My Eye: a Vision of Christ: The Gnostic Christian Autobiography of Mark Wonser

By Mark Wonser

The first half of this two part book tells the story of an ordinary boy enriched by his mothers faith yet torn apart by a bitter divorce. Maintaining his religious underpinnings, Mark struggles through the divorce and graduates from college with a degree in finance. This takes him to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange where he makes millions of dollars, marries his wife and retires at the age of 36. Shortly after, Mark received a Masters degree in Theology setting the foundation for the remainder of his life. The first half of the book ends with the death his forth child, Kevin, which becomes the catalyst for a tremendous spiritual conversion.

The second half of the book walks the reader through that conversion documenting the steps taken to accomplish it. A discussion of physics is used to set up a foundation for further explanations in theology. This discussion results in a need to re-evaluate the meaning of Mark 8:29 when Jesus asks: Who do you say that I am? The result is a shift from orthodox religion to a focus on Sophian Gnosticism. Time is spent focusing on Kabbalah and The Tree of Life, and on a special sign Mark created called the Sign of the Tree. Kabbalistic teachings on reincarnation and suffering are explored. Mark applies these teachings to his life by leaving the material world behind, going to work at a homeless shelter, and becoming a hospice volunteer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463419219

Mark Wonser

Mark Wonser, born in 1953, is a self made millionaire and father of four. He retired at an early age from the Chicago Mercantile Exchange and purchased a large estate near where he was born in Portland, Oregon, and began growing and selling Christmas trees. A Masters Degree in Theology and the death of his son, Kevin, caused him to abandon the world of belongings and possessions in pursuit of a different kind of wealth.

Book preview

My Eye:

A Vision of Christ

The Gnostic Christian Autobiography of Mark Wonser

A Lived Kabbalah

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© 2011 Mark Wonser. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/5/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1923-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1922-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1921-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011912989

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Sources and Suggestions

This is the Legacy I leave to my children. This book is dedicated to them.

The light of the body is the eye: therefore when thine eye is single, thy whole body also is full of light (Luke 11:34).

Chapter 1

Good Stock

I was born of good stock. My oldest traceable ancestor, Jan Jansen Wanshaer, reached New Amsterdam in about the year 1642. His last name, like many other names of the era, was changed several times over the years owing mostly to the lack of reading and writing skills of the people the name was given to. My name, Wonser, and any other spelling with this pronunciation, is a derivative of Wanshaer.

Jan Jansen was admitted to the rights of a burger (American citizen) on April 18, 1657, and was a respected citizen of the city. He lived on Brouwer Street, also called Brewers street, because of the two breweries that were on it, which is now that part of Stone Street between Broad and Whitehall streets. It was the first street to be paved with stone and was one of the first streets built upon. After being paved it became known as Stone Street and it was the broadway of the town. Jan Jansen was one of the first 204 residents of New Amsterdam, now New York City.

In his book, The Wanzer Family in America, William D. Wanzer, born 1855, comments on the city at that time:

The appearance of New Amsterdam, or New York City, when Jan Jansen Wanshaer arrived in 1642 was striking. There were about 150 houses, and these were mostly of wood covered with reed roofs. The currency in general was composed of Indian money called wampum, or seawant, and the skins of animals, principally beaver. Seawant consisted of small perforated shells, black and white, either loose or strung like beads on a string. In 1650 it was ordered that six white or three black seawants were equal to one stuyver (a Dutch silver piece). The brace—strung seawant—eight white or four black for one stuyver. In spite of these government orders, seawant depreciated in value, so that in 1659 sixteen guilders in seawant, at the stated value, were required to exchange for one beaver skin of eight guilders in value. Beaver skins were valued at about eight guilders, or three dollars each, or when cut in half, their value was lessened.

According to Wanzer, Jan’s business was that of a sea merchant, and he is recorded as the first naval officer of America, appointed by Governor Peter Stuyvesant to protect the city.

