(age 26) 1975: On a bus from Oxford to London with my wife. I’m feeling wretched because we’ve just fought. She, quiet and forlorn. Suddenly, I’m enveloped in glory and Light. Nothing subtle, it is full-out beatitude, and I intuitively know it ‘s been activated in me by an outside source. And I further know that source is sitting somewhere right behind me. There’s an element of embarrassment in all this for me— to have behaved so badly and madly with Leslie, yet to now be held in such a state of grace, feels like a raw, vulnerable suspension in sheer transparency. [Blake writes something like, “We are put on Earth a little while to learn to bear the beams of love.”] The bus bears us toward London. The love never lets up. It fills me. When we arrive and are about to disembark, I know I must wait for the passengers behind me to file out, so I can finally see the person who’s held me in such vast, beatified awareness. And sure enough, here she comes– a frail old grey-haired lady. I simply know she’s the one. She passes me without any kind of acknowledgement, and I quickly maneuver myself into line right behind her. As she starts down the bus’s steep, brief stairway to the pavement, I watch her waver slightly. The climb down is a chore for her old body. My body is still so charged from our mysterious encounter [a ” God – appointment” to be sure] that it’s easy for me to project a ray of energy from my solar plexus down the stair to hold and steady her as she descends. She stands for a moment on the station pavement, then turns around, beams brightly up at me, says, “Thank you,” and is on her way.