THE TRIQUETRA OF LIFE: Wisdom, Wealth, and Wellness

Path Perilous: My Search for God and the Miraculous

A Chapter Nine Excerpt

“As a child walking home from school, we wondered how deep our bomb shelters should be. A constant buzz hung in the air—a fear life might change forever in a flash, before we even saw it coming.“

A True Story from the Edge of the Abyss

Outside our house, I sat beneath the mulberry tree under a spread of its branches. The air shifted in the cool shade, alive with a hidden pulse. A hum rose through the leaves and limbs, sinking into me, stirring a force I could not name.

At nine years old, I brimmed with wonder, but this moment stood apart. The leaves caught sunlight, glowing from within, each vein carrying secrets. My skin tingled, as if soda bubbles fizzed beneath it—strange, not painful. My mouth went dry; even the air pressed into me with a scent I couldn’t place.

Time seemed to stop. It stretched thin, taut as a rubber band about to snap. Seconds swelled into worlds. My pulse drummed steady but strange. Breath slowed until I wasn’t sure I was breathing at all. The sky above became my breath—blue, immense, drifting with clouds—inside my chest. I was no longer just a boy under a tree but becoming everything.

The ordinary world shrank. Scraped knees, quarrels with my brother, the dog chasing balls—all of it shrank to pebbles on a mountain. Even Christmas morning felt far away, its gifts mere miniatures from another world. Only this moment mattered.

I looked up at the mulberry branches. Silkworms lay snug in gauzy tents, threads drawn tight as if spun from sunlight. Morning rays pierced the canopy, striking beads of dew that scattered into color across the bark. Reds, greens, golds, and blues flared like sparks, then vanished. For the first time, the tree seemed alive—breathing, trembling, almost human.

The rustling leaves in a soft breeze spoke. A cool draft wrapped my arms while heat flushed my face. I heard the rasp of insects in the grass, the sharp peck of a robin tugging a worm. Every sound sharpened until the whole yard was alive.

The smell thickened: damp earth, resinous bark. I could almost taste them—metallic, bitter, all at once. My hands trembled, yet I could not move.

For a moment—no longer than a sigh, yet endless—I beheld what I could not explain. Then it let me go. Breath rushed back, sharp and fast, like surfacing from water. My skin cooled. Time shrank to ordinary again.

I told no one—Mom, Dad, my brother. How could I? It was nothing like scraped knees, chasing balls, or even Christmas morning. It didn’t feel bad. It didn’t hurt. I felt alive—more alive than ever. To describe it would have been exhausting. So I locked it inside, a secret treasure only I could know.

Yet that secret sharpened my eyes. The yard, the fields, even the smallest creatures seemed lit with the same hidden world.

From the memoir-in-progress, nearing publication:
Path Perilous: My Search for God and the Miraculous
—a spiritual epic for truth-seekers, contemplative mystics, and all who long for God.