Getting Started

The Gateway district of Portland, Oregon is middle class white America. Most of the houses in the neighborhood were built in the ‘50s, as were most of the houses for miles in every direction. I was the oldest of four children born to Mary and Dave Wonser in January, 1953. My brother Matt was born in 1954, Dona in 1955, and Dann in 1957. I also have a half brother Mike, born in 1966 to my mother and Vince Fitzgerald.

My mother was a deeply devoted Catholic while my father cared little about church or religion. Dad was the foreman at a machine shop in north Portland that manufactured farm irrigation equipment and I remember hearing once as a youngster that he made about $20 day in wages. The only job I ever remember my mother having was that of a local newspaper reporter where she became known as Merry Mary for her upbeat style of reporting. Her wages were needed but did not have a significant impact on our living style. I bring this up because even at this meager level of income for the family, my mother was able to somehow convince my dad to send us all to a private Catholic school. Little did I know at the time how much this decision would affect the rest of my life.

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Mom, Dad & Baby Mark

Grade School

Getting to and from school was no easy task since we lived three miles away and the school did not offer bussing. The city bus did not go in that direction. The cars the family owned did not make the job any easier. I remember mom driving us to school one time in a German car called a Borgward up a semi-steep hill named Yamhill Street next to school. I thought my brothers and sister and I were all going to have to get out and push the car up the last foot of the hill. Near the top, we were all doing the ‘to and fro’ motion trying to gain that last foot of pavement to reach the summit. We also owned several Studebakers, including a 1957 wagon and a 1960 Lark wagon. Studebakers, for whatever reason, seemed to be Dad’s favorite.

By the time we were in about the fifth grade, my brother Matt and I began riding our bikes the three miles to school everyday. I don’t remember why since Dona and Dann where still too young to ride, and I never remember riding with them even when I was in the eighth grade. Mom probably still had to get Dona and Dann to school by car.

Attending Ascension Catholic School brought about an early focus in my life on Religion. I started first grade in 1960, and shortly after became an altar boy with my brother Matt for Ascension parish. As altar boys, we were asked to assist the priest with hand washing, bringing wine to the altar, ringing bells at the appropriate times, and reciting prayers in Latin during mass. Mass was at 8 a.m. every morning, and was followed immediately by the start of school. Sometimes we were also called to serve at the convent of cloistered nuns just down the street. When this happened, we had to get up extra early since mass started at 6:30 a.m. On those days we had to leave home on our bikes about 6 a.m. There were always a few folks in the main body of the church at the early mass in the convent, but most of the people attending were nuns who participated from a side room that was veiled like rooms sometimes used by immediate family members at funeral homes. We could not see in the side room, and they could not see out. The only time we, or anybody else, ever saw those nuns was at communion when we were asked to hold a tray to their throat to catch any particles that might fall off of the host. During communion, they would come one at a time to a side window to receive the host. While the priest put the host on their tongue, we held the tray underneath. Once the nuns went into that cloistered convent, they were rarely seen again. There was a fenced graveyard in the backyard.

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Mark 1967 with Silver Teeth

Religious Life

We carried on our religious life at home as well. The four of us kids would set up an altar in the kitchen and pretend to say mass. I always insisted on being the priest since I was the oldest. Sometimes this resulted in a few objections, but I usually got my way. The mass was complete with bread and whatever we could find to drink. I also gave many Latin blessings to my siblings and the world around me. I remember another game we played called ten gallons. All we did in this game was fill up an empty milk jug with water and see who could drink the most. Since there was no bathroom upstairs in my room, the cherry tree below my window was never thirsty.

Neighborhood

We lived in a great neighborhood full of children our own age. We were allowed to go outside and play pretty much whenever we wanted as long as we were home by the time the street lights came on. The neighborhood was complete with a ‘bumpy road’ (an unpaved section of road full of holes between two paved sections), The Hill (a half a block long section or road sporting a slight increase in grade that at the time seemed like Mt. Everest), The Field (strategically located directly next to our house), and a nearby grocery store where we could ride our bikes to get candy. The Field connected two paved roads and every once in awhile a brave soul would try and drive through it. Once we saw the tire tracks we started booby trapping and digging holes in those ruts to stop the traffic. That was too good of a place to catch snakes to let cars be blast’n through.

