We drove down a narrow road lined with white pine, maple and birch trees and parked in front of the low-slung cinderblock library building. My parents introduced themselves to a stiff looking older woman as I went in search of a bathroom. Returning a few minutes later, I could hear my parents arguing in low, clipped tones. “I just don’t think this was necessary, I really don’t,” my father muttered, sounding exasperated. My mother replied insistently, “If we don’t get her away now, I’m worried that we're going to lose her. When she ran away last month, she was living with a bunch of drugged-out hippies! If we don’t get her away from that crowd she’s hanging around with, I don’t know what will happen! We have no other choice. This is the best place for her right now.” As I re-entered the room, my mother called out brightly, “Oh, there she is. Come on, let’s go look around campus.”
With a “whatever” shrug, I followed along as we toured the grounds. There were a string of small cabins nestled along the Crystal River and behind them a thin stretch of sandy woods abutting Lake Michigan. My parents strolled along the sandy shore while my brothers and I ran in and out of the waves, splashing along barefoot, kicking up sprays of icy cold water on each other. My Dad helped lug my suitcases into Riveredge cottage and eventually, it was time for my family to leave. After hugs and promises to write, they clambored into the car and drove off. Waving goodbye I felt relieved yet oddly detached. Striding off toward the dining hall, I tried to look cool and confident. I can do this. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just run away again.
Though my father was a social worker at a home for delinquent girls and my mother was a kindergarten teacher, they were both at a loss of how to reach me. We had moved from the friendly, small town of Lakewood, Ohio to the West Bloomfield in the suburbs of Detroit in 1967 when I was entering 9th grade. The chaos and riots in the streets of Detroit that summer mirrored the maelstrom of anger and resentment seething within me. I never wanted to leave my friends and home in Ohio and almost as soon as we arrived my life began spiraling out of control. Andover High was full of "clicks" and a curious social caste system. Though I tried desperately to fit in, I was automatically "out" being a newcomer to the school. Feeling lost, shy, unhappy and depressed, I was accepted by the long-haired, rebellious crowd and my grades soon plummeted. They were delving into drugs and my mother worried I would soon follow!
Sarah and I had been friends ever since we met in high school. With long brown hair and soft brown eyes, Sarah was a natural, earthy type. Quickly, we caught up on what had happened over the summer. After lunch, I was thrilled when Sarah and I were assigned a room together in Riveredge cottage! Riveredge was a rustic wooden lodge located alongside the Crystal River overlooking Lake Michigan. It had beautiful knotty pine walls, a huge lounge area with a stone lined fireplace and our bedroom was located at the far end.
That night I spent hours savoring the incredible beauty surrounding me. Passing near a pine tree, I was inundated with its rich, pungent smell. I reveled in the glittering lights skipping across the waves and the delicate texture of each grain of sand in my hands. My senses were electrified and everything was intensely beautiful. I felt part of the earth. Climbing into the “lap” of huge oak tree, I laid my cheek against the bark trying to sense how it felt, wondering how that old tree perceived the world. Meanwhile, Sarah lay quietly on the beach gazing at the stars, wrapped in her own private thoughts and dreams.
As I sat in that ancient tree, I wondered if indeed I could have had past lives, if reincarnation was real. I had the oddest feeling that in a past life I knew I had been an Indian. I allowed myself to be more and more apart of the sound of the waves, the delicate dance of nature surrounding me, until I felt drawn into an ancient mindset... the earth was my mother and I was connected to every blade of dune grass, every smooth pebble, every glittering star, every whispering pine, every gentle footfall around me. I could see how my decision to step over an anthill or crush it would have far reaching consequences. I leapt down and strolled along the shoreline, feeling totally peaceful and at one with nature. Suddenly time shifted and I became a mountain lion prowling through the woods and meadows, lithe and wary. Another shift and I was a young Indian striding along the beach. I glanced over and was surprised to see the dark form of a large fish swimming along the water’s edge. As I walked along the beach, it kept pace with me and I felt an instant rapport. Regardless of whether I sped up or slowed down, amazingly the fish swam directly beside me along the shoreline! I felt deeply connected to the fish and wondered about the lesson of determination that ancient creature was trying to teach me. Eventually I said goodbye and it swam away. I turned back to the beach, deeply moved by the experience.
Finally, I sat by the lakeshore watching the waves crash endlessly against the sand. Fascinated, I studied the shimmering crystalline wall of breaking waves. Why had I never noticed how intricately beautiful it was? I broke open an orange I had brought along and was amazed at the delicate smell, the overwhelmingly delightful taste, and the jewel-like quality of each section. Normally I was oblivious of my surroundings and found it difficult to focus. In contrast, that night was a Zen-like experience in centering throughout which I was highly attuned to everything around me. I was able to “be one with” a tree, a leaf or a pebble. Early the next morning Sarah and I crept back into our room, exhilarated and completely exhausted.
Unfortunately, I don't remember a lot about my year at Leelanau but there was one teacher who made a life long impact on me - "Uncle Whit". He taught a class in poetry which quickly became one of my favorite subjects. Horace Whittemore was a wonderful, quirky, no-nonsense, quasi hermit who lived in a small log cabin in the woods on the edge of campus where he would hand feed deer and other wild things. Throughout the semester, he read to us from Thoreau, Walt Whitman, Edgar Allen Poe, E.E. Cummings, and many, many other poets and writers. I loved his class and gradually, he nurtured in me a deep love of nature, poetry and creative writing that remains to this day.
I was immediately mesmerized by the rhythm and cadence of his words. It was if he was speaking in some venerable and beautiful ancient dialect like Shakespeare or Gaelic English. He used his hands like a dancer, gesturing and curving them through the air to make a point. With his lean grace and charismatic demeanor, Shipen had an aura about him that immediately entranced me - I was spellbound!
