Michael E. Gunter's Blog, page 4

Course Charting: How I Became a Writer

In 2001, I found myself working at the customer service desk at a large bookstore. I don’t know, maybe it was exposure to all those books, but after a few months I became aware of an idea forming in my mind. Perhaps I could write a book. Admittedly, the prospect was intimidating. Who was I? What did I have to say? Yet the idea refused to leave. So, I gave in with one provision: I would write a few short-stories and see if anything would come of it. I wrote two stories about time-travel and one about an encounter with extraterrestrials on a highway in Wyoming. These early stories each took about a week to write. Then, after a year of serious writing, my fourth story turned into a full-length novel. My first book.

Once I broke through the intimidation barrier, I felt compelled to try my hand at non-fiction. Fueled by zeal and my growing passion for God, I wrote a mammoth work on Christian spirituality I entitled Defined By Glory. It was much too ambitious for an amateur, and thus earned multiple rejections from publishing houses. It did, however, catch the attention of a literary agent who didn’t like the book, but saw potential in me. After a few conversations, he challenged me to write something much smaller and more focused. About six months later, I sent him the manuscript for a little book called A Life Not Wasted. His words to me were, “Now I’m convinced you are a writer.” With the help of Gazelle Press, I had my first self-published book.

Believing I had become a real writer, I immediately started writing a follow-up book. It’s title, Obscurity, proved prophetic. It never got read beyond a small handful of close friends and family. Next, I compiled a collection of devotional essays and wrote a cultural analysis of the twentieth century. Neither of these projects found literary success. So after six years of serious writing, I had one novel, four non-fiction books, over a hundred essays and several short-stories to my name. That sounds impressive until you consider the fact that only one of those works became published (self-published at that), and most of those copies remain in boxes in my attic. I give them away when I have opportunity.

But I don’t consider these years a waste of time and effort. Quite the opposite, I see them as my journey, and they were worth every minute. You see, writing changed me. It brought clarity. I found that I am at my sharpest when I am writing. It taught me how to hold an idea for a very long time. It takes me about twelve to eighteen months to write a book. It taught me patience. Even after a book is written, it requires months of editing and re-writing to get it right. It opened my eyes to the reality of the book world. Writing is a real joy, but publishing is grueling and highly competitive. Writing revealed itself as my true passion. Even if I never publish another word, I will continue to write for the pure joy of it and the clarity that it brings.

Next Blog: How I Became an Author

Course Charting: The Great Mystery

Time has a funny way of taking former ideas and spinning them in unexpected ways.

I’ve already written about my childhood fascination with past and future, dinosaurs, UFOs, and intelligent life beyond our world. Moving into adulthood, many of these ideas suffered from my maturing worldview. I sadly accepted the fact that the world has been thoroughly explored and the only remnants of dinosaurs are the little lizards that scurry away in my presence. The year 2000 came and went, and the world looks an awful lot like it did in the late 1900s. My search for UFOs yielded nothing, the government finally acknowledged the existence of Area 51(that was about as climactic as Y2K), and SETI admitted that the chance of detecting any sign of intelligent life beyond our world was extremely remote. So I moved on to more responsible pursuits, redirecting my attention to more sensible ideas. I went to college and then work, got married, became a parent, and started following the current events of planet Earth.

Still, my sense of mystery remained. Indeed, I was growing up, but I couldn’t shake the notion that there was something else going on; a Greater Reality than the one we perceive with our physical senses; a Great Mystery that defies conventional thinking.

Perhaps surprising to some, it would be my life as a Christian that would rewaken my interest in mystery. Although it’s not so surprising in light of the fact that God had already redeemed my obsession with music. Why not mystery? It happened while studying the Book of Ephesians. In chapter one, I ran across a reference to God’s Mystery. Then I saw it again in chapter three. There I read that this Mystery which was not known in other ages was now revealed to the Apostle Paul. I thought if God had a mystery, kept it hidden for thousands of years, and then revealed it to the apostles, it must be really important; even more important than the existence of intelligent life beyond this world. You can read about it in Ephesians, but I’ll sum it up here.

