Heart Awakening: A Novel

By Alan F. Zundel

Heart Awakening is the story of how a young man's pursuit of love becomes a journey into spiritual awakening. Set during the cultural and spiritual confusion of the early 1970s, it captures the experience of suburban young people searching for deeper meaning in their lives.

Carl Lehrer has grown cynical after a failed relationship and nearly being drafted. He falls for Sharon Belmont, whose openness to new spiritualities launches him on a personal journey involving meditation, spiritual teachers, and a psychic premonition about their future. Carl's quest for love and truth eventually leads to a breakthrough experience beyond anything he could have imagined.

What Readers Say:

"It's great-really stays with me. Good opening scene and powerful ending."-Jane Schaberg, Detroit, Michigan (author of The Resurrection of Mary Magdalene)

"Reading it was a spiritual journey in itself!"-Andy Turner, Las Vegas, Nevada

"Definitely has heart. Captured well the dialogue of young people on a spiritual odyssey."-Elizabeth Prince, Oakland, California

"Enjoyed it very much-liked the story, and the meditation sequence was pivotal, really satisfying."-Michael Mangin, Huachuca City, Arizona

"Liked the ending-satisfying, but realistic. Some of the scenes were really funny!"-Theresa Farmer, Henderson, Nevada

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 19, 2005
• ISBN: 9780595814794

Alan F. Zundel

Alan F. Zundel is a speaker and writer who has practiced meditation for over thirty years. This is his first novel. For more information, see his website at www.heartawake.com.

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Contents

PART I

PART 2

PART 3

PRELUDE

It was dark and he felt his lungs straining to breathe, pulling in air wet with the smell of earth and rotting wood. I’ve been buried alive, he thought. Trapped inside a coffin, with no way to escape. Images of graveyards flashed through his mind, with people underground scraping at lids sealed under six feet of dirt. He lay very still, listening for the sound of his own heartbeat. Above him the steady patter of raindrops had slowed to an occasional tap-tap-tap, as though someone was trying to signal from the world outside, hoping to find that he was not dead but only sleeping.Carl’s clothes were damp and his lanky body stiff from lying there, staring up at the roof with his eyes stuck open. If the rain had stopped, he should get up. He sat up gingerly, disentangling his long hair from the pile of sticks covering the floor. The tent was in disarray, with piles of clothes and sleeping bags scattered admidst logs and broken tree branches. Why did they bring all this wood into the tent? And where was Bill? Carl tried to kick his brain into gear, thinking that maybe he had fallen asleep after Bill left, but the dreams that had just dissipated were sticking at the edges of his mind like cobwebs.

Then he remembered. Those dreams had been acid-enhanced daydreams, drug-fueled living color memories that seduced him back to that luminous spring day last year at the anti-war march in downtown Detroit—Savage Grace playing their Hymn to Freedom at the kickoff rally on the W.S.U. commons, the crowd of bodies sweeping down Woodward Avenue like an irresistable wave of hope, and Jenny there next to him in every scene, a spring flower in a multi-colored shirt and bell-bottomed pants. But then the dreams had split off in two directions, sliding down toward a crash from both sides of that peak—one side slipping from antiwar marches to the letters from the draft board, refusing him C.O. status, refusing his appeal, and ending with his father’s face turning purplish red with ludicrous fury, screaming at him for saying Jesus was a pacifist—the other side falling away from Jenny, hitting the missed opportunities and bad decisions, and coming to a stop at the look on her face as she stood in the doorway of her new boyfriend’s apartment. She pretended to be happy to see him, but the look said, What are you doing here? What do you want?

What am I doing here? I’m here in this tent because I went camping with Bill and Davey and it started to rain the first day we’re out here. What do I want? I want to forget about all that: about Jenny and the draft and my dad and my whole shitty fucked-up life. I’m buried deep under that shit and I just want out! The LSD was supposed to yank his mind out of the rut it was in, but instead it was just digging it in deeper like a wheel spinning in the sand.

