There is absolutely nothing that God cannot do

Note: Contains mention of drug use and mild reference of trauma and mental health issues and swear words

"For with God nothing is ever impossible." -Luke 1:37

"Anything is possible," I say around 2003 long before my hospitalization during my stint as a graveyard security guard at a pharma lab in Irvine. "I mean Beyonce can just walk right in."

I mean theoretically it's not improbable. Just like the odds of being dealt a royal flush is 1 in 649,739, or 0.000154% or as much as statistically impossible it is, people do still get it you know.

The black guy just laughs at me. More like forcibly burst out in laughter in contempt. My partner was seated in the booth where we check employees for cards when not engaging in typical sexist banter and "locker-room talk". This was of course way before the whole PC culture.

This wasn't the first time a black guy laughed at me. Rewind back even farther when I was a FOB here in US. Weird clothes. Weird hairstyles where a tuft of hair jutting out from the side due to lopsided application of gel. Weird accent. Nerdy looking. Like an otter in neck-frill amidst minks' party. And when Mr Primo of Civic Class asks us to stand up and tell us our hobbies I say "I can rap too" a slim, light-skinned African-American guy just bursts out in laughter scoffingly. And if dear gentle reader for an inkling think he is being cruel, let me assure I was equally disgusting for making 'cotton-picking' joke not-so-sotto voce as I became the laughing stock in class. Of course, that kid teamed up with the white kids and other cool kids and they all would mock and ridicule me - as I could only rehash Coolio's lyrics with the assumption that that made me a rapper.

Cosmic time-events would accelerate at rapid-Krishna-breath since then. 2003 I mean. The Secret would take the whole world by storm. I would read more and more about quantum mechanics, quantum voodoo, quantum mysticism, Tao of Physics, Fritjof Capra, Fred Alan Wolfe who would even be featured in What the BLEEP do we we know? which would be shown in our Contemporary Philosophy class in Orange Coast College by Townsend who would ask me if anyone watched and I would say "Yeah but then people thinks I am crazy" to which he would reply "No - I think you are enlightened" to give me one of the highest compliment ever when not making fun of my stamp-collecting as "nerdy" but I digress--

Yes. Celestine Prophecy. I would watch - and as well as more and more dousing my open-head with Copenhagen Interpretation and zillion others New Age material. Nowadays people fuckin use affirmations at trance state either in wee hours in the morning or Rumi's breath of dawn or during evening-lamp to manifest a goddamn house FFS.

But back then it was truly avante-garde, shall I? I mean if you are a skeptic or materialist or an atheist you would obviously roll your eyes and scoff.... and I can appreciate that and give a nod. Why not? Exactly - after all Christian God seems to be an asshole and Abrahamic religion is rife with fire-and-brimstone.

And although born as a Muslim I left my religion a long time way, after hospitalization when I went to Sajid's house - who told my mom "Sssh" which seemed to ruffle her as the youth-"Imam" was raconting a story how a guy was about to off himself and suddenly some man knocked his door with Quran or some sh-- like that.

And I am sure even in Christianity such weird coincidences abound. I mean we all heard of twins being separated who would marry women with same name and fuckin even have a dog or a pet with the same bloody name. Or say, father reunites with son after decades even though they didn't recognize as such first as shown in Inside Edition or how a woman's engagement ring flushed by son found 14-months later.

Yes. There are certain WTF-events that goes on in our lives. The following is one such event about a serendipitous encounter which completely changed the way I view about life.

It was days right after my second or third psilocybin trip. People say psychedelics bring all your subconscious to light and that's exactly what it happened. Fuck light and love. All I felt was horrid and harrowing reminder of my past trauma. And I just didn't know how to process it so about 2 years back (rough date since I want to muddy the waters for privacy) days after my shroom trip I thought I would go out of my house to catch some fresh air, perhaps to go to the beach by bus which I sometimes do, and just distract my mind.

It took me solid 40 minute bus-ride to reach beach. Details are fuzzy but I remember sitting alone by the water with rolled up jeans soaking in the water and feeling comforted by the vastness of Huntington Beach ocean even though I couldn't make sense of "why".

Why did all these things happen to me. Why was I discarded like dirt. Why did I receive all the brunt.

