Joshua Chambers revisits a significant changing catharsis in his life, and then explores forty other defining moments that made him the man he is today.
I put my own life into "Enigma, discovering the moments that form your life." Although it is not a memoir, I have extracted the most life changing moments that caused me to evolve or change my perspective and grow. The incidents have all been changed slightly, especially the spiritual moments, so the reader can more clearly see what it was about each incident that caused our hero, Joshua Chambers, to see life a little differently. "Enigma" shows how seemingly minor incidents in our life have a profound effect on the person we become. The body, mind, spirit balance is shown to be critical in every move we make as humans. It portrays philosophy, spirituality and sexuality as they exist in the present day. It has received excellent reviews.
"This is a story you may want to read twice. The effect is so dramatic and so true that reading it only once leaves the reader deeply involved and he or she will beg for more..."Sheryl Pascal Gormley, author.
"If parents want to know how their sons live through their youths and come out better men, this book is reassuring...Enigma is a magical passage to adulthood." Julie Eberhart Painter, author.
"I thought it was a wonderful, poignant, heartwarming story of coming to terms with your inner self and inner demons....The journey itself was inspiring, funny, sad and tender and highly recommend it." Dolores Thompson Lind.
"It's not a quick read for enjoyment but a study, deep in your thought pattern." Sam Hossler, author.
"It is a very well written story of enlightenment and spiritual awareness, would recommend to anyone who knows this life ain't the whole story and anyone who needs a little reality check." Steven Verhagen.
This is a book I've worked on my whole life.
Excerpt
Forward
“Take one humanoid body. Add brain to control body. Add energy to animate body.”
This is the recipe God followed when He made man. He did not add any mech-anism to limit or restrain His brainchild once the original balance was in place. Every man’s life was made up of their own choices in balancing their body with their mind and heart. God just sits back and watches.
Please enjoy my attempt to capture the stuff that life is made of.
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1. The Daily News
I could not rise from my bed that day. For no reason at all, I was anxious and frightened. I shivered and broke a sweat when I heard the familiar sound of my father’s footsteps coming towards my room. I braced myself.
My dad came in. His eyes looked serious, almost weepy. He held the morn-ing paper in a shaky hand. “Josh, you need to read this.” He dropped the paper on the bed and slipped into an adjacent bathroom. He knew that I would need him soon.
I picked up the paper. It was January 6, 1974. I immediately rejected the headline: “Fourteen City Teens Die in Catskill Blaze.” My hand began to shake when I read the names of all the people I had worked with last summer at the Oa-kridge Resort.
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Michelle, my sixteen year old waitress, who used to sleep with me platonical-ly just because she feared getting raped by the other guys, was listed. Now she was dead. There was the thirty-two year old ex-prostitute from New York, Louise, my first experience with sex and drugs, always trying so hard to change her ways. She clung to me for my innocence. She had changed, all right. There was Flash, our Salad man, a large muscular black man with the heart of a small boy. I once took a gun from the side of his head. He was going to kill himself because someone had hung the staff’s pet cat, Little Fuck, from a tree. Many thought him stupid, but he had a theory that we were all neutrons, surrounded by electrons and protons and their least little vibration affected our whole lives. Funny that I remember that now.
I cried because they were all real people. And I was just a plastic, middle class protected white boy. And that made all the difference between being alive and being dead. I was just there as a sixteen year old boy looking for a “life expe-rience.” I hated my lot in life. I should have been there with them, been real like them. It might have gone down differently then.
But I returned to the safety of my white bread family to finish high school, and they remained there in real life. My great attempt to strike out on my own led me right back to security and protection.
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I was working the idea through my mind when it accidently hit my heart and I released the most harrowing, bone chilling wail. My father heard what he was waiting for and immediately re-entered my room and put his arm around me. I realized the innocent part of my life was over, never to return.