My eye

As part of standard testing when I was in the second grade, I had an eye exam and it was discovered that I have amblyopia, a condition commonly known as lazy eye. It would have been easily treated had it been caught at a much earlier age, but it became problematic for me as the muscles in my eye were developed more than what they should have been to allow for common measures of correction at a younger age.

The first order of treatment was to put a patch over my good eye to try and make the muscles of the lazy eye work harder. This had two immediate consequences. First, I became one of the most popular kids in the neighborhood. Everyone thought it was so cool that I got to wear a pirate’s patch. I had two different kinds. One was flesh colored and had adhesive on the back like a band aid, the other was identical to a pirate’s patch being pitch black and cup shaped with elastic that went around the back of my head to keep it on. The black one was obviously much cooler but it was also easier to take off which I did as often as I could. The second consequence was that for quite some time I went around running into things. I ran into closet doors, couches, toilets, and whatever was in front of me. I was almost blind in my right eye and closing the left one made life a real adventure.

Another part of the treatment process called for me to wear glasses. One lens of those glasses was as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle, and the other was plain glass. I didn’t like wearing them much either because I could see fine without them. I only wore them for a couple of years before they got left by the wayside. Eventually the patch and the glasses were dropped and life went on as normal. I only had one good eye but as far as I could tell I could see as well as anybody else.

Spiritual Beginnings

Little did I know at the time that the problem I had with my eye would have an enormous impact on my spiritual life. When the problem was first discovered, my mom began bringing me into to her bedroom to say a special prayer to the Blessed Virgin Mary for healing. We sat on her bed together where she had a bottle of holy water from Lourdes of Crooked Finger. She would place some on my bad eye, and trace the sign of the cross on that eye with her finger while praying to Mary. I still have the empty bottle and keep it in my office desk. This made me feel very special and different from the other kids. It seems this went on for a couple of years. Then, I remember going back to the eye doctor for a checkup and having him tell us that it was a miracle that I didn’t go completely blind in that one eye. Even so, my vision was only 20/2100. To this day I only use my right eye for depth perception. I can’t see much else out of it. This, in addition to the Catholic education I was getting, would come to be of enormous significance in my life as an adult.

Paper Route

It seems like we were in about fifth or sixth grade before Matt and I got our first paper routes. We would have to get up at 3:30 in the morning and then ride our bikes up to the local paper drop station. There we would either stuff the papers right into the bags on the handlebars of our bikes, or alternatively, take the time to roll each paper up with rubber bands and then load them. If we took the papers flat we would have to get off our bikes to deliver each one. If we rolled them at the station, all we had to do was get close to the house and we could throw the paper at the door. It ended up being about the same amount of time to do either one. One time I got carried away and broke a glass screen door from throwing the paper too hard, and I remember standing outside of that house afterward and beating on the door (what was left of it) at 4:30 in the morning to explain the situation to the homeowner. Someone did answer but let me off the hook and told me not to worry. He had to be one kind soul to not only put up with me waking him up so early, but also to forgive my overpowering hook shot.

Lou’s

My dad was a very honest man and preached the same to us. However, we couldn’t resist the lure of freshly baked pastries delivered to the front of the grocery store that was right next to the newspaper station. The pastries were delivered once a week very early in the morning to Lou’s market and left outside until Lou could open up and bring them inside. There were racks of bread, donuts, cakes, and everything that would make a young teenager’s stomach beg for gratification. So, instead of just drooling, we helped ourselves. No one was ever around and it was right in our path to the paper station. We did this on regular basis until one day Lou figured it out. He sat outside hiding behind the pastry racks until we showed up as usual and then he jump out and scared the daylights out of us just before he nabbed us. I did my route that day with a mess in my pants. I can’t remember what our punishment was from mom and dad, but it was significant enough that we never even thought about it again. Those pastries looked like rotten apples the next time we rode by.

