Sample chapters from JOINING MIRACLES, Navigating the Seas of Latent Possibility

Sample chapters:

JOINING MIRACLES:

Navigating the Seas of Latent Possibility

Michael McGaulley

“What if you slept? And what if in your sleep, you dreamed?

And what if in

your dream you went to heaven and there

plucked a strange and beautiful

flower? And what if when you

awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah!

What then?”

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

“... the universe begins to look more like a great thought than a

great

machine.”

Sir James Jeans

“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are

spiritual

beings having a human experience.”

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, S.J.

“So the old word observer simply has to be crossed off the

books, and we

must put in the new word participator. In this

way we’ve come to realize that

the universe is a participatory

universe.”

John Archibald Wheeler

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though

nothing is a

miracle. The other is as though everything is. I

believe in the latter.”

Albert Einstein

_________________________________________________________

PART I

REALITY IS NOT AS IT SEEMS

Two Years Ago

MY FOOT SLIPPED ON THE WET ROCK; searing pain shot up from
my ankle; the leg gave way; I toppled off the edge of the narrow trail
into the emptiness below.
I can’t say my whole life passed before my eyes then, just the two
principles I’d been living by:

Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong—that’s Murphy’s Law.

And then there’s my First Corollary to Murphy’s Law: Once one thing
goes wrong, everything else does, too.

I SUPPOSE I SOUND LIKE A GROUCH, A WHINER, A LOSER. The
fact is, I was a loser back then, angry and frustrated, convinced that
there was some sort of cosmic conspiracy to make my life even more
difficult.

It seemed to be more than just coincidence that I lived constantly on
the verge of getting the things I wanted, only to find them snatched
away (as I had come to expect) at the last moment.

It seemed more than irony that the things I most dreaded and guarded
against were precisely those that did come about, producing precisely
what I most definitely did not want.

It seemed that every time something could go one way or the other, it
invariably went the worst way — from the toast falling jelly-side down,
to traffic lights ganging up on me when I was in a rush, to the really
big, bad things in life.

“Bad luck,” if you want to call it that, seemed to come along for me
much more often than random chance would indicate. And I was tired
of it.

THEY SAY THAT YOU HAVE TO HIT BOTTOM before you can start
heading up. In my case, that was literally true: you can’t hit bottom
much harder than when you fall off a mountain, as I did. At that point,
you can either give up, or start climbing.

That fall I took, off a mountain trail in a driving, cold rainstorm,
seemed to be more of the usual bad luck I had come to expect.
Ironically, however, it turned out to be the best thing that ever
happened to me.

The fall showed me that I had been right: bad luck did come my way
more often than mere chance. But not because I was the victim of a
cosmic conspiracy to make my life difficult.

The fact is, I had been choosing to have those bad things happen to
me. (Sounds strange, I suppose, but I’ll explain later.)

In short, I learned that while there was no cosmic conspiracy out to get
me, there is a set of “cosmic rules” governing the workings of our
world. These rules can work for us or against us . . . and I was,
without realizing it, choosing to have them work against me!

Most importantly, with the help of a strange old monk, I began to
understand and apply these rules ( “The Knowledge,” as he called it) in
navigating my life, so that now I’m on-course toward the outcomes I
really want.

Now what seem to be “coincidences” almost invariably fall my way.

Which is how I ended up writing this little book.

THE FIRST THING TO GO WRONG—the event that I was convinced
set off that cycle of “everything” seeming to go wrong—was losing my
job a couple of weeks before the wedding.

Rather, before the planned wedding. Jackie felt we had no choice: “It
would be imprudent without the security of two incomes.”

Jackie, even more than I, was ever on the lookout for the risks and
dangers in life. Looking back, I wonder if that shared fear was our
greatest bond.

I had already paid the deposit—half the total cost of the whole trip.
Hiking in Europe was something I’d dreamed about for years. I thought
it over for most of one sleepless night, then decided that I was already
so far in that it made no sense to walk away from that deposit . . .
especially since it wasn’t likely I’d ever get another chance to go, given
my luck and my career prospects.

“I can’t believe it,” Jackie responded. “I can’t believe I came so close
to marrying someone as irresponsible as you’re turning out to be.”

