A FATHER-SON CONVERSATION

          How could I tell Jeffery the pride I felt seeing him in his starch-stiff Marine uniform, looking every inch the decorated Iraq veteran.  I hoped my voice wouldn’t betray emotions that would get in the way of what I wanted to talk to him about.

          “Son, you’ve been through a demanding training period and war experience.  That’s a lot for a twenty-one year old to have undergone.” 

          “I’m twenty-two, Dad, and know I don’t know everything.”  His grin confident, his voice strong.  “War can teach you that pretty darn fast.”

          “I want to talk about something I’ve wanted to for some time now.”  He nodded and I continued.  “After your mother died, it was like I had to relearn how to live all over again.”

          “Dad, I miss mom,” he said with choked voice.  “I blame the doctors.”

          “They knew Opal had a heart murmur, but didn’t know it would end her life.”  I felt a tear run down my cheek and let it go.  Opal Shashida-Allen, my Indian wife of thirty-seven years.  We came together when I was Jeffery’s age and joined at the heart the moment we met.  Now half of the Marine I talked to represented her.  I needed to know he would have the best life had to offer.  “She knew what I wanted to tell you, although…”  I had to smile at my thought.  “I’m not sure she fully understood.”

          “You sure, Dad?  I mean, she was smart as you and me put together.”  He laughed the kind of hearty laugh only a young male could bring off.  “Come on, Dad, I’m kidding.”

          Our folding chairs faced each other and felt warm, the noonday sun smiling its best spring grin.  Jeffery’s dark brown beret soaked in the sun rays, not allowing a glare.  “You know I’m a man of means, Jeffery.  I need to tell you how that came about.”

          “You worked your ass off, that’s how it came about.”

          “Not really.  I loved the work so I’d call it play.”

          “Yeah, Dad.  Like you didn’t work day and night writing those books.”

          I looked directly into his eyes.  “Play, remember?  You’ve heard it before, Son.  Do what you love and you’ll love what you do.”

          “I bet lots of people write books and don’t get rich.”

          “You’d win that bet, but there was a reason I became prosperous over and above loving what I did.”

          “So, tell me, Dad.”

          “First, I want you to understand that those novels were my core passion.  Without that core passion my life wouldn’t have been any different than the guy selling ice cubes to Eskimos.”

          “Probably on commission.”  He laughed with an infectious sound full of humor and devoid of malice.  He had always done that, even as a kid.

          I half grinned and remained somber.  He nodded and waited, his mouth in a half serious half amused expression of being ready for witticism or gravity.  “I want to talk about the universe.”

          “Oh, Dad.  Tell me this isn’t about your molecules speech.  Geez.  I took science.”  His voice gave not a hint of hiding his “get on with it” message.  Jeffery’s military experience hadn’t changed his nitty-gritty honesty. 

          “Boils down to Quantum physics.  Quantum science.”

          “Quasars and stuff?” 

          “More to the point, Jeffery, energy.  Life as we view it is made up of energy.  This area we’re sitting in is nothing but vibrating energy and its only reality is that we give it.”

          “You call it God Energy.  Is this about spirituality?”

          I had to smile.  He’d read my novels, each having an underlining theme of spirituality.  “It’s about invisible Quantum Energy waves.  At least they’re invisible until viewed.  When viewed they change into their visible form.  Know what that means?”

          “Depends who does the viewing?”  We both smiled.

          “Every human may visualize them, it’s their birthright.”  Jeffery leaned forward and I quickly persisted.  “This God Energy is limitless.  Of course, you could call it God or Force or First Cause or…”

          “I still buy into the God theory, Dad, just like you.”

          “Good, makes explaining what I have to say a bit easier.  So, basically God allows us to materialize what we wish.  The question I put to you is, how do we do that?”  I was thankful he didn’t appear bored, thinking the subject matter wouldn’t go over very well if tedium distracted him.

          “I’m guessing I’d pray for riches.”  His face looked as though it didn’t know whether to smile or frown.  We both did that a lot.