He was gazing at the sticks piled up near his feet, watching as they started to move. His heartbeat was a pebble thrown in a pond, each pump sending a ripple of blood through his veins, a ripple of acid through the blood-brain barrier, a ripple of distortion through his sense organs’ signals, and a ripple of movement through the sticks, which were now slithering in place like a pile of snakes knotted together. You’re hallucinating, he said aloud. In his couple of previous acid trips Carl would fight with the drug when any weirdness started up, driven by a gut-level fear of losing control. But this time he was ambivalent—losing touch with reality might actually be a relief. What good was reality anyway? For him, reality was screwing up with Jenny; for him, reality was a war that made no sense; for him,

reality was a universe of uncaring emptiness. The heck with reality, let’s see what else is out there. The snakes were becoming one long, brown and grey serpent squirming and stretching around his ankles; he half-expected it to raise a head and speak to him.

Carl, come on out of there!

The words jolted him back to his surroundings; they came from the real world outside the tent, not his fantasy world inside of it. An adrenline rush twisted through his stomach and suddenly he was twelve years old instead of nineteen, hiding from his father after fighting with his brother. But the tent wasn’t in his parents’ backyard, it was out in the woods at Black Lake, three hundred miles north from their nowhere suburb. How could his dad be there? Carl tried to reason it out, but it was growing increasingly difficult to think clearly. Jumbled feelings about his father descended on him like a thick blanket—guilt over some half-forgotten sin, regret for the distance between them—and he felt like crying. He watched as the shadows of raindrops trickling down the outside of the tent turned into tears of sympathy, melting the canvas walls until they threatened to wash him away. Instinctively he jerked himself up and bolted through the entrance flap, stumbling through the snarl of sticks on his way out.

Sunshine cut through the clouds and the rain-cleaned air, and filtered through the leaves of the elms surrounding the tent. Bill and Davey were standing a few yards away, staring at him, Bill’s long hair hanging wet and limp on his shoulders and Davey’s frizzed out like a wild man. Diamond raindrops dripped from the foliage above them, while the bushes and trees undulated like seaweed in the lake.

This stuff’s pretty strong, Bill said, looking worried. Are you okay? You were talking to yourself in there. Bill was the solid one—he had started tripping in high school and knew how to hold his head together. His familiar long nose and thick body made Carl feel grounded, so he tried to keep focused on Bill while he struggled to make sense of the question.

Nah, maybe there was someone in the tent with him, Davey laughed, peering at Carl mischievously through his wire-rimmed glasses, his face a goofy rubber mask. Do you have an imaginary friend in there? Or are you really losing it?

Losing what? Carl asked, confused all over again. I don’t know what ‘it’ is.

Davey laughed like a drunk monkey and for a moment everything was funny, but then out of the corner of his eye Carl saw something moving past their campsite. Perhaps a breeze rattled across the bushes, or the shadow of a cloud slid across the trees, but he could have sworn he saw Jenny walk by, her brown hair swaying with her hips as she walked down the trail away from him. If he was losing it, maybe she could help him find it again. As he turned and hurried after her, suddenly the trees on the left ahead of him began melting, swirling up into the trees on the right; Jenny had receded into a vortex of swirling trees. Terrified of being sucked into the vortex, Carl looked down at his feet for the trail and saw a blur of green, brown and red leaves whizzing by on the ground. He lost his balance and stuck out his arms, tucking his head and rolling in a somersault. Sky and trees flashed by, then he was sitting on the ground with his heart pounding, the forest spinning around him in bright, cartoony colors.

Jenny had disappeared, somewhere beyond the whirling colors. Distress over losing her overwhelmed him, wiping away the fear of a moment ago. The hell with it, he decided—I’m going after her. He scrambled to his feet, thinking that by diving at the ground again he could follow her beyond the cartoon forest, but before he could start running hands grabbed at him, with voices shouting gibberish words. Bill’s face loomed in front of him, his dilated eyes peering anxiously into Carl’s, but Carl had made his decision—he broke free and ran in the other direction, like a kid playing soldier and escaping his captors, diving into the wet leaves the way they ducked gunfire in the movies. Again real trees spun into cartoon ones, then into trees of sparkling lights.

