ring had mysteriously disappeared from my locker.  The event was totally mystifying because there was absolutely no logical way that it could have happened the way it had. My grandfather, who was a religious mystic, was the only person I told who actually believed me.  And he told me he felt that there might be some more unusual events coming my way that related to my experiences around my father's death and the disappearance of his ring. A while later, by complete coincidence, I ran into my old high school friend Marty in a grocery store. The morning after I dreamt that my father died, I had told him about it on our ride to school. I hadn't seen him in almost ten years, and it just so happened that the day we met was Dec. 3, the anniversary of my father's death. After catching up with each other for about a half hour, I finally decided to ask him about the dream. "Marty, I hope you don't mind if I ask you kind of a weird question," I started. "You don't have to ask," he interrupted me. "You dreamt that your father died the night before it happened, and you told me about it the next day when we were driving to school. You dreamt that he died, then it all came true. And I'll never forget it." After about a week or so, when I saw my grandfather and told him about it, he just smiled and said, "See? You just got a confirmation and you don't have to doubt it anymore. It really did happen."   About six months later, one Saturday night, I was at a party and out of nowhere, an old friend came over to me and said he had to tell me about an odd dream he had just had. In the dream, a stranger introduced himself and said, "I am David Richman's father, and I want you to give him a message for me." Then he showed my friend that he was wearing a ring. Suddenly, the ring started glowing with light and the man said, "Tell David I said - remember the ring." Then he repeated himself. "Give David Richman this message. Tell him I said to remember the ring." My friend looked a me with a sort of confused expression and said, "Well, that was the dream. I don't know if it means anything to you, but the guy was really powerful." Of course, I was completely blown away by the unexpected turn of events. And the next time I saw my grandfather, when I told him about what happed, he was transfixed. The fact that the dream had come to a complete stranger, an unbiased third party with no prior knowledge about any of it, was stunning. And this wasn't an old high school friend either. I had met him much later in life and he didn't know anything about father at all. "And don't forget about the message," Zayde said to me. "What did Dad want your friend to tell you?" "He said I should remember the ring," I said. "And what happened to the ring?" he asked. "I don't know," I responded. "In the dream, my father told me to give the ring back to him. We stood there and when he touched it, it turned into light. Then the next morning, after my gym class just a few hours later, it disappeared out of my locked locker." "And what does that tell you?" he asked. I thought about it for a minute, but nothing really came to mind.  "I don't know."  "Either do I," he said with a bemused smile. "And that's why it's such a great message. It gives you a lot to think about. The ring turned into light in the dream, then it disappeared the next day in real life. Maybe that means there a connection between the two realms. "And he told you a lot of things in that dream. He said there's no death. He said God wants you to think about him. Maybe he's telling you to remember the things he told you. Maybe give it more thought. "Or maybe he told you to remember the ring because when you both held it, it connected you. You said it was like the bridge between you. Maybe he's telling you that the bridge is still there, that you're still connected, even beyond death. "And you know what else? The ring turned into light and you felt yourself get pulled into it. What was that like?" he asked me. "It was incredible," I said. "I got filled with happiness and joy." "Exactly," he went on. "Maybe, it even took you to Shamayim (heaven)? And maybe he's telling you to remember what that feeling was like, what that happiness and peace felt like? Maybe he's telling you that even though you were in a dream, the feeling you felt is actually real? "It's just like a lot of other things in life. Maybe none of it was real. Maybe some of it was real. Or maybe all of it was real. Who knows? I do know one thing, though - you have the rest of your life to figure it out." His eyes were twinkling, and he gave me one of his warm, impish smiles. He did this kind of thing all the time. Instead of teaching, he'd use the word "maybe" in the tradition of the great Talmudic teachers he'd studied for years. They don't tell you things. They just plant seeds and help you let them grow. *** My grandfather and I had always been close and of course, we got closer after my father died. But one day in 