Money, Sex & Eternal Life

By John Bryant

Driven by the hunger gnawing at his soul, John Bryant spent a life-time pursuing life's Big Questions - Why am I here? Where am I going?

Initially an atheist, his quest exposed him to hypnotists, psychotherapists, and sensitivity gurus. He experienced the occult, flirted with Eastern religions, and survived cults, mystics, and false prophets. After years of searching, a dramatic spiritual encounter finally opened his eyes, to 'The Meaning of Life'.

His spiritual pilgrimage, intertwined with an entrepreneurial business career, was constantly threatened by the temptations that have ruined many good men: money and sex. Fighting to overcome these and other obstacles, John concluded that our physical existence on Earth is merely a dress rehearsal for the main event: Eternal Life.

This stimulating, down-to-earth account of one man's spiritual journey offers comforting assurance of life beyond death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781925952674

Book preview

This book is dedicated to:

Benn, Jodie, Charlotte, Georgia

Kristen, Gregory, Madelyn, Jordyn, Ashton

Tamson, David, Oliver, Abigael

& those that follow them…

Author Biography

John Bryant is married with three adult children, and lives in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. Following an entrepreneurial business career, his focus turned to assist others in business, particularly the younger generation. He has also volunteered in several health and aged-care related roles, and the RFS. His passion for creative writing has been expressed while hosting a program on community radio over many years.

‘Money Sex & Eternal Life’ follows four previous books (HarperCollins), all celebrating unique aspects of Australiana. He has been a regular contributor to a variety of publications, including RM Williams ‘Outback’ magazine.

John’s hobbies include motorcycling and landscaping. He wrote this latest book while ensconced at the top of his 15-metre tall medieval tower; one that he designed and constructed himself. This ultimate man-cave overlooks the Heritage Listed Blue Mountains National Park; an idyllic hideaway to document his life-long fascination with the spiritual realm.

Contact

Author John Bryant welcomes contact at

[e-mail]

Ronnie…

The phone ripped me out of a deep sleep; it was 4.21am, Ronnie was dying.

My distraught caller sobbed that her hubby was about to succumb to the cancer that he’d been fighting for the past few months. She was sitting with him at that very moment in Glenn Innes hospital where doctors gave him only a few hours to live. He had asked about me. Could I come? Quickly?

Sitting bolt upright in bed, I was overwhelmed by shock mingled with disbelief. My mate Ronnie dying? We were young blokes with our whole lives ahead of us. Indestructible, immortal almost! We had big dreams that didn’t include leaving planet Earth just yet; death wasn’t on our agenda.

I checked the luminous clock dial and figured the eight-hour drive would land me in Glenn Innes around noon. Would Ronnie hang on that long? Our friendship since primary school suggested he was worth the effort. Throwing on the jeans and sweatshirt that were lying on the floor, I jumped into my Ute and spat gravel as I speared off into the night.

I usually enjoyed long drives, but this time I couldn’t settle down. I gave up jabbing at the radio, turned it off, and watched the video that was playing in my mind. It was crammed with nostalgia; me and Ronnie, the road trips, sleeping out in swags, fishing, BBQs, the laughs, being each other’s Best Man, playing touch footy with our mates. It hurt like crazy somewhere deep inside to think that he was about to leave us. Forever! I suddenly realised for the first time in many years that my eyes were full of tears. Damn it, no one could see me; I let ‘em flow.

I was nearing Muswellbrook on the New England when the sun started struggling into an anaemic dawn, throwing long shadows from the occasional roo that grazed the verge. Spider webs glistening with dew hung in the barbed wire fences like diamond-encrusted necklaces. As I charged on towards Ronnie, my thoughts turned from the old days to the present. What would I say to Ronnie if he was still alive when I got there? The finality of Ronnie’s predicament suddenly overawed me; this wasn’t someone else, this was my best mate.

Down the years, Ronnie and I had had a few debates about life. I had always been open to the possibility that someone or something was out there in the cosmos quietly influencing the human race, but he was adamant I was wrong. He wasn’t nasty, just sarcastic with a wicked sense of humour. As far as he was concerned, we were here on Earth by chance, the by-product of billions of years of evolution.

‘What you see is all you’ve got mate,’ was his mantra, ‘when ya cark it, that’s it, the end!’

Maybe he was right, but then again, perhaps he wasn’t. If the doctor’s gloomy prognosis was correct, then Ronnie was about to find out for himself. He would soon know with absolute certainty whether he was a lump of meaningless meat sliding into unconscious oblivion. Or, maybe he’d meet up with some mysterious Bloke Upstairs who had put the world together.