This is God’s Great Mystery: Human history will end with the submission of all things under the Lordship of King Jesus. Either willingly or not, every creature in heaven, on the earth, and under the earth will ultimately acknowledge Jesus Christ as Lord (Philippians 2:9-11). Furthermore, those who were once considered far off from God (all non-Jewish people) now have the opportunity to come back to God by His grace through faith in Jesus Christ.

This may be something of a disappointment to some people. It’s not as mysterious as UFOs, aliens, time-travel, and the like. But if you really think about it, you will see just how staggering it is, for it explains what matters most in life. So what if extraterrestrials landed on Earth? Of course that would be very cool, but what real difference would it make? The Great Mystery does make a difference. It tells us where we are heading. Like it or not, we will all kneel before Jesus and acknowledge Him as King. You can choose to deny it or just ignore it, but that day is coming. And when it does, there will be only two kinds of people — those who kneel willingly out of sincere love and devotion and those who kneel begrudgingly because they will no longer have a choice.

I’ve pondered this Great Mystery for years, but I feel I have only scratched the surface. The implications go deep, touching humanity’s greatest longings, worst fears, and highest hopes and desires. Perhaps only when we pass from this world will we fully understand. But for now, we have been given enough to occupy a lifetime of searching and discovering.

Course Charting: Reclaiming the Past

Sometimes you have to let go in order to receive. When I crossed the bridge, I accepted the possibility that I may never play guitar in a band again. And the stage seemed like a quickly fading dream from my past. Little did I know I was about to meet the man who would revive my musical aspirations and alter them in ways I could not have imagined.

I met Danny Nicholson on the deck of a beach house in the Isle of Palms, South Carolina. He was the guest speaker at a Christian retreat for college students. He sang a few original songs and talked about music as the expression of a heart changed by God. I’d heard Christian rock. Stryper, the first real heavy metal band to sing about Jesus, was getting popular. But until I heard Danny, I’d always thought of music as a way to be cool and meet girls (Okay, so now it was Christian girls). It’s true, my heart was changed by God, but many of my perspectives on life lagged behind.

After Danny’s talk, I introduced myself and told him I played guitar. He said he was thinking about forming a band, and that we should talk further back at the college. The next week, Danny and another guitarist named Brian Turner came to my dorm room. We talked about music, I played a little for them, and Danny said we should get together to learn some of his songs. That’s how it started for me. One day, I’m just a guy from Nevada trying to find his way in a strange land (literally and figuratively), and the next day I’m in a Christian band.

Every band has a story that every musician likes to tell. Remembering the purpose of these posts, I will resist the urge to tell ours here. I’ve told this much only to illustrate something I observed several posts ago–namely, that the really big ideas in life are often connected. I was obsessed with music before God found me. The bridge required me to lay that obsession aside in order to follow Jesus. Then, once I followed Him into the deep, He miraculously reclaimed that old part of my life, gave it back to me, and used it for His purposes.

I played music with Danny for about nine years in a band that became known as Heart of Love. We traveled throughout the southeast, playing hundreds of concerts and meeting thousands of people. All of that was great, but greater things than music came out of it. 1) My bandmates became my brothers. I never knew friendship at such a deep level until I found it with these guys. It’s been nearly twenty years since our last concert, but I’m still in contact with some of them. In fact, Danny and I are now working on a writing project together. 2) I met my wife. Tammi ran the sound for us. All that time together on the road and playing shows brought us together in a very cool way that may not have happened otherwise. She still controls my sound when I play at church. 3) It formed my philosophy of Christian life and ministry. Everything I know about service, humility, accountability, submission, communication, and so much more started with Heart of Love. God used my bandmates and our music to teach me the same things He taught His disciples. Danny always talked about the music being secondary to the mission. It took me awhile to get that, but after all these years, I see it more clearly than ever. No one hears the music we once made, but the greater things that began in that band have made me the man I am today.