After our meal, Shipen invited a group of students to meet with him by the river so I leapt at the chance. After study hall, I rushed over and joined a small group of students sitting outside. He went on and on about becoming “clear” in mind and spirit and how important it was to find inner peace. He explained he had studied Tibetan Buddhism and other eastern religions which soon led into a long discussion about a new belief system he had written called Clear Children. What intrigued me was that he claimed he'd written it “automatically” without ever changing one word. Wow! He explained that in essence there were many different mindsets that could trap you (such as greed, envy and vanity) but the goal was to move out of these minds into higher mindsets such as wisdom and humility. Doing that would prepare you to enter the seven final minds of faith, hope, charity, mercy and grace and finally, you'd reach peace and love as you became “clear.” As I walked back to my dorm, I was totally confused yet convinced he was on to something.
At first I was skeptical. Then a surprising event happened that truly impressed me. We were sitting inside the condo talking about stopping the constant flow of mental chatter and being more in tune with nature and its creatures. I said something to the effect that if we were truly in harmony with nature, then we should be able to communicate with animals. Shipen replied matter-a-factly, “You can do that if you silence your mind.” There was a fly slowly buzzing around the room distracting me. I thought he was going to tell me to ignore it but instead he suggested that I still my thoughts and communicate with the fly. Feeling a little silly, nevertheless, I closed my eyes and tried to let go of all the ideas racing through my head. Quietly I whispered, “Fly, come over here onto my leg, I won’t hurt you.” Amazingly, that is exactly what the fly did! In total awe, I decided to try it again. Slowly I stretched out my hand and this time sent out a mental plea: Fly, please come up onto my hand. Again, the fly buzzed over and settled onto my outstretched palm. I sat there in stunned silence and felt an even deeper respect for nature and every one of her creatures. Finally, we opened the door and let the fly go. That settled it! I was convinced. I knew I had found a guru who could lead me to the answers I had been searching for.
Over the next two weeks, small groups of students spent hours talking with Shipen about the Vietnam War, our disenchantment with the Establishment, and the search for enlightenment and inner peace. Eventually, the school administration heard about these “sessions” and assumed drugs were involved (they were not). Shipen was informed he would have to leave immediately. I was upset and disappointed. After he was kicked out, some of us who had been part of that informal circle continued meditating and studying eastern religions. We would chant together by candlelight or read aloud from a book called I Ching. Sarah and I practiced Hatha Yoga at night and sometimes meditated chanting “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo” over and over sitting in a semi-lotus position. We read The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran, the writings of Mary Baker Eddy, The Tibetan Book of the Dead, Thoreau and other spiritual writings and esoteric poetry. I recall once Shipen had talked about “astral projection” where people could actually transport their spirits away from their bodies. Many nights I would lie in bed trying with all my might to leave my body. I’d begin by visualizing a tingling, foot-falling-asleep sensation in my toes and gradually willing it up and throughout my whole body. Of course, it never worked and I just ended up lying there stuck in my body and feeling stupid and extremely annoyed!
That winter in northern Michigan was bitterly cold. Sarah, Naomi and I spent most of our free time indoors, reading, talking and listening to records like Bob Dylan, or Donovan singing “Wear your love like heaven” and “You can have everything if you let yourself be,” Buffalo Springfield singing, “Somethin’s happenin here…” Leonard Cohen singing “Suzanne takes you down to her place beside the river…” and The Beatles White Album. I read everything I could find about Timothy Leary who was calling for our generation to “tune in, turn on, and drop out.” Though my parents wanted me to go on to college, I was more and more determined to disengage from the “Establishment” and its materialistic concerns. I got rid of all the mirrors in my room (pure vanity!) and gave away my clock and watches (time is a worldly construct!). As I struggled on through classes, I longed to join the ranks of the hippies and flower children, eager to be happy and free of any materialistic ties. I grew more and more interested in spirituality and mysticism.
Sometime that year, a huge group of us gathered in the gym for a Peace Moratorium. We were protesting the Vietnam war and joined the ranks of thousands of other young protestors in America at the time. For several hours we read poetry, sang, gave speeches and prayed silently for an end to the war. This did not go unnoticed by the school administration.
By April, spring fever spread throughout the campus. More and more of us snuck out at night to smoke cigarettes or just hang out. One particular evening almost the entire campus made plans to break curfew. By midnight groups of students roamed through the woods. Somehow, Charlie Shinn (the Assistant Dean?) got wind of what was going on and alerted the other counselors and staff. They rushed around shining flashlights into the darkness. I watched from behind a pine tree as Shinn narrowed in on a small group of students. Enraged he yelled, “Freeze! Get back to your dorms!” But the group split apart, laughing as they raced off into the surrounding woods. Sarah and I took off for the beach where we ran into others who had also managed to escape. Eventually, we snuck back to our dorm and slipped into bed, exhausted but savoring every minute of the night’s wild freedom. From then on the procedure after lights out included checking to be sure every student was actually in bed!
Eventually, Shipen sent us a copy of his Clear Children manuscript and I poured over
it. It was fascinating but way over my head:
MIND OF MYSTERY as fathomless as the deepest thoughts, will capture its subjects and lead them deeper and deeper into realities thus perceived, as even a tree has within it the deepest of intentions and meanings.
MIND OF FAITH given to constant growth into spirit, will find the physical world in complete accord with things of the Spirit, hence they are not separate.
MIND OF PERSONAL LOVE ever clinging to oneself or to others, will not allow the true understanding of Love to enter into consciousness, thus will continually be befuddled by its own set of love criteria.
MIND OF PEACE the perfection of man, will be to man, the perfection of Love the Divine Spirit – the Divine Idea made manifest in the body of the Clear Child, the pinnacle of human strivings.