As I pondered the eternal implications of death, I experienced an acute pang of concern for Ronnie that transcended his physical predicament. I felt like I wanted to assure him that there was hope beyond the grave; tell him that I loved him. Would that be too sloppy for a dying mate to hear from another bloke? Try as I may, I couldn’t think of anything halfway appropriate to say as I tossed it around in my mind.

As I sat there staring at the monotonous white line flicking past at 140, I realised I was praying for Ronnie, a simple prayer that went like ‘please look after my mate’. That surprised me because I never prayed. I had previously thought a bit about prayer but honestly couldn’t believe that they got answered, mainly because there was no evidence that anyone was listening; was there? It annoyed me to think about the claims some people made about their prayers. Utter bullshit! But what the heck, right now I didn’t have any other options.

I was still going full belt when I flashed past the 60 sign on the edge of town. I braked hard when the ‘Glen Innes District Hospital’ arrow pointed me down a cross street. Swinging into the car park, I left the keys in the Ute as I limped stiffly to the Reception counter; it had been a long stint behind the wheel. The nurse frowned when I mentioned Ronnie’s name, then pointed me to a room down the end of a long sterile corridor. My Redbacks squished on the highly polished linoleum floor; the sound echoed down the disinfected white tunnel to the only door at the end.

As I opened the Visitors Room door I was confronted by about a dozen bleary-eyed people seated along the walls; they were facing each other on two bench seats, all staring like zombies, no one saying a word. They all looked at me at once, then just as quickly they all looked away, like spectators following the ball at a tennis match. Still, no one spoke. I recognised only two of the people in the room. One was Ronnie’s wife Lorraine, who had called me eight hours earlier, and then there was ‘the other woman’.

I’d only met the other woman, Doris, once before when I stumbled upon her and Ronnie totally by chance late one night at an outer Sydney pub a few years back. They were sitting holding hands listening to a rock band with a couple of rounds of empties stacked on the table in front of them. Ronnie’s jaw dropped, and his eyes almost left their sockets when he saw me; I was the last person he could have expected to run into on the far side of town. He went sheet white, uncharacteristically stuttering as he leapt to his feet to shake my paw. He awkwardly introduced me to Doris. After a minute of uncomfortable chit-chat, he said he needed a pee and towed me out to the Men’s.

Stunned, and before I could say anything, my typically self-confident mate grabbed my shoulder and started babbling. His confession shocked me! It turned out that he had known Doris since she was his high school crush. They’d dated until Lorraine came along and then drifted apart after he had married Lorraine. But less than a year into his marriage Doris had resurfaced, and they had rekindled the fire, but secretly. No one knew. No one suspected a thing, not his wife Lorraine, not even me, his best mate!

As we stood there in the Men’s room those few years ago, Ronnie pleaded with me to keep his secret. He reckoned he loved both women and would do anything not to see either of them hurt. I tried to extract a promise that he’d give up on Doris and devote himself to his wife, but no go. Ronnie said he’d rather jump under a bus than give up either love. I figured it was his life, not mine, so I decided I’d say nothing. We never discussed Doris again; we both just sort of pretended she didn’t exist.

As I stood staring at the tear-stained mourners in the Visitors Room, Lorraine got up, grabbed me in a weak hug, and then led me outside. Sure enough, Ronnie was dying. He’d had a crook back for years, and like most blokes he’d just put up with it rather than seek medical advice. But seven weeks ago he’d been admitted to hospital with particularly bad spasms. Tests had revealed cancer in his spine, which had already invaded most of his body; it was too late for chemo or to operate. He was a goner. Lorraine sobbed as she told me Ronnie was now passing in and out of consciousness and that the doctor had suggested she summons the family to prepare for his imminent demise.

Lorraine was touched that so many family and friends had taken the time to come to join her on the death watch, including ‘our old school friend Doris’. Obviously, Lorraine still knew nothing about Doris and Ronnie.

I left Lorraine in the Visitors Room and squished my way back to the Nurses’ station to find out where I could locate Ronnie. The duty nurse said it was futile, that he was out to it and unlikely to regain consciousness. I insisted that I needed to see him, pleading that I’d driven eight hours non-stop to visit him before he passed away. She relented and said that if I wanted to sit with him that would be OK, but only 5 minutes. My heart was in my throat as she led me to a private room, where she pushed me through the door and left. There was Ronnie, lying unconscious, tubes everywhere, hooked up to a variety of machines that beeped and flashed. I was shocked as I dragged up a chair next to the bed and looked at my old mate. He was lying on his back, mouth open, a cadaver reduced to skin and bone. The slight rise and fall of his chest was the only sign of life.