Heart of Love: Steve Johnson, Matt Buchner, Danny Nicholson, Michael Gunter, Kevin Jones

Course Charting: The Deep

Bridges are important and some bridges are beautiful, but they are only a very small part of the journey. I’ve lingered midway across many a footbridge to peer over the side and take in the view of a river or valley below. It’s a perspective you just can’t get from either side or down below. But I’ve never considered staying there. Bridges exist only to get us from one place to another.

My vision of the bridge is a marker on my spiritual journey. It represents the beautiful, yet irreversible, passage from the old to the new. As a Christian, I would come to know it by a different word–salvation. When I crossed my bridge, I wasn’t just curious to see what was on the other side. I crossed in order to become a real follower of Jesus. No more investigation from a distance. No more half-hearted trial runs. Crossing meant I was all in with my Lord. What’s more, I quickly discovered that He intended to take me away from that bridge. As beautiful as it was, the bridge was never meant to be a permanent dwelling place. Following Jesus meant following Him into the deep.

In one sense, the deep is the same for every Christian. To put it plainly, it means getting to know Jesus, growing more deeply in love with Him, becoming more devoted to Him, learning His ways, and submitting more and more of one’s life until there is nothing left to submit. But in another sense, the deep is as different as the individual.

For me, following Jesus into the deep meant literally following Him into the deep–the Deep South. I don’t know, maybe He wanted to put some actual space between my old and new life. Maybe He wanted to shake me up a bit. Or maybe it was just His very cool, and sometimes humorous, way of getting me outside of my comfort zone so that I would have to depend more upon Him. For reasons I could never have predicted, I ended up in Charleston, South Carolina at a school called The Baptist College at Charleston. To illustrate just how deep this was for me, I had no idea South Carolina was a coastal state until I looked it up on the map when I knew I was going there. Until then, my life was west (California and Nevada) and north (Alaska). South and east existed only in the movies and that part of history class dealing with the Civil War. The purpose of this Course Charting exercise prohibits me from providing a full account of my southern exposure. Suffice it to say that my new friends took great pleasure in teaching me the words and ways of southern-ness. It proved to be an education all around. For I was as strange to them as they were to me.

I entered the south in the summer of 1985. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but I guess I figured I’d end up back in the west sooner or later. I was wrong. God used two very important things to keep me southern bound. I’m married to one of them. The other was an unexpected gift that looked and sounded strangely familiar.

(Next Blog: Old Passions, New Purposes)

Course Charting: How God Found Me (Part Two)

Continuing from yesterday….

Okay, so I’m hurt and mad and fully committed to proving Bill Gothard wrong about rock music being the work of the devil. So I read. I listen. I give the arguments a fair hearing. And then something completely unexpected happens.

Somewhere in the midst of the books and tapes and spinning my records backwards to hear satanic messages, it occurred to me that I hadn’t given any consideration to this God whom I was told hated my music. In fact, I had to admit that I didn’t even know God well enough to consider what He thought any kind of music. Slowly at first, but then more rapidly as it became clear to me, the absence of God in my life eclipsed all the criticism of my music. Like the moon passing in front of the sun, God became the focus of my attention and the desire of my soul.

I didn’t respond to an alter call. I didn’t pray the sinner’s prayer. I didn’t even tell anyone that God was increasing and music was diminishing. I simply complied with my parents’ desire to tone down the heavier rock and I agreed with my band that I was no longer in the band. Both of these developments should have been devastating, but now they were hardly even disagreeable. I didn’t know enough to articulate it like this at the time, but I was slowly giving in to God.

The following year was confusing. I entered and dropped out of college. My band reunited for a couple party gigs, then disbanded again. I tried to read the Bible, but it made no sense. I prayed, but it felt like empty words. I was really struggling to know what this shift toward God really meant. Then, in the summer of ’84, God revealed Himself to me. Here’s how: My parents changed churches while I was at college. When I returned home for the summer I accompanied them. It was there that I first heard that God wanted a relationship with me, and it was my sin that prevented it. It was also at that church that the Bible finally made sense and the preachers words were relevant and prayer was more than just words. And it was the first time I ever encountered a Christian my own age. Three college age Southern Belles came to our church as summer missionaries. They had never been out of the south. I had never met a real southerner. We became instant friends. Through them I learned to pray, study the Bible, and what it meant to be a follower of Jesus Christ. But I still wasn’t quite there…yet.