“I know it’s hard, Josh,” my dad said, “It’s the sad parts that make you grow and turn into a man. These are the moments that will define your life.”
2. Mrs. Johnson
I tried to reach back to a time of innocence and retrace my steps to discover where my life took such an ugly turn. I think the first time I was conscious of my own life was when I was two years old.
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream…” My mother sang to me as she lowered me into my stroller.
“Is Josh ready? It’s time to go,” my father yelled.
In the summer of 1958, I was a two year old little, skinny blond boy who loved life. Every Saturday my dad would take me to his orthopedic shoe store to allow mom some well-deserved free time. I saw it as a playground where customers would lavish me with attention, especially my favorite customer, Mrs. Johnson.
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My dad knew all of his customers by name and all of their concerns in life, and they also knew him. It was before the time corporations would replace a sense of community with soulless efficiency. He had forgotten to bring my toys and gave me a human foot skeleton to play with. It was as good as anything else.
My dad studied the foot of a new customer, Mrs. Koch. He made a notation on a file card that she had a bunion on her left food and her arches had fallen. He had her stand on an x-ray machine that revealed she would require metatarsal supports, also. My dad gently pulled the foot skeleton away from me. I didn’t cry but kept a careful eye on my toy. Dad carefully showed Mrs. Koch how the twenty-six small bones had fallen in disarray, causing her pain. Her empty eyes told him she was not here for a course in pedorthics, so he began asking questions about her family.
A cowbell jingled on the door, announcing the arrival of another customer. Alt-hough Dad was not facing the door, he recognized the thundering footfalls of his next customer.
“Hi, Mrs. Johnson. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Don’t you worry you head none ‘bout me,” Mrs. Johnson said, “Lawd, Honey, hush! Is dat be my precious boy I sees in dat stroller dere?”
Mrs. Koch sat straight up in her chair, aghast at this woman’s impertinence. My dad quickly reassured her that this was one of his oldest and favorite customers, and Mrs. Koch went right back to the comfort of discussing her own family.
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I could not control my excitement whenever Mrs. Johnson came in. At two years old, you only really recognize love. That was the thing you were showered with from the time you were born. She looked like no one in my family, being large and black. She spoke in words that were more difficult to understand than what my family spoke. But she was three hundred pounds of pure love.
Mrs. Johnson held my hands high in the air, helping me balance. I gurgled with joy as I took a step. I inhaled her smell of lavender, and it is still the only flower smell I can identify to this day. I trusted her implicitly although she was ten times my size. Love had made all the difference, no matter what form it took.
“He’s taken quite a liking to you, Mrs. J.” My dad looked forward to her visits every Saturday.
“Why, I took a shine to the little mister, too,” Mrs. Johnson declared, “He got dem bright blue eyes and mop ’a yeller hair like da angels done spun it from gold.” She happily played with me and did not care how long it took my dad to finish with his other customer.
Mrs. Johnson gently placed me back in my stroller. Her hands were larger than my head; her body cast a shadow on half the showroom. Still, she had a grace and beauty about her that was more profound than her physical appearance.
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My dad finished his business with Mrs. Koch. He tied her two shoeboxes together with baker’s string to make them easier to carry. Then he held the door for her and thanked her for her business.
“Are you here to put another two dollars down on the shoes I ordered for you?” he asked, knowing full well that was the reason she came every Saturday.
“You know what I heahfo. You da only man in town what can fit me.” It was true. My dad had to fit her standing up, as she wouldn’t fit in any of the large, round-ed art deco chairs. He was the only man who could order a woman’s shoe in size 16, 5E, freeing her from the men’s house slippers she had been wearing, and still her heels hung over the backs. And while it took thirty-six weeks of two dollar payments for her to afford the shoes, it took just as long for the factory to produce them. But people were more patient in those days so everything worked out.