Since then, it had just been one of those months.

MY SECOND COROLLARY TO MURPHY’S LAW: There’s nothing
so bad it can’t get worse, and probably will . . . sooner rather than later.

Things did get worse, of course . . . just as I expected. It came as no
surprise when the plane had mechanical problems along the way. I had
nothing else to do in that cold, dreary terminal than sit and wonder,
What comes next? Will my luggage turn up missing? Will I miss the
train? Will the hotel lose my reservation?

The answer was predictable: all of the above.

Though I was slightly wrong on the details. The hotel didn’t actually
lose my reservation; instead they gave it away. “You were due hours
ago,” the desk clerk said when I finally arrived tired, grungy, and wet
from a drenching rain.

“There was trouble with the plane. Then I found out that my luggage
didn’t arrive, and that caused me to miss the express train.”

“You should have telephoned.”

“I couldn’t find a phone that worked.” (Another Basic Rule of Life, as I
saw things then: There’s never a phone when you need one.)

“Alas, the room has now gone to someone else, not ten minutes ago.”

“But my reservation—I’ve already paid for the room.”

The clerk shrugged. “I know nothing of that. Perhaps you paid the
travel agent, not the hotel.”

“But—”

“There is another room I can let you have.”

“Fine. I’ll take it.”

“But it can be for one night only.”

“One night? But my reservation is for a week.”

“That room, alas, has gone to someone else for this week.” She smiled.
“However, it is always possible that there will be a cancellation in the
morning.”

BUT IN THE MORNING THERE WAS STILL NO ROOM FOR ME.
“Perhaps later something will turn up,” the proprietor said. “Spend a
few hours walking in the mountains, and luck may be with you.”

Luck IS with me: I already knew that. But it’s bad luck, always bad
luck.

“All my hiking gear was in my suitcase, and the airline lost it.”

“The hotel will be happy to store your bag for you when it arrives. The
trails are gentle here. You won’t need equipment.”

“What if it rains?”

“Why expect the worst?”

I SET OFF ON A PERFECT MORNING, just warm enough to be ideal
for hiking, with not a cloud in the sky.

Enjoy it while you’ve got it, I told myself: a day like this is too good to
last.

The trail began with an easy stroll across soft green pastures still damp
with morning dew, then rose through a pine forest, heavy with the
scent of balsam and wildflowers.

After an hour, I came to the first lookout. From up here, the village
looked like a collection of toy houses. The mountains, snow-capped
and majestic, soared above the valley.

Mountains have always been magical places for me. Up there in the
clear air and brilliant sunshine, I began to break out of the dark mood
that had been hanging over me for weeks—the sense of defeat, the
mindset that I was a helpless victim of events conspiring against me.
Up there, I was annoyed at myself for the time I’d wasted wallowing in
self-pity.

Maybe, just maybe, things will work out, I told myself. Maybe my luck
will turn. Maybe a room will turn up. Maybe the airline will get my bag
to me. Maybe I’ll have clean clothes tonight.

Maybe even a decent job will turn up when I get home.

Things had been going badly for me, no doubt about it, but that’s life.
Into each life some rain must fall, and so forth.

As the word “rain” came into my thoughts, I looked up and noticed the
first clouds drifting over the tops of the mountains.

The early drops hit as I came to the signpost for the alternate route
back to the village: the worst possible time, when I was at the farthest
point from shelter. My usual luck.

The initial drizzle escalated into a downpour. Mist developed, blocking
the view of the valley. I lost my sense of direction as I raced back
down the trail, hoping I was still headed toward the village.

In my rush, I missed the marker for the main trail.

Which is why I was racing across slippery wet rocks, and how, some
time later, I woke up to find myself lying on a rocky ledge, my clothes
soaked through, rain beating on my back.

I tried to stand. Pain shot up my leg, and I dropped back onto the rock.
My head throbbed, and I felt a lump on my forehead. I checked my
watch, to see how long I had been out. It had stopped when I fell, and
now it blinked 12:00, 12:00, 12:00.

Once one thing goes wrong, everything goes wrong.