Exhilarated by his escape, Carl jumped up laughing crazily and ran again. "One two threeV he shouted, diving for the three layers of trees. A couple of oddly familiar faces whisked by, upset and yelling about

something, but he swung past them and through the three layers—real, cartoon, and sparkly—trying to spin to further levels.

One two three four! One two three fourfivef With each spin he broke through new barriers, travelling through other dimensions. Again and again he ran and dove, a little farther each time, trying to launch himself out beyond the pull of gravity.

" One two three four five six! One two three four five six sevenV Finally he crashed past the lower levels and sailed out, beyond—hurling through a vast hollow tunnel, his body left far behind. On and on he flew, until in the distance he saw a light beckoning; but it must have been a million miles away, and he didn’t have the power to get near to it. He wanted desperately to reach that distant sun, but was trapped in orbit far from it, circling endlessly, unable to break free. He had forgotten who he was, where he came from, and what he was doing there. He only knew that he was hopelessly lost, out in this grey emptiness, unable to find his way home.

Then unspoken words somehow formed within his soul, pulling him back down toward earth: You’re not ready yet.

PART I

CHAPTER I

Becky leaned over her husband’s body, brushed his hair away and kissed him gently on the ear. Honey, it’s Sunday morning, she whispered. You don’t have to work today.

Bill didn’t move. Let me sleep just a little bit longer, he mumbled.

She studied him for a moment, a thick body huddled under a layer of blankets, shielded from the world as though back in his mother’s womb. Obviously he would come out only when he was ready to come out, and there was nothing she could do to hurry the process. As she got off the bed and pulled a robe over her nightgown, she saw her image reflected in the mirror over the dresser: large brown eyes, delicate skin, shoulder-length blond hair—and maybe she added a few pounds since they got married last year, but she still had a good figure. She sighed and left the bedroom, heading into the front room on her way to the kitchen.

Once in the front room she stopped and looked around, growing yet more depressed. The leaves of her houseplants were turning brown at the tips, and Bill’s framed photos barely hid the peeling wallpaper. They had bought the house from her grandmother with the intention of fixing it up and reselling it, but not much fixing ever seemed to get done. She looked away from the room out the picture window, across the dandelioned lawn to the street, with its rows of maple trees and parked cars. The morning light was cheering, so she detoured to the front door and opened it, letting in the fresh April air.

Oh God, she blurted out, looking through the screen door as a car pulled into the driveway. What does he want?

A mosaic of tree shadows reflected off the windshield and obscured the person inside, but she knew the outside well enough—a light green Fairlane with a white top, nothing fancy, more than a few years old. A lean body emerged from the driver’s seat, the long chestnut-brown hair further confirming his identity, and Becky grimaced. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Carl—of all Bill’s friends, he was the most tolerable, which wasn’t saying much—but it was nine a.m. on Sunday morning, for God’s sake! Becky put a hand to the door latch as he approached the porch, as though preventing a stray mutt from nosing in with muddy paws.

I had a feeling you were going to show up, she said, making no effort to disguise her unhappiness.

Carl stopped on the steps when he saw her, cocking his head quizzically. What are you, psychic or something? His green eyes were amused, not taking her seriously; everything was a joke with him.

No, she said. I was just looking forward to spending some time with my husband on his one day off—it figures you would show up.

That’s funny, he said, glancing down at her attire. I had a feeling a beautiful woman would be waiting at the door, ready to greet me with open arms.

She stared at him stone-faced, treating the possible compliment as a rude joke. I guess you’re not psychic either.

Maybe not, he laughed. Hey, sorry if I’m interrupting something, but Bill said this morning would be okay for shooting a scene down at the community college.

Shooting a scene, Becky repeated. She paused to consider this news, her eyes following his hair down over the shoulders of his beat-up blue jean jacket. Was it even possible that she had once found such male scruffiness attractive?

She shook her head. Carl, you need a real life.

He looked bemused. A real life?

I mean, running around making silly movies was fine when you were teenagers, but you guys are almost twenty-two years old, she said. When are you going to get serious about your life?