Besides, we all loved the visits. Mrs. Johnson loved seeing me; I could feel it even then, and I knew my dad felt his life would have a missing piece were she not in it. He graciously accepted her two dollars and showed her the checkmark he had made on her card. Mrs. Johnson reacted like she had just won the lottery.
“Thank you kindly, Mrs. J. You always brighten my day, no matter my mood,” my dad said.
“And that chile a’ yorn always make me happy, he sure do,” she exclaimed, “Law, Honey. Hush!” She threw her arms in the air, kissed me on my head, and lum-bered out of the store. She opened the door with such exuberance that the cowbell fell off.
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*
At four years old, I liked nothing better than playing under the dining room table with my Lost-in-Space robot. The table was my fortress and spaceship, the robot, my faithful companion and protector. My dog, Daisy could be a friendly alien or an in-vading horde, depending on my mood.
All at once, Daisy began barking wildly, running in tight circles, signaling that Dad was home. I became equally excited, knowing that it was Friday and he would be bringing a special dessert from the bakery. I knew it would come in a pink box tied with string on which my dad would draw a skull and crossbones, and wiggly letters that spelled out “MYSTERY CAKE.” I prayed it was seven-layer cake.
But my dad was not the man who entered that night. It was his body, all right, but not his character. This man entered with a solemn expression and no cake box in hand. When I went to hug him, I was pushed away with a shaking hand. “Not now, Josh,” was all he said as he proceeded into the kitchen.
My mom noticed the change in demeanor immediately in her husband. “What’s wrong, Bill?”
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“It’s Mrs. Johnson,” he said sadly and sat in a kitchen chair. I hid in my fort, lis-tening for clues.
“What could Mrs. Johnson possibly do to upset you so?” Mom said, “She’s your favorite person in the world.”
Something told me to stay calm. I ran into the kitchen but stayed out of sight. Nothing had ever affected my world like this. I was going to see her tomorrow, just like every Saturday. She would want to see me. I wanted to cry, but instead, just kept listening.
“She died,” he said, not facing her, “She had a stroke and died.” I suddenly felt empty inside. I felt tears welling up inside of me but something told me I must not release them. She was only two payments away from getting her shoes.” His voice quavered and he wiped his nose right on the sleeve of his suit jacket.
“You know she’s in a better place, now,” Mom put her arm around Dad.
“No, I don’t know that. You’re the religious one. I know that she was only forty-eight,” He choked on his words, “Of all the people God could have taken, and He took the one person who really understood life.” Why would God do such a thing, I wondered.
“I’ve never met a woman who was more on a mission from God than her,” Mom said, “She believed in people more than things. She spread joy and love and good
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feeling. Maybe she was just too good for this screwed up world. God’s plan is too large for us mere humans to understand.”
“She understood what was important in life; never fell for all the crap most people do. And each time she left the store, I felt like I finally understood what life was real-ly all about.”
“Well, then she lives on through you and the other people who were inspired by her.”
“Are you kidding? Most people just thought she was crazy or a little mental.”
“Well, maybe that’s why God took her. She could never get the reward she de-served on earth.”
“She was too good for this world.” He began to cry. I had never seen my father cry.
“Now it’s up to us to put out there what Mrs. Johnson used to. We have to carry on her good example and create the world we had hoped we would find here. She taught us that it takes very little to make us truly happy.”
“You know, I fell for you because you were pretty, but I married you for this. You know what to say to comfort me.” Dad leaned over to kiss mom and I ran for the protection of my fort and sniffled silently. I was a big boy now. I watched my mom kiss the top of Dad’s head and it made me cry again.
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I kept in the shadows all that night, thinking. Maybe God was good. Maybe He had some evil too. Maybe people die when they’re supposed to. Maybe it was just willy-nilly. Maybe they get a reward. Maybe nothing happened. It was all too much for a little boy.
3. Kindergarten Creator
Miss Heinken’s Kindergarten classroom was big and old but homey. Unlike the cinder-blocked classrooms for the older kids, dark wood-paneled walls, twelve feet high, covered with artwork surrounded us. There was a large walk-in closet with oversized hooks in the back where I could hang my coat.