NOW I’VE REALLY DONE IT, I thought. Lost on a mountain with a
broken ankle, my only set of clothes soaked through, and almost
certainly no room waiting for me even if I could make it back down to
the village.

The wind began to pick up, and now I spotted the first snowflakes. I
was becoming more and more chilled, and knew I was going to come
out of this with the worst cold of my life. Maybe even pneumonia. Just
what I needed.

Once one thing goes wrong—I was used to that scenario. But this time
it wasn’t just events conspiring to make my life difficult: This time it
was literally life-and-death. Soaked through by a cold rain, hobbled with
a broken ankle, I was in major trouble. The possibilities ran through my
head: Hypothermia, exposure, frostbite, death. Not a pleasant menu.

Since I was no longer registered at a hotel in the village, no one would
notice if I failed to return from the mountain. Even worse, I wasn’t just
lost on the trail, I was trapped on a ledge below the trail. It could be too
late by the time anyone spotted me.

I sat there in the rain, cold and frightened. What had I done to deserve
this? Why couldn’t things ever go right for me?

That’s when I spotted the little footpath that twisted down from the
rock ledge. I broke off a branch of a tree to use as a makeshift cane,
pulled myself to my feet, and hobbled down the trail.

The trail wound its way back into the forest, and before long I came
upon a little chapel, nearly overgrown by trees. It looked abandoned,
but at least it would provide shelter from the rain and cold.

Then I caught myself: Don’t get your hopes up. The way things are
going, the door will probably be locked.

I tried the handle. To my surprise, the door opened. I stepped inside.

IT WAS SNUG AND DRY INSIDE THE CHAPEL, and the windows
still held stained glass. At least I was out of the wind and rain.

I dropped into one of the old wooden pews. It felt good to sit. I was
soaked to the skin; I’d soon be chilled now that I’d stopped moving.

But with a broken ankle, I couldn’t keep moving.

I thought I’d hit bottom out on the trail. Now I found that had been just
a resting point on the way down to the real pit of despair. Everything I’
d worked for was slipping away. The job I had put so much into—
gone. Jackie and the wedding and that future—gone. The money I’d
saved for this trip—wasted.

Even if—best case—I did somehow manage to make it back to the
village, I’d be spending the rest of my stay in a hospital, locked into a
leg cast. Between medical bills and the extra cost of getting home with
a cast on the leg, I’d be up to my neck in debt—and have nothing to
show for it.

I was cold and tired and depressed, and for that moment, I really didn’t
want to go on. Once one thing goes wrong— well, that opens the way
for everything else to dump on you. I was tired of it all. Tired even of
living.

THEN I NOTICED CARVINGS ON ONE OF THE STONE WALLS.

I pulled myself to my feet and hobbled over to get a closer look. I
couldn’t read the words, but that was no surprise: this was a foreign
country.

What did surprise me was that I didn’t even recognize the alphabet
used in the inscription. It wasn’t ours, and it wasn’t Hebrew or Russian
or Arabic or even ancient Egyptian.

Then what language was it? Or was it in code?

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A figure materialized
from the shadows. I was suddenly frightened, realizing how vulnerable
I was with this bad leg. Running was out of the question, and so was
fighting.

But it turned out to be only a small old man. His face was kindly, and
his eyes twinkled with—was it joy or amusement? His bald head was
round and shiny, and a fringe of snowy white hair circled around
behind his ears, then looped down to a white beard. He wore a plain
brown woolen robe. A monk’s robe, I realized, and it was old and
patched.

He smiled and held out his hand. “Peace, my friend. There is no reason
for fear.”
I relaxed. He seemed safe enough. I introduced myself, and took his
hand. It was rough, strong for such a small old man.

“I am Brother Freddie, the Keeper of the Knowledge.”

“I was lost. I thought the chapel was abandoned. I didn’t—”

“It is good that you found your way here. Of course you were lost.
The Knowledge drew you.”

I didn’t know if he meant it as a question or a statement. “The
knowledge? You mean the inscription? It seems very old.”

“They say it is even older than the chapel.”

“How old is that?”

He shook his head and smiled. “No one knows. This was a holy place,
a power spot, long before the chapel was built.”

“I can’t read the carvings.”