Carl looked down as though actually thinking about her words, but she could never tell what was really going on inside of him. In fact, it felt like the longer she knew him, the less she knew him; the openness he had had when they first met had progressively closed down over the last few years, enclosed in a shell of wisecracks. But when he looked up again, his eyes were no longer laughing.

Real life is depressing, he said. That’s why they invented movies. The whole point is to escape real life.

You have to face life sometime, she said.

I’ll face it when I’m ready, he smiled. If I ever get that desperate.

I’ll tell Bill you’re here, she replied, not wanting to debate with him. After cracking open the screen door so he could let himself in, she turned to go back to the bedroom.

Hey, who’s this? Carl said from behind her. A friend of yours? He had picked up a black and white photograph from Bill’s school stuff, lying on top the bookcase near the front door. His interest aroused her curiosity, so she went back and looked over his shoulder. A pretty young woman with dark hair was smiling out at them good-naturedly, posing a bit nervously in front of the camera. That’s a good question, she said. I don’t know.

Look—her arms are open, Carl grinned. Maybe I’m psychic after all.

You’ll have to ask Bill who it is, Becky replied, then she left Carl abruptly and returned to the bedroom. Bill was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-dressed and buttoning his blue denim shirt. He glanced up at her.

I thought you wanted to sleep in, she said.

I did, but I forgot we were shooting today, he replied. Tell Carl I’ll be ready in a minute.

She continued standing in the doorway. Can’t they shoot without you?

They’re counting on me, he said. I can’t just walk out on them.

She stopped herself from saying something, then turned and left the bedroom. He’ll be out in a minute, she said to Carl, who was still studying the photo. She went into the kitchen and picked up the coffee pot, checking if it was clean. It was, but she put it down again, and stood there staring at the unlit stove. When Bill finally emerged from the bedroom, she stepped into the kitchen doorway to hear what he would say about the girl in the picture.

Sorry, I overslept, Bill said to Carl. Do I have time to get some coffee?

We’re late already, Carl replied. Jon and the other guys are probably waiting for us. He held up the photo. Who’s this? I feel like I’ve met her before.

Beckywatched Bill’s face as he examined the picture. Bill was not a handsome man by conventional standards, given his long nose and narrow-set eyes, but he had an easy charm about him that many women found appealing.

Sharon Belmont; one of the other students in my photography class, Bill said, without any sign that he had something to hide. The teacher had us all shoot pictures of each other in different poses.

What’s she like? Carl asked.

I don’t know—she’s nice, I guess. I thought you said we were late?

Yeah, okay, Carl said, putting the picture down.

So, how long will you be gone? Becky called after Bill, stopping them on their way to the door. Am I going to see you at all today?

Yeah, sure, Bill replied. He glanced at Carl. What do you think, a couple of hours?

I don’t know, Carl said. It’s hard to tell; depends on how things go.

Don’t wait around for me, Bill said, walking up to her. I guess I’ll be gone as long as it takes, then I’ll catch up with you later in the day. He gave her a swift peck on the cheek, then turned and was out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Bill stood on the porch for a moment, enjoying a morning breeze and the warmth of the sunlight on his face. Some days he just needed to feel single again, like he could hang out with Carl and the guys and be responsible to no one.

You’ve sure changed your priorities, Carl said. How about if you go act with Jon and I stay home with your wife?

Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, Bill laughed. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, a habit he had developed since getting it cut, and followed Carl down the steps to the sidewalk. I have one day off from the car parts store, and she wants me to spend it all with her. It gets a little suffocating sometimes.

Enjoy your sex life while it lasts, Carl retorted. He stopped beside his car and looked over the roof at Bill, as though anticipating something. So what about this Sharon? he asked. Is she single?

Bill looked back at him blankly. She’s not married, he said, feeling the pointlessness of the exchange. I don’t know if she has a boyfriend. Why, you interested?

Well, sure, Carl said, opening the car door. I’m not in school, you know—how am I gonna meet any girls unless someone introduces me?

I don’t know, Bill shrugged. I thought you didn’t want us trying to set you up.