          I smiled.  He really filled out the uniform like a model on a Marine advertisement.  “The big secret is to pretend you’re already rich.”  I grinned widely, feeling I’d successfully launched my Jeffery into a new world of reality.  “So, let’s say you’re behind on paying your bills and your old dad isn’t around to help.”

          “I guess that’s where the pretending comes in.”  He laughed and immediately became quiet as I wagged a finger at him.

          “No no.  Because you imagine you have money to pay your bills doesn’t mean you have money to pay your bills.”

          “Come again?” he said, frowning.  He leaned forward and took a deep breath.  “You said to pretend.”

          “You pretend, but with intention.  Your intention is to have the money to pay your bills.  Your outer conscious mind will believe the pretense through this way of imagining, transferring the information to your inner subconscious mind.”

          “You’ve told me my outer and inner minds are on a constant merry-go-round feeding each other.”

          I leaned forward, wanting to show him I considered what we were talking about as important as our next breath.  “All change comes through conscious thought.  The inner mind doesn’t think, it’s a protector, a go-between the Universal Mind and your consciousness.”

          “And how is knowing this going to pay the bills?”

          “The inner subconscious mind knows what to relay to the Universal Mind from what it receives from the outer conscious mind.”

          “Outer mind to Inner mind,” Jeffery exaggerated, cuffing his hands to call through.  “Tell the Universe I need money to pay my bills,” Jeffery continued to joke.  “Feed me!  Over and out!”

          I had to grin.  “That about sums it up.  Outer mind’s pretended belief feeds the inner mind.  Inner mind communicates this belief to the universe.  The universe, knowing you don’t have the imagined money and having an absolute hatred of a void, will send your subconscious the instructions to set into motion the circumstances and people necessary to fill this lack.”

          “So that’s what you mean about my minds being on a merry-go-round.”

          “You may receive more money than you’ll ever need if that’s God’s Will.  That’s what the Bible means by ‘Thy Will Be Done.’  Abundance is all around us and all we have to do is accept it with expectation.  With emotional excited expectation.”  I paused long enough for Jeffery to ask a question, but he remained silent, his head cocked a little as was his habit when thinking.  “Your subconscious talks to your conscious mind through intuition.  Intuition is your guide.  Pieces of life’s puzzle will fall into place like magic.”

          “Like when you met your agent.”

          “Exactly.  But it isn’t magic.  You have to do something to get your life rolling in an abundance of health and wealth.  It’s discovering your core reason for living and finding ways to bring it into existence.  An hour’s meditation each morning is a great tool to begin this process.  My core desire was to write novels.”  I had his interest and I felt a glow.  “For you it’s something probably not yet visible to your conscious mind.  You have so much more to experience.  Love.  Marriage.  Children.  A calling that fills you with fervor and joy.  I know that’s within you, Son.”

          “OK.” 

          I couldn’t decipher whether it was an OK from understanding or an OK from letting his old dad have his say, knowing I’d be quiet soon enough.  “Same way a Marine faces fear, Jeffery.  You visualize your duty and go do it, walking through any limitations that may exist; curing fear by taking action.”

          “Probably more marching than walking, Dad.”

          We had to laugh.  I felt the tap on my shoulder.

          I opened my eyes, coming out of my reverie as a triangle of stars on a blue field came into my hands, with words being said about how fine a son I had and how bravely he had died in a foreign land for his country; how sorry the voice was about the tragedy of roadside bombs.  I looked up and through tears and realized the funeral would end eventually.  The news of Jeffery’s death killed my wife Opal and maybe a good part of me. 

          I had to pretend to be happy and knew one day I would be again.  War is so convoluted.  So stupid.  The folded flag as a replacement for my son proved this.  My next novel would be about my son, Jeffery Allen and his mother, Opal Shashida-Allen and me, Benny Allen.

          As I walked out of the cemetery, comforting people on each side of me, I wondered if they could hear my heart cry out?  “Pretend there is no such thing as war!  It is my intention for it to be so and so it will be.  But when?”