We also got into some mischief at the local Laundromat a few times in the wee hours of the morning. We found a machine that it was easy to get the money out of, so we made this a regular stop. We always seemed to have a pocket full of change and never did get caught for that one. Eventually, however, the coin slots were changed.

Dog

We used to get pestered by dogs all the time on our paper routes. I had a really good scare one time with a dog chasing me around the block while I was kicking at it and screaming the whole way. After that I didn’t like doing my route by myself anymore. I would always try and talk Matt into doubling up. We would both do one route and then both do the other. It seems we each had seventy or eighty papers on our routes so to double would mean delivering to about a hundred and fifty houses. It took a little longer this way but I felt a lot better. Matt didn’t really like doubling up that much, especially since the big dog was on my route, but I talked him into it most days.

Pervert

I was once approached by a homosexual during my route. While I was delivering papers in an apartment complex, he stopped me and started a conversation. Once he did, I knew from the way he was talking that I was in trouble. He was trying to get me to go back to his room. I was able to break the conversation and get away. Then I rode my bike straight home as fast as I could peddle it, skipping the rest of my route, to wake up my mom and dad. They immediately called the sheriff. I rode around in the back seat of the sheriff’s car looking for the guy for about an hour but never found him.

I used to collect empty liquor bottles that I found in the trash at the same apartment complex where the pervert lived. I would dig them out the trash bins and bring them home in my paper bags. If someone had a party I really scored. The bottles went all the way around my room in a circle at home. They doubled for urinals when needed. Mom didn’t like it much but didn’t see it causing much harm so she put up with it.

Disneyland

We had a few lapses in judgment but we were pretty straight kids as youngsters. We worked our butt off on our paper routes, and also sold enough subscriptions in our spare time to earn our way to Disneyland. We did this by going door to door and asking people if they wanted to start a subscription to the paper. Getting them to subscribe to a daily only subscription was worth one point, Sunday only was worth one point, and daily and Sunday were worth two. It took 64 points to get to Disneyland. That was a lot of door knock’n in our spare time, but it was worth it. The newspaper paid for a bus load of paperboys to go to Disneyland, Marineland, and Knott’s Berry Farm, complete with rides.

We also went door to door to collect money from the customers on our routes. That was the way most people paid for their subscriptions. We would knock on the door and say collecting for the Oregonian. Sometimes we would get paid, and sometimes we would have to come back three and four times to catch the party with the money. We had a bill from the newspaper we had to pay every month. Everything over that amount was ours. The tips were not substantial but they were welcome.

Other Activities

We were also in the boy scouts and mom was the den mother. The den was made up mostly of kids from the grade school. We achieved a few merit badges but neither one of us went on to become an Eagle Scout. We also bowled in a league on Saturdays. One Saturday after bowling, I was walking home through a field of tall dry grass. I don’t remember if Matt was with me, but another friend of mine, Bob, was. All that dry grass just looked like a fire waiting to happen; so it did. We struck up a match and threw it into the field. Before we knew it the fire was out of control and we were running as fast as we could to get away before someone saw us. The field was about an acre big and luckily there weren’t any houses close enough to burn. About 5 minutes after we lit it we could hear the fire engines but the sirens kept getting dimmer because we never stopped running.

Matt and I also belonged to little league teams it seems most of our childhood. Matt was always a little better than I was at baseball. He had a much better arm. I could throw hard but not with the accuracy that Matt could. Consequently, he usually played pitcher or short stop, and I was either catching or in the outfield. My strong point was hitting. One time, the coach was pitching to all of us in batting practice. My turn came up and I begged him to throw one across the plate as hard as he could. He hemmed and hawed but finally agreed. He reared back and gave it everything he had. I swung and blasted a homer over the center fielder’s head so far it seemed to disappear into the sky. The center fielder was still chasing it when I crossed home plate after running the bases. The coach told me he had never seen a ball hit that far. From then on I batted cleanup.

Chapter 2

My First Dark Night

Saint John of the Cross, 1542-1591, in his book Dark Night of the