I mean I get it. We are supposed to be Brahman and all that. Atman. We are not the drop but the fucking Ocean itself. But still it I just couldn't process nor fathom it.

Even though I was tired from 40 minute of bus ride (which means another hour to go back home) I decided to venture to the unknown and took the bus on PCH towards San Clemente - about one and half 'our ride.

I don't recall much expect I remember that one pseudo-homeless guy at the bus stop say "you might never know" when asked if the buses will have phone-charging USB slots since my phone is dying.

They say when you do psychedelics or kundalini awakening yoga your third eye opens and to guard your thoughts since via-synchronicity anything, or rather, any thought you think can manifest. And for some strange reason for the first time ever -lo and behold! - I saw USB insert-slots at the back of OCTA bus.

I don't do psychedelics but the feeling I was experiencing in the bus is that of pleasantness. Everyone is so nice. A feeling of levity. Lightness. Alan Watts said once that angels are made of light that's why they are light. And the atmosphere inside the bus was angelic.

People were smiling and friendly with each other. Make no mistake. These were no soft-core your average passengers. They had tattoos. Some looked rugged. Some homeless. In fact one dude struck up a convo with a lady about electric bikes and how with one bus pass he rode all over OC etc. Poing being it was a different post-psychedelic atmosphere akin to my experience after sensory deprivation from float therapy tanks where humans are really, really pleasant, courteous, civil, and friendly with one another who work via theory of cooperation and not competition - AS GOD INTENDED.

Anyhoo, after one and half hour I get off at San Clemente. I really need to pee. But before that I buy myself a CBD or Delta-8 non-THC joint and spark it up. I am extremely guilty and conscious about my marijuana usage but I was so down-in-the-dumps constantly mulling over the fodder of my past that I needed a break. I chat with the cashier at the smoke store. He casually blurts out "Yeah I had history of abuse. All the good stuff. DMT helps." or something of that nature...I stumble upon a homeless guy who help me find a restaurant which offers restroom to customers free of charge. I read once that PhD is like knowing your town inside-out like the back of your palm. A person who is cognizant in an area of expertise would precisely know all the little secrets and inner details that no one knows. I thought the homeless dude wanted some money. So I insist him some and he wouldn't take but still I give him the dollar.

The man was kind. A typical surfer-type homeless dude by California beach. See if it was the usual setting the guy albeit would be for money. But after psychedelics and third-eye awakening people become friendlier sans any insidious leitmotif or ulterior hidden interest and become as pure as oneself since one already 'cleansed' his spirit with medicine and Universe is now reflecting his own pure soul through the atman, mirror-glass of Others.

I go to the restroom. Full confession. I thought of peeing on the sink as I didn't want to sit on the toilet due to germaphobe, but since it was after awakening, quote-unquote, I ditched the idea. It was rude to others who might rather use it. This is why MFers must install urinal for guys all over.

And then like a ton of bricks hitting me, God hit me. Subconsciously I was screaming inside the meaning and mayhem of it all. Why? Why. Why. Why!! Why.

And if so. How should I lead my life? What is the point of life? What is the purpose of life?

I see a cheesy motivational poster on the wall in the bathroom which after I came home from San Clemente I googled to find the 7 lessons. Roughly:

Live life to the fullest

Laugh a lot

Be kind

Travel the world

Be grateful

Have faith

Smile more. Worry less.

Love with all your heart

My mind stopped dead in its track. The thoroughbred thought-horses completely neighed and screeched to a halt in the thoroughfare of my byzantine paradoxes of my mind. I felt like God whispered back. Sure I was high from the Delta-8, but given the context of the matter, days, and my recent-event I felt it was God communicating directly with me. And yes, I have schizophrenia background but I was strangely aware and sober at that time. Ordinarily I would dismiss it as some cheesy, motivational, corny wall poster. But God must have sure a sense of humor. Krishna hides in the obscure and in details.

I walked out of the bathroom and asked for water. I wanted to leave some tips. Again these people wouldn't take it but I left my last remaining dollar in the jar after tasting the best tasting cold-lemon water. Or was it cucumber I forget?

I was relieved - literally and strolled breezily down the street towards pier. I find some art gallery and the lady-in-charge gave me about 20 minutes of her time patiently answering all my questions and being friendly. Sure, they are your typical friendly, liberal California soft-spoken white folks, but again as a reminder it was after my 'awakening' so obviously she felt very friendly and genuine like others. I was in other realm - to be honest.