He smiled. “It would take an unusual visitor to read them. They are
written in a very old language.”

I waited, expecting him to translate. But he was silent. From the
expression in his eyes, I knew he was assessing me.

“You have found your way to the Knowledge,” he said. Again,
something in the way he said the word told me that, in his view, this
was Knowledge with a capital K.
“Actually, I’m here because I was lost and need help.”

“Exactly so. You have found your way here because you needed to be
here.”

Why this bizarre conversation? I asked myself. Why are we standing
here talking? I’m lost, I’m wet, I’m chilled through, I have a broken
ankle, and maybe a concussion. I need to get back to the village, not
discuss some old carvings on a wall.

“I’m not sure—” I started to say, then stopped.

“You have found your way here because you needed to be here.”

“That’s true enough. In this weather, I wouldn’t survive outside.”

He smiled and shook his head. “No, you found your way here not just
for today, not just to escape the rain.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed despite the pain in my head and leg,
laughed even though I was shivering from the wet and cold. I laughed
because I was on the verge of panic.

“Sorry,” I said after I settled down. “I know I shouldn’t be laughing in
a chapel, but it just seems so ludicrous. I definitely did not ‘find’ my
way here. I’m here because I’m totally lost.”

“Yes, of course,” the Old Monk said. “Yes, that’s the way it usually is.
People find their way to the Knowledge when they are most totally lost.”

I wanted to get warm and dry and safe, not get drawn into a
conversation about some carvings on a rock. Kindly as he seemed, this
old monk could turn out to be a fanatic. If I let him get started, would
he ever stop?

“The Knowledge? Is that the carvings on the wall?”

“Those inscriptions convey the core of the Knowledge.”
“But what IS the Knowledge?”

He peered closely at me, and I felt he was somehow looking through
me. Then he said, “The Knowledge enables one to—”

He cut himself off and shook his head. “No, I’ll not say more. Not
now. Not until . . . not until you’re certain you want to know more.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because if you once absorb and learn to live by the Knowledge, then
your life will change. Forever.”

MY ANKLE WAS TOO PAINFUL TO STAND ON. I slumped back
into a wooden pew. “You mean simply by knowing what this
inscription says, I’d be changed forever?”

“If you absorb the Knowledge, if you make it fully a part of how you
view the world and how you live in it, if you live as the Knowledge
teaches, then, yes, your life will change forever: You will live better and
happier and more productively.”

Obviously, he was a fanatic, a zealot, and I should get away from him
while I could, before he really got rolling.

But with this ankle, in this weather, getting away was impossible. It
would be suicidal to start down the mountain in a storm like this. I was
his captive audience.

Besides, curiosity drew me on. “Change my life? These carvings?
How?”

“The Knowledge provides a way of taking active control of the events
and circumstances you encounter in life.”

My face must have shown that I didn’t understand. He went on: “In
other words, the Knowledge provides a methodology for joining the
Reality Tracks that lead to beneficial outcomes.”

I felt my head spin. “Methodology? Reality Tracks? Beneficial
Outcomes?” In a sentence, it seemed we’d jumped from the medieval
to the world of high-tech. Was he a Harvard M.B.A. disguised as a 12th
Century monk?

“Are you telling me that this Knowledge provides a sure way of getting
what I want?”

“A sure way?” He shook his head. “Oh no, not sure, not sure at all.
After all, quantum physics tells us there is no certainty, only probability,
in this material world. Indeed, there is, so they tell us, only a probability
that the atoms that comprise these stone walls stay in their anticipated
orbits and hold the walls together.”

I glanced up, I suppose expecting to see the stones dissolve. It had
been that kind of month.

He chuckled and gently touched me on the arm. “Not to be alarmed,
my young friend. It’s only a way of looking at reality. The probabilities
favor the stones remaining intact, just as the probabilities favor your
strong expectations coming to be. The Knowledge provides a way of
greatly increasing the probability of experiencing desired outcomes.
Under the One, of course.”

I wasn’t much of a church-goer—my family never had been into that.
But it was obvious what he meant by that part about ‘under the One.’

I let it pass for the moment. “What do you mean by ‘increasing the
probability?’”

“Would you prefer the long or the short explanation?”