Carl looked puzzled. Where did you get that idea?

Well, we tried setting you up with some ofBecky’s friends, back when we got engaged, remember? You didn’t show any interest, so we figured you didn’t want our help.

Carl frowned at this and climbed into the car, while Bill waited for him to unlock the passenger side door. Of course he knew Carl was interested—he talked about sex almost all the time, like any other normal guy who wasn’t getting any—but Bill had grown used to the idea that, for whatever reason, Carl’s talk was never going to proceed to action.

You got engaged, what—a year and a half ago? Carl said as Bill got in. Late ‘72, right? I was working overtime at that factory job, and didn’t have time for going out. Besides, he added, that was right after my physical. I had a lot on my mind.

I forgot about that, Bill said. In truth he had, as everything before the wedding seemed like eons ago; he hadn’t thought about the draft in at least a couple of years.

Yeah, you and everyone who got a high lottery number, Carl said sharply.

Bill winced, even though he knew it was stupid to feel guilty about escaping the draft. What happened with that, anyway? he asked, trying to remember if Carl had ever told him. Did you tell the psychiatrist about flipping out on acid that time we went camping with Davey?

Yeah, sure, Carl replied, starting the car and shifting to reverse. I’m gonna tell a psychiatrist that I was running around in the woods babbling like an idiot, doing somersaults in the dirt. He gave Bill a look. I just wanted to avoid the draft, not to get locked up in a lunatic asylum.

They won’t lock you up for freaking out while you’re high, Bill said. Only if you freak out when you’re not high.

Well, I didn’t want to go into it, Carl said. He paused at the end of the driveway to let another car pass, a momentary silence falling between them. Bill found it hard to believe the subject was still so touchy.

I thought you tried to get a psychiatric deferment, he persisted. Didn’t you tell me that?

Yeah, I tried, Carl answered. I told him I wanted to kill the President, but he said that was normal for a kid my age.

Bill laughed, relieved at this stab at humor. No, what happened really? he asked.

Oh, you know, I told him about feeling depressed a lot, Carl said, backing into the street and shifting to drive. But he said that was normal for a kid my age.

No kidding, Bill said. Especially one about to be drafted. So did you get a deferment?

No, Carl said, sounding indignant about it. They classified me 1-A. But they never got around to calling me, so when they started pulling the troops out I figured I had just lucked out.

And that cured your depression, huh? Bill smiled.

Carl didn’t answer; he just stared out the window as they drove past aging suburban tract houses and parked cars suffering from varying degrees of winter rust. Tell me about this Sharon, he finally said. You think I could I meet her?

Bill lit a cigarette, opening the side window to flick the ashes out; cool air rushed in and drove out some of the staleness in the car. He tried picturing Carl and Sharon together, but it wasn’t easy. Sharon seemed warm, friendly and upbeat, while Carl was—well, Carl.

You know, finding a girlfriend won’t save you from the basic meaninglessness of your existence, Bill joked.

Carl arched his eyebrows. Yeah, I know, he replied. But maybe it’ll save me from the basic meaninglessness of hanging out with you all the time.

Bill laughed. I guess I could try to set something up, he said tentatively. You know, she’s taking the class with a girlfriend. Mary Ellen might be more your type—bluejean overalls, no make-up, that kind of thing.

What does she look like? Carl asked.

Oh, short blonde hair, kind of thin, Bill replied. She’s decent looking.

Carl thought it over. I liked Sharon’s smile in that picture.

You liked her smile? Bill repeated. He shook his head. Alright, look—I’ll try to set it up for you to meet both of them, to double your chances, okay?

Sounds good, Carl said. I like those odds.

They left the side streets and headed down Gratiot Avenue, with rows of nondescript stores and used car lots passing by on either side of the street—sights they had seen thousands of times while cruising Gratiot after high school. Sometimes school seemed so long ago; other times it felt like just yesterday. Time was nothing but the difference between memory and reality—sometimes a big difference; sometimes no difference at all.

So, Jon’s meeting us at the college? Bill said, trying to