1972, unexpectedly it went to a deeper level. We were watching a NASA moonwalk on TV and he said it was a fake, and that they were really doing it in a TV studio. When I asked him why he felt that way, he told me about a prayer they used to say monthly in the old country on the full moon. Apparently, this ancient prayer got dropped and never made it over here. Then he recited it - "The moon is so far away from the Earth. And in the same way, God's perfection is far away from man. But one day man will touch the moon, and when he does, know that the days of the kingdom of heaven on Earth have begun." I had never heard that prayer before and even though it intrigued me, I didn't say anything. I had actually been keeping something from him and didn't want to discuss anything to do with God or religion.   During my recent college years, I had gotten a strong dose of the new hippie lifestyle, along with some of its some mind-altering components. As comedian Robin Williams once said, "If you can remember the Sixties, you weren't really there." Well I really was, and it really changed me. And recently, I had started practicing a form of meditation which was having a profound effect on me as well. I was simply outgrowing a lot of childhood concepts. Actually, this kind of thing is pretty common in Judaism, and the hippy/spiritual movement of the Sixties had more than its fair share of Jewish kids. It makes sense, because the religion basically teaches you to think for yourself and not just accept things at face value.  There's no hierarchy, no pope, or doctrine of infallibility. On the contrary, the spiritual leaders, the rabbis, are all just ordinary people, with plenty of ordinary faults.  Your point of view is as valid as the next guy's. In a way, it can be an un-religious religion, and it's been shaped into a million different forms. There are tons of non-observant Jews who don't practice the rituals, but still respect the religion and love the culture, the food, the comedians, and the jokes. And in their hearts and minds, they are still very Jewish. Regardless, I didn't want to talk to my grandfather about any of it. He was an old man and had been through enough tsuris in his life. (Yiddish for trouble). He didn't need any more. I was certain that my expanding point of view would only upset him, so I stayed away from it.  "So, you see," he said, pointing to the lunar surface on the TV screen, "This isn't real. It can't be. If they were really on the moon, the Kingdom of Heaven would be on its way." "Actually, Zayde," I heard myself say, "it is real." "What?" he asked, like he hadn't heard me right.   "Yes. It is real. All the prophecies are coming true and the whole planet is moving into a higher state. The Kingdom of Heaven IS at hand." I couldn't believe those words had come out of my mouth.  I hadn't planned on saying anything to him, but my tongue had been faster than my mind. But the truth is though, that's the way I really felt. I had spent four turbulent years in college in Washington DC, front and center at the demolition of the American status-quo. It felt like my generation had been on the vanguard of a revolution that had transformed the world. For baby boomers, since Woodstock, the old order of "might-makes-right" was crumbling, and a new awareness was arising. The stirring message was everywhere - in the music and the movies, on TV and the stage. It really did seem like the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, as they sang in the musical "Hair." Millions of us believed it, and the high times were global. Still, I hadn't meant to say anything to him. He came from another era, a distant time and place. He had been a Yeshiva student, and as a part-time cantor, was a full-time, orthodox Jew. "What?" he shot back at me sharply, "What did you say?" I thought he sounded angry and I scrambled around in my mind to find a way out. But as I looked at him, I realized he wasn't angry; he was hungry. And alive with curiosity. From that moment on, and for the rest of his life, all we ever talked about was higher consciousness. He was like a sponge and wanted to know everything I knew. And the more I learned, the more he wanted to know. He had no conflict at all with what I was doing, which completely amazed me.  He just wanted to gather as much knowledge about God and the higher realms that he could. He didn't care where it came from.  I once asked him about it and he said, "Your religion's like a car. You drive it to get somewhere, and when you get there, you get out. It's the same thing with religion. It's supposed to get you to God. And when you do get to God, you leave everything else behind and go straight to him. Never forget that, Davy. Go straight to him." Well, that's the end of this episode. There's one more episode left in this series, It's Just a Gimmick, so as always, keep your eyes, mind, and heart opened, and let's get together in the next one.

Ver todos los episodios