Double Rainbows

By White Feather

Double Rainbows is a collection of autobiographical short stories that reflect on the joys and tribulations of childhood, seen both from the viewpoint of being a child and fathering a child. White Feather reveals his early leanings towards spirituality as well as music. He fondly remembers his father’s Zen-like influence and he relates his mother’s atheism and its affect on him. He tells stories of his first encounter with information about Edgar Cayce as well as his first encounter with the Beatles. Synchronicities with John Lennon weave through two stories. From childhood to young adulthood, the stories move on to fatherhood and a coinciding spiritual awakening involving sweat-lodge ceremonies and the Harmonic Convergence. Psychic prophecy also weaves through some of the stories. Through it all White Feather reveals one of his greatest teachers. This new expanded edition contains two new additional stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Feather
• Release date: Aug 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476297538

White Feather

Author of numerous books, White Feather has been writing stories and essays for a few decades and currently lives on the Great Plains of Turtle Island.

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Double Rainbows

By White Feather

Copyright 2002, 2008, by White Feather

New Expanded Edition, Copyright 2012

Smashwords Edition, Copyright 2012

Gumroad Edition, Copyright 2015

All Rights Reserved

Cover Art Copyright 2008, 2012

By White Feather

This is a work of fiction.

Published by:

Lip Gravy Press

Books by White Feather

This is a copyrighted work. No part of this ebook may be copied, quoted, shared or distributed in any way without the express written permission of the author.

For Naia

Table of Contents

Potato Chips and Jesus

A Falling Leaf

My First Edgar Cayce Story

Zen and the Art of Bowling

Invasion of Poland

Heading West

My Most Accurate Psychic Prediction

Double Rainbows

Birdies and Babies

Rice Pudding

A Little Dolphin Story

Books by White Feather

***

Potato Chips and Jesus

My mother is an atheist. She does not openly admit it, but she has admitted it to me. Despite her atheism, she insisted that all of us children go to church. She came from a Roman Catholic family, my father came from a Roman Catholic family, and they were married in a Roman Catholic Church. As befitting her, she ignored her own deep instincts and feelings, and did what she thought was the proper thing to do. She raised us as Roman Catholics, but at the same time she never once set foot inside the church herself. Each Sunday, she would make sure that we were dressed in our finest, give each of us three pennies to put in the collection plate then send us on our way. Although my father drove us to church, he only attended on the most sacred of holidays. Many years later it dawned on me that those two hours each Sunday--one hour of Sunday School and one hour of church services--were the only two hours of the week my parents spent alone together without kids around.

It was becoming a pattern that I do whatever my brother did. He joined the cub scouts, and so did I. He played little league baseball and so did I. He became an altar boy, and the following year so did I. The difference between us was apparent, though, in our motivation. He became an altar boy because it was expected, because it was the next logical step in his indoctrination into Catholicism. I became an altar boy because I wanted to find God. I was always the more spiritual of the two of us. My brother always did the right things, and did them in the correct way, and always proceeded smoothly up all the ladders placed in front of his path in life. I was intensely interested in this God person everyone at the church was talking about. Yes, I believed in this God, and yes, I believed in miracles and all the things I was being taught at Sunday school. But I wanted to experience this God personally, and the more I heard about this God, the more I wanted the experience. God made a lot of sense to me. He seemed to be an extension of the all-encompassing knowledge that I so arrogantly claimed I possessed. God seemed like someone I used to know and I was trying to remember what he looked like. I was trying to recreate his image in my mind. Yes, I knew this God, and his son, too....but I just could not remember. It seemed so long ago, but how could that be? I was just a young boy.

I desperately wanted to regain my memory and I desperately wanted to see some miracles happen, too. Everyone at the church kept talking about all these miracles but I did not see any happening. I knew they were possible, in fact I knew that I could perform them, but no matter how hard I tried, I just could not, and no one else could, either. Why not? If only I could re-establish my connection with God I could perform miracles again and show all those people how easy it was. I knew that all one had to do is believe. While the priest babbled on in Latin, I knelt in my altar boy smock with hands pressed firmly together, staring up at the crucifix.

I believed.

***

It was in our third year at White Sands that the news came. My brother was in fourth grade, I was in second, and my sister would be going to kindergarten the following year. We would all be in school soon and our mother would soon have her days free. Then she came home from the doctor one day with the news: She was pregnant. The very next week we got the other news.

The United States Army had selected our father to pull one year of duty in Korea. The family would stay in New Mexico. My mother would not only be faced with taking care of the family all by herself, but she would have to go through a pregnancy by herself as well as the birth of our new baby sister.

I know that my mother took these two bits of news pretty hard. Just when life was supposed to be getting a little easier fate handed her a punishing sentence. The migraine