I spend some time in the gallery, sat on the bench by the beach, and on my way back met this female, white owner of a boutique store with a resplendent giant photo by a Hindu sadhu or a rishi with the whole marks on his forehead and trident and what not. Again I chatted and again she was equally friendly like everyone I met so far.

As I was returning via San Clemente for a 2-3 hour trip (since I was about 100 miles away from home), I chat with other elderly gentlemen who seemed to be mad quite frankly. One was chatting about meeting famous people in Vegas and another about gambling and race horse betting or may be not. My memory really fades. What I do remember is at one point they got into an argument and the white old guy said: "I was talking to him" referring to me. This was not the first time. Right after my sensory deprivation when two guys got into an argument at a liquor store, even though my action started it, they didn't bother me. Again, the guy was angry at other for being nosy and treated me like a kind child. It was almost as if when your ego dissolves, you become exempt from karma or Universe-wrath. Then those two guys patch-up and become friends in the bus talking about politics.

Wrasse-ing through PCH as the bus shuttles on, I meet another kid who I will call Kidd from Austria. Again he was smiling and friendly. People say Europeans can be subtly racist. I never got that vibe. We chat. He was Adonis-goodlooking. Blond. I picture him living in posh Irvine/Newport Beach area - probably son of a rich guy with Maserati. He said he is from Austria and he plays volleyball.

It is typical. Lot of athletes in California and many wouldn't realize even if they bump into an Olympian. I make subconscious fantasies maybe he lives in Irvine or Costa Mesa - since he is a white kid and he must live in a rich, white neighborhood.

I tell Kidd I actually went to Vienna once and went to Flex. A club by the river. He seemed astonished. "Sprachen deutsche?" I tried to be oversmart giving the illusion I know German. He replies in German which I don't understand. Good thing about bookknowledge is that with trivia facts you can crack the ice. Know Moroni is capital of Comoros? Sure, if you bump into someone from there you can blow their socks off like David Blaine giving the ILL+U+SION that you know-it-all or been to Comoros.

I say 'bye' full well knowing this was just a one-off encounter. He was smiling and friendly as ever and gets off and I continue my merry way. Still 90 minutes left to go back home.

-----

About 2 or 3 weeks later my uncle visits me from Bangladesh. Or a month has passed too - who knows! But what I do remember a significant number of days passed since that mellow-pleasant day of mine. One of the things I struggle with being enmeshed with my single 67 year old momma having stayed all my adult life with her is what would happen if she dies. It would crush me.

My mom was being unnecessarily rude and antagonistic with her brother especially given the fact his wife and daughter wanted to stay with us in our 2-bedroom apartment. Plus she didn't get along with her in-law.

But they were staying for 2 weeks. On one such day, my uncle in his soft, gentle voice said: "You will never know who shows up to help you in times of need." I felt like he was indirectly saying that not to worry if ever my mother passes away as I will have mental crutch, support, and comfort to lean on lest the unthinkable happens.

I go out. My mom and they are fighting. I get high. I cry almost hearing my uncle's voice and the fact that God never leaves anyone. He never forsakes and can only give the suffering and pain that one is capable of handling as one Christian once said.

And just to drive home this point, the ultimate thaumaturge performed his final legerdemain.

I get out of my HRV. High. I turn around as I was about to walk towards our apartment. A guy on skateboard whizzes past by. He seems familiar.

"Hey you!"

"Hey!!" The smiling face acknowledges.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"I live here. What are you doing here?!?!"

"I live here!!" I reply enthusiastically with ear-to-ear grin still not being able to comprehend WTF mindbogglingly, mindfuckery just happened.

No. The white kid doesn't live in some rich, white neighborhood in Costa Mesa, Newport Beach, or Irvine as I made up the story in my mind. The stranger I met about 100 miles away from home in a random busride weeks ago lives in the same apartment complex at Cypress. Almost fuckin right next door.

I have lived in this apartment for the last 7 years and never I met Kidd until that day and the time before on bus.

God merely gave a glimpse as to what He could do and the powers She has. This is just a parlor trick for him. And this is a story I will repeat till eons till my lungs fall off p'aps one day on Rogan!

As for Beyonce... Well folks. That can sure wait!