He’d been coming to this Berkeley restaurant/pub for several years now, like me.  Like me, he spent the evening listening to the fine, free live music.  I’d sat next to him on many a night.  He’d roll by my side in his electric wheelchair.  I can’t say I was happy to see him.

     The Man from Jupiter – for I’ve never seen him anywhere else – was a black guy, maybe 40 years old.  He always seemed to have one leg slung over the other, for he couldn’t move them.  Attached to the side of the wheelchair was some laminated paper with a lot of panels on it.  I always assumed it was some type of medical chart instructing how to help him.  I never looked at it closely.

     He had a bushy beard that helped catch, momentarily, the constant drool from his mouth. I t would hang from his beard, like liquid whiskers.  Most of the drool would fall on the collar of his ratty jacket.

     Usually he just sat and stared.  But at what?  His eyes gave no clue.  They didn’t seem to brighten or have recognition; indeed, you couldn’t really be sure if you looking him in the eye.  Maybe it’s because he didn’t have control of those other subtle physical reactions that go along with eye contact.

     Every few minutes he would motor about Jupiter, with pretty good control of the wheelchair, actually.  He would unnerve the customers – students, yuppies and couples on the move with the future wide ahead of them – by drawing alongside their tables.

     Now, they tried to be nice – how could one not feel sympathy?  But a meal isn’t readily downed when a drooling guy in a wheelchair shows up by your side.  Once I’d brought a sandwich and, I swear, I just couldn’t eat it with him next to me.  You can think worse of me for it, but that’s the truth.

     Mostly the Man from Jupiter was silent.  He couldn’t speak.  But on occasion his arms would spasmodically twitch about wildly and he’d start howling.  It scared the hell out of me; one time I thought he might be having a major medical emergency.  That time, and on other occasions as well, some people on the Jupiter staff would rush to him and somehow take care of his needs, looking at that chart that hung from his wheelchair.  They clearly knew him there, they gave him free rein to move about, they always treated him kindly.

     We saw each other often, and I’d gaze at him, because to turn away might seem offensive.  He was hard to look at, but good god, how sorry I felt for him!  What must it be like to live a life where people look at you with difficulty… and what’s it like to see pity, repugnance and mostly, I guess, the very real fear of people that this could indeed be them.

     Or maybe he was lucky enough not to comprehend that – who could tell?

     Who was the Man from Jupiter?  Or rather, who had he been?  Had he been just another street person?  Or maybe a musician?  He could have been a professor, or a minister.  And now, in mid-life, to face this hopeless, doomed, downhill struggle.  How awful it must be, and how powerless anyone was to do anything to help him.

     Many missions in this life are incredibly difficult.  Had he chosen this?  He very well may have.  But regardless, he was providing me, and all those around him, an opportunity.  The NDE Paradigm says that every person and every moment of consciousness has value, and is an opportunity, whether we see it that way or not.

     I understood his life had value to me, simply because he inspired my gut-level compassion.  But oh, the sacrifice he had to make to provide this opportunity!

     So I wanted to write about the Man from Jupiter, about the sacrifice and the opportunity that he had provided me, the value of his life.  And I wanted to take his picture to put a face on him… and hope he wouldn’t be offended at being photographed in his condition.

     There had already been one bad incident on this night.  A young man had tried to help – to wipe some of the drool from his face – and the Man from Jupiter had howled loudly, raised his arms and flailed about furiously, seemingly wanting to strike the now-confused Good Samaritan, who apologetically backed away.

     Nonetheless, I eventually took my picture.  No one saw me take it, but he did.  I decided I had to at least talk to him.  I didn’t want to explain the NDE Paradigm, the article or even the photo.

     I just wanted to say something that might, just possibly, give him a sense that I was coming from love.  Perhaps he would sense that.

     I walked by his side and looked at him.  Though the restaurant was crowded, for a moment or two we were by ourselves.

     "I’m sorry you’re in such pain," I said. I looked at him again.  "You are loved," I said simply.  I repeated it:  "You are loved. "  And I walked away.

     An hour later, when the wondrous band Mushroom had finished its set, the keyboardist came over to adjust his recording equipment.  The Man from Jupiter was nearby, I knew the keyboardist had played there often, and might know something about him.

     I motioned toward the wheelchair. "Do you know his name?"

     "No."

     He went back to fiddling with his equipment, and I to mine.  I didn't see it, but the Man from Jupiter wheeled up by the side of the keyboardist.

     Seconds later, the keyboardist turned to me and said something that I’ll always remember.  It came out of nowhere.

     "My friend here in the wheelchair wants you to know he isn’t in pain."

     Well… there’s a moment late in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest when Chief Bromden, the huge Native American who has been mute throughout the entire movie, takes a stick of gum from McMurphy (Jack Nicholson), savors it, and nonchalantly notes, "Mmmm, Juicy Fruit" – leaving Nicholson and movie-goers slack-jawed.  That’s pretty much where I was.