I pulled the chair closer so that I was sitting right next to his unshaven face, near enough so that I could just hear his raspy, uneven breath. His chest rattled deep inside with every breath. The place reeked of disinfectant. I had no idea about what to do or how to react; I had never been with a dying person before. I grabbed Ronnie’s hand and held it; it was quite cold. Once again, I realised that I was praying that Ronnie would be OK. I didn’t expect any answer, so the hair rose on the back of my neck when Ronnie half-opened his eyes and peered at me. ‘Hey mate,’ he grated feebly.

‘Hell, Ronnie, you scared the shit outta me… how ya going, mate?’ I gave his hand a squeeze. He gave me a weak squeeze back.

‘Me? I’m stuffed mate…. me back, cancer…. the Big C‘s everywhere they reckon, all over me, it’s taking me out…’ he rasped, as he struggled to keep his eyes on mine.

I wanted to tell Ronnie he’d be OK, that he’d get better, that he’d soon be home with Lorraine and that his life would get back to normal. I suppose when there’s no hope, it’s easier to resort to wishful thinking, lies even, anything to avoid facing the grotesque reality of death! But this was for real. An impression flashed through my mind where I saw Ronnie standing on the edge of a steep precipice, about to leap off into another world, a place that was vague and beyond my comprehension.

‘Ronnie, you’re about to find out what it’s like after life here. Maybe it’s not the end like you always thought…. maybe there’s something good… something better than here when you get to the other side? Maybe there’s even someone waiting to welcome you?’

If I’d said that to Ronnie a few years ago, he would have laughed in my face and come up with some stupid comment about the fairies at the bottom of the garden. Or perhaps he would have quoted Kerry Packer’s famous quip after he’d had his near-death experience, reporting that ‘there’s nothing on the other side’. But this time, Ronnie held my gaze with an intensity that contradicted his emaciated physical condition. He looked scared, the old confidence gone.

‘Maybe….’

Ronnie’s eyes slowly slipped shut.

‘Ronnie? What do ya reckon, mate? Ronnie?’

I thought Ronnie had departed. He just lay there, still. I stared hard but couldn’t detect any chest movement. Had he jumped off into eternity already? But the lights on the wall kept flashing and the beeper kept up its regular beat. I gave it one last shot, ‘Ronnie?’

I trembled as I heard a weak ‘yeah’ and looked up to see Ronnie squinting into my face, wearing a troubled expression that conveyed a sense of dread.

‘I did some wrong things in my life and it never really worried me. Not until now, that is. I’ve never felt it before – mate, it hurts bad.’

My tears flowed as I listened to Ronnie empty his heart in a rasping whisper. He had tears in his eyes too; one dribbled down his cheek, but he was too weak to wipe it. He was pouring out a confession, not sure to whom, but even Doris got a mention. Even though I strained my ears, I missed a lot of what he said as his voice was getting weaker and his chest rattle was increasing. I was embarrassed. I felt I had no right to see Ronnie stripped down to his bare soul like this. He appeared to have finished what he wanted to say - fighting hard to breath as he uttered his last words:

‘Ya know mate, it’d be bloody great if there really was someone up there.’

He gave me a weak grin, gently squeezed my hand, closed his eyes and passed out.

I sat another few minutes, holding Ronnie’s limp hand, not sure what to do next. I tried talking to Ronnie again, but he was right out to it, although still alive according to the monitoring equipment. I struggled to my feet and laid both Ronnie’s cold hands on his chest. I wiped his cheek dry. I cried. I stood there for another few minutes, grief-stricken, tears rolling freely down my cheeks. ‘Please look after my mate’. I was bereft and scared for both our sakes. That was the last time I ever saw Ronnie. I wandered absent-mindedly out of the private room and down the corridor, leaving the machines on Ronnie’s wall still reporting ‘life’, blinking and beeping.

I felt like I’d just run a marathon, standing there on the edge of eternity, watching my mate losing his battle; I was drained. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by the urge to escape, get back on the road, head home. I knew I could do nothing more for Ronnie, but somehow that didn’t matter now because I was satisfied that I had kept faith with a bloke who had meant so much to me. I said a brief goodbye to Lorraine and promised to stay in touch. I intended to share some of what had transpired between Ronnie and me, but didn’t feel now was the right time.