I was especially excited today. Although there were plenty of toys to use during playtime, there was only one set of giant construction blocks. Miss Heinken assigned only one child to the blocks each day and I had waited a long time for my turn.
I didn’t even know what I would do with the blocks; I only knew I wanted a shot. Most of the kids took baby steps when it was their turn, but I wanted to make some-thing that only kids could relate to. I was not afraid to take on the world. Mrs. John-son taught me that I could do anything. Since I began Kindergarten, I discovered a
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whole new Universe outside of my house and I wanted to be part of it. I always wanted to visit every place in the world, see what was out there, and make my own decisions about what I saw.
I stared at the blocks with an intensity that scared me. I moved the blocks slowly at first, then quicker as they began to take form, almost as if they had a will of their own. I never became distracted until I was finished.
Finally I stood back and considered my own creation. It was a simple arch, but one large enough for children to walk through. Miss Heinken came over to examine the structure.
“What have we here?” she asked. I scratched my head and contemplated my an-swer.
“It’s a door to someplace else. Kids can walk through it and be anywhere they want.”
“May I walk through it?” she asked.
“No,” I said, “It’s only for children. Adults can go where they want anyway.” Miss Heinken seemed to like my reasoning and snorted. My best friend, Patrick, came by to examine it.
“Can I walk through it?” Miss Heinken looked at me for my approval. I nodded. The other children noticed something was happening and gathered around. Patrick
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took a deep breath and proceeded cautiously through the arch as though it was truly magical. He looked at me for guidance.
“Go on through,” I said. He stepped forward.
“Can you tell us where you are?”
Patrick thought for a second, then sat on the floor and grabbed an imaginary steer-ing wheel: “Can’t you see I’m at the Daytona 500? Can’t you see I’m about to win? My father was supposed to take me last summer but he couldn’t get the time off. He’ll be so proud to find out I made it all by myself. I’m about to pass Mario Andret-ti. There’s the final flag. I’ve won!” The children all cheered and lined up for their chance to go anywhere they wanted.
Annie Perkins went next. She came out in a beautiful garden with waterfalls and coy ponds. She lived in an apartment house and had always dreamed of having a big backyard.
Tommy Colamussi went through next and arrived at a space station, looking down at the earth. His secret wish, to be an astronaut, had become a reality.
The class continued to file through. Many did not even realize they had a dream in their heart until they passed through the arch. It may have really had some magic of its own.
The last child chosen, as always, was Leona Hodgeson. She was always the last picked. Everyone made fun of her. They called her clothes “Salvation Army.” Her
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hair was always messed up and she smelled like rotten eggs. If you accidently touched her, you had to quickly touch someone else and say “Leona’s cooties.” She passed through the arch, but unlike the other children, she just stood there silently, her head bent.
“Well, where are you, Leona?” Miss Heinken prodded.
As she lifted her head slowly, the children noticed a single tear flowing down the side of her nose. In a frightened, timid voice, she uttered, “I’m somewhere where no one can hurt me, where no one can beat me with the 'stension cord.” She fell in a heap on the floor, sobbing, and assumed a fetal position.
I was horrified at what my invention had done to her. I ran to help her up from the floor. I grabbed her by one arm and the back of her shirt. No one had ever gotten this close to Leona. No one ever wanted to touch her. As I lifted her, I accidently lifted the back of her shirt. The children were prepared to laugh hysterically, as they always did when something bad happened to Leona. But when they saw the lesions and scars covering her back, they choked on their laughter and looked on in silence.
Miss Heinken took Leona into her arms and lowered her shirt. She looked at me with one of her “How do you do it?” looks.
She put me in charge of the class. Then she led Leona to the principal’s office where they could finally address a problem she would otherwise have never known existed.
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