     "How did he communicate that?

     "He has this chart. He spelled it out."

     Later, I approached the Jupiter soundman and asked if he knew anything.  He did.

     "His name is Kevin," he said.  "He has a really advanced case of multiple sclerosis.  There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with his mind.  He points to letters and phrases on that paper that hangs on his wheelchair – of course, his hand shakes so badly that it’s hard to tell what he’s pointing at. "

     "Does anybody know anything about him?"

     "Some guys tried to find out about him on the internet, but…" his voice trailed off.

     Later that evening, the Man from Jupiter was sitting by my side as the music played.  I snapped a few photos of the band, then turned to him.

     "This is my new digital camera, " I said, holding it up so he could see the pictures I’d taken.

     He looked.  And as he looked, I saw his lips widen, and there was no doubt about it.  I’d know that look anywhere.  Kevin was smiling.  And so was I.

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     His face was warmly wrinkled, but soft. His eyes were a soft blue and yet with a depth and sparkle of wisdom.  I looked away so as not to fall into his eyes; and as I did, he spoke to me.  His voice was firm, but soft and loving.

     He said, "Well, you've had a rough day," as if he knew all about it.

     With a tired sigh I said, "I sure have!"

     No further explanation seemed necessary as we both sat there.  Then, I remembered just how much trouble I really was in; and I looked back at him hoping he would have an answer I could stand to hear.

     I asked "Am I dead?"

     He smiled to assure me and said, "No, you are not dead. Your body is in a lot of trouble, but it is being well taken care of and you do not need to worry."

     I remember I felt so relieved to be told that I was not dead.  Life was not over.  This was not the end.  All these things ran through my mind like a whirlwind that stopped abruptly, and I was filled with a million questions as to explain my current condition.  I could not explain why I felt like I was sitting here in this place feeling very much like I had a body and yet knowing very much that I had left it behind.

     Again I looked at him, and his face looked so understanding I knew he had the answers even before I asked the question.  It was like we could read each others thoughts - even before words were spoken - and  I'm not sure but what a lot of our communication did take place this way, mind to mind. Then a kind of panic set in.

     I demanded of him: "How am I here, in this place, when I know that my body is back there in the hospital?"  And "Where is this place?  How do I see this place and you, if I'm not with my body?  How can I be two places at once?"  I began to feel very upset.  "What are you?" I demanded!

     His voice calmed me immediately.  He said, "You are in a very special place. You are safe."

     He went on to explain that, though my body was in the hospital, it was my physical body and that each of us has also our spiritual body and our mental body.

     He said, "It is your mental and spiritual body that is here.  It is with your mental and spiritual eyes that you see this place.  Likewise, it is through your mental and spiritual body senses that you perceive everything in and about this place.

     "This place is in your mind's eye, your imagination; it is as it is because this is exactly what you need it to be.  Your physical crisis and mental need caused it to be just as you perceive it.  I am here too without a physical body. You see me as I see myself in my own mind's eye.

     " A mental picture (a thought) from my mind to your mind's eye.  I am as you see me because this is the way that I perceived that you needed me to be.  Who I am or my name is not important.  I am here for you on behalf of your heavenly Father's love for you and to remind you from where you came."

     My first thought was - the hospital?

     He smiled a smile of wisdom and patience beyond wisdom itself and said lovingly, "No, I mean your Father's house."

     It was then at that moment that I realized that I knew everything that he was saying was true and that I had known this consciously before I was born to this earth to have a physical body.

     I remembered that I was also a spiritual and mental body (being), and it all made perfect sense.  I even remembered coming through the veil to find and choose my physical body.  I was mildly puzzled that I could have even forgotten such things - when he reminded me that to have/experience a physical life - it was necessary to at least for a while, forget a little of our prior knowledge so that we might more fully experience the physical things, be physically challenged, make choices of free agency, and yes, even make mistakes so that we could learn from them in ways that only a physical life could impart.

     If we retained all of our prior knowledge, we might not bother to experience the physical life for its fulfillment - we might decide to skip the pain and thus miss the pleasure.  I also remembered the promise I had made to my heavenly Father upon accepting the opportunity, challenges and responsibility of a physical life.

     To make the most of this opportunity for myself and for him.  To return to my Father's house with the knowledge and experience gained such that likewise, my Father (Creator) could be enhanced by the experience.

     It was upon this basis that I realized why we need to experience a separation of our total reality when we take a physical body.  That is because in order for us to appreciate, benefit, and learn all we can from our physical life, we must seemingly have to re-discover what we knew before - now in physical ways.

     Likewise, through this physical life we must discover how to return to our heavenly Father.  By the good that we do to each other here, by the ways we improve our minds, and by the ways that we learn to cope with a physical body and physical life, do we earn our right of safe passage back to our Father's house; and in so doing, do we likewise magnify and glorify (honor) our Father.

     It is our Father's love that sends us on the journey and it is our love for him that will allow us to go back home to his loving arms again.

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