As I jumped in the Ute and cranked the V8, I heard a tap on the glass, and there was Doris, her face haggard and tear-stained, staring at me through the side window. I couldn’t help thinking that she was no longer the sexy young chick that had stolen a big chunk of Ronnie’s heart from Lorraine.

‘Hi John, it’s been a long time…did you get to talk to Ronnie?’

‘He was barely conscious Doris, I only got a couple of minutes with him.’

‘They wouldn’t let me in… only Lorraine and close family members, I haven’t been able to see him at all... you can’t imagine what it’s like… pure hell being so close to the one you love but unable to comfort him at a time like this. He’s part of me for God’s sake!! Did he say anything about me? Was there any message for me?’

What could I tell her? Should I have told her the painful truth? Told her that Ronnie had shed tears and cried; that she was one of the big regrets of his life? That he had expressed remorse about all the lies and deception over the years? That her lover had, in his dying moments, confessed the shame and guilt of cheating on Lorraine, the mother of his children? That with almost his last breath, he had cried out in anguish for the whole rotten mess he’d made of his family life?

‘Hey Doris, ya have to let him go. It’s almost all over now; none of us can do anything for him, he’s about to check out.’

I felt a colossal pang of pity for Doris, standing there twisting her hankie in anguish and biting down on the sides of her finger. She was losing her lifelong lover but couldn’t express her devastating grief; she couldn’t receive the comfort she needed without lifting the lid on their illicit affair.

‘Gotta go, Doris, long drive ahead, see ya!’ I hit the gas, hard. There was nothing more I could say or do. I had eight hours ahead of me to think.

As I cleared the city limits, I punched the cruise control and fought for some way to make sense of what had just happened. My emotions were all over the place. Every feeling I had ever experienced had been tossed in a blender and converted into mush. I still couldn’t grasp the reality that Ronnie would soon cease to exist. He and I hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year in spite of being close for decades; we were the sort of mates who could take up where we’d left off no matter how long it had been. We had both grown up in Sydney, but while I stayed to raise my family, Ronnie had gone bush to start a machinery contracting business.

For almost as long as I had known him, he had suffered a sore back which he blamed on his tractor’s ‘heavy clutch’. He was one of those stubborn blokes who shunned conventional medicine, preferring to put up with the pain. Instead of seeking professional help, he ended up taking advice from an old shearer who drank at his local pub. The bloke wore a back brace which he swore was a miracle cure for any back ailment. Ronnie was so impressed that he immediately found a second-hand brace in the Trading Post. After all, if anyone on Earth knew how to treat a bad back it would have to be a shearer, wouldn’t it?

I smiled to myself as I reflected on Ronnie’s crook back, which subsequently became a thing of legend throughout the district. He used to go into his garage, strap himself into his back brace, climb onto a bucket and hook the thing to the ceiling. He’d then step off the bucket and remain suspended, his feet dangling a foot from the floor, allowing his back to take the weight of his body. He’d just hang there for up to half an hour a day, immobile, like a dead fruit bat. He reckoned it was the only way he could find any relief from his pain.

The occasional delivery driver would freak out when he unexpectedly discovered Ronnie during one of his self-imposed therapy sessions. Finding a prone body dangling from the roof, he assumed he’d stumbled on a murder or suicide. One time a young Jehovah’s Witness lady stood speechless when she arrived on the scene, only to scream then almost faint when the hanging corpse mumbled ‘g’day love’. When she gathered her wits, she left rather hurriedly, forgetting Ronnie’s Watch Tower, so he had to find something else to light his slow combustion stove. Yeah, he sure was a funny bugger at times!

As I settled into the rhythm of the road, I found I had the New England mostly to myself, apart from having to slow up briefly for a Cocky pushing cows across to his milking sheds on the other side. How did these country blokes get away with it? Their cows dump a mountain of crap on the main highway with no questions asked, while city folks get fined if they leave an occasional half-ounce Poodle turd in the local park. Never could figure that one!

My daydream was abruptly interrupted by my phone. It was Lorraine, weeping.

Sure enough, Ronnie had gone, passed away just a few minutes previously, surrounded by those that loved him. My best mate had kicked the bucket.

I suddenly realised that I’d forgotten to tell Ronnie that I loved him! I wiped my eyes with the backs of both hands as