Allow me to set the scene for the chapter I would like to share by reading from the back flap of the novella:
"In the late summer months of 2000, on a cool dark night in the foothills of Boulder, Colorado, a seventeen year-old boy was murdered by a young man he once considered his best friend. The calamity nearly crippled the boy's parents, especially the father who struggled mightily with grief, anger, and guilt. With the help of a very special elderly sage, the father of the boy struggled to survive the tragedy and recover from the heartbreaking ordeal.
The story begins with the funeral of Michael's son, revealing the pain of a grief-stricken father on the verge of self-destruction and ends with his redemption and return to a meaningful life. Michael is referred by a close friend to an elderly gentleman named Solomon. Solomon is a wise, irreverent, white-haired seer living in the small coastal village of Carlsbad, California where he teaches his own very special brand of spiritual therapy for lost souls. His office is a coffee shop and the beach where he and Michael meet and together try to find a way to recover Michael's lost life after his son's death. The relationship that develops between Michael and Solomon reaches a depth rarely found between two men."
Now for a story within the story, I would like to share a short chapter in the book titled "Restless in Carlsbad", which takes place the day Michael arrives in Carlsbad and synchronistically encounters Solomon. Each chapter consists of two parts. The first part of each is prose and a description of Michael's journey. The second part of each is a poetic peek into his soul.
Restless in Carlsbad
I walked around town for the better part of the day but I couldn't tell you much of what I saw. The place felt magical but it was a blur to me as I kept returning to my thoughts about this strange little man and how he seemed to know me in a way I didn't understand. He had uttered only a few words but it was enough to disorient me and put my mind in a place that was profoundly uncomfortable. Over and over, I considered packing my bags and getting out of town. The words from one of my favorite songs by the Eagles, Hotel California ". . . you can check out but you can never leave" flashed in my mind. It seemed so strange and quite frankly, sent chills down my spine.
After hours of walking around in a semi-stupor, I checked my watch only to discover that it was almost dinner time. I found myself in front of a magnificent Victorian style house that just happened to be a restaurant and they had a bar. And I needed a drink, at least. The bartender was a young blond guy in his twenties probably trying to make enough money to keep his days open for surfing. He flashed a pearly white smile and greeted me with the same casualness that was so prevalent here. "I'll take a Rob Roy," I said, "and keep them coming." After several of my favorite alcoholic concoction, it was evident to me that the events of the day and the booze had taken its toll. I let my young bartender friend talk me into some food and they delivered it right to the bar. I woofed it down the way you do when the booze or pot munchies strike; fast and furious with a minimum of chewing involved.
After the blitz of booze and food ended, I tipped my newfound surfer/bartender buddy and headed back to the hotel. Luckily, there was only one main street to cross or I might not have made it back. The disorientation of the morning had only been exasperated by the day-long wandering and alcohol consumption. So after nearly getting run over and bumping into a couple of very tolerant locals, I managed to get to my room. The room was just getting dark enough to lull me into a half-sleep and eventually, blessed oblivion.
Sleep was no more forgiving than being awake. Dreams of dark places and distorted images filled my mind. I was looking for something very important but had no idea what it was or where to look. Was it my soul? Was it my son? Was it my death? I was overwhelmed by the fear of the possibility of never finding what I so desperately sought. I wandered for what seemed like an endless time and distance in a fluid spongy world that had no firmness or foundation. As my desperation neared the breaking point, I heard a soft, gender-less voice say "There is nothing to fear, your Brother waits." The peace of the voice brought the same tranquility to me and for a time, I was truly serene. I thought I might survive.
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