It happened on a Saturday morning. I was laying in bed thinking about how much my life had changed in a year when suddenly I pictured a bridge spanning a deep ravine; like the one in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I was standing at one end and Jesus was on the other. I knew I had to cross, but I also knew that if I did, I could never go back. As I stood there weighing my decision, Jesus waited patiently on the other side. I tried to think of the things I would be leaving if I crossed over, but none of them seemed all that important anymore. So I took a deep breath, grasped the rope on the side, and walked across. I count that vision as the moment I became a follower of Jesus. There was no fanfare, no emotion, not even a warm tingly feeling…just an awareness that I had crossed over to Jesus. I’ve never seen that bridge again. I’ve never wanted to look.

Course Charting: How God Found Me (Part One)

It’s easy to see how my fascination with mystery led to my obsession with music. Music possesses certain mysterious qualities. I’ve already written about the song that followed me, the song that rescued me, and the prophetic words of Joel Barton. But how did I go from rock music to God? It would be great to say I found God in a song or God spoke to me through a song, but that’s not what happened. Quite the opposite.

I was raised in a Christian home. By that, I mean my parents were Christians (still are). My sister and I were taught to respect God and uphold high morals. Compliant by nature, I easily embraced their beliefs and conformed to their expectations. Not surprisingly, this resulted in a very happy and peaceful childhood, for which I am very thankful to this day. Spiritually, however, I was blank. I was an inheritor of a particular faith, but I didn’t have faith. My perception of God was that of a police officer – I knew He was there, but as long as I didn’t attract His attention, I would be okay.

I was able to maintain this arrangement until my senior year of high school. By then, my obsession with music was full blown and manifesting itself in ways that no longer conformed to my Christian home life. I didn’t become a hellion or anything drastic like that, but the change was enough to raise concern with my perceptive parents. When they finally confronted me about my music, something inside me snapped, and for the first time in my life I dug in against my parents’ wishes. This was the early 80s – a time when rock music, particularly heavy metal, was on the radar of many Christian groups. My parents gave me books that exposed the evils of rock music, and they tried to get me to listen to Christian rock. This resulted in my first real internal dilemma. I still loved my parents, still believed in God, and still longed for the approval of both, but my love of music was growing. And Christian rock left much to be desired. To illustrate: One day after church, I was confronted by a guy I didn’t know, but he seemed to know me. He demonized all rock music and gave me a cassette tape of guy by the name of Keith Green, challenging me to listen to it. Anti-confrontational by nature, I took the tape just to end the attack. That night, I popped it into my stereo and quietly recorded Black Sabbath over it. This is probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done, and nobody ever knew about it. By Christian standards, my behavior was almost blasphemous. By rock and roll standards, it was pretty weak. I should have known then that my identity as a rocker was no more real than my Christianity.

The final blow came when my parents drug me to a Christian youth conference. The speaker was a guy by the name of Bill Gothard. If you recognize that name, you know what’s coming. To put it nicely, Mr. Gothard hated everything about rock music. His message was simple: The lyrics, the loud guitar, even the drum beat – it was all satanic, and no real Christian would ever like such an evil thing.

My reaction: Hurt, mad, and determined to prove him wrong.

(The rest of the story tomorrow)

Course Charting – More Lessons

A big part of living is recognizing life’s lessons.

I started this little exercise, not just to relive old times, but to see what I might learn from them. Charting my course into mystery and music has already revealed three very important truths.

1. Wonder is a natural part of life. I heard this truth articulated just this weekend at a conference. The session leader was talking about the allure of mystery and suspense in entertainment. He said humans are naturally attracted to such things because God created us with an aptitude for wonder. That explains my childhood fascination with dinosaurs and outer space, as well as my continued affinity for mystery. I am simply responding to a trait put into me by my Creator. Of course, not everyone is interested in the same things I am, but that doesn’t negate the truth. It simply means that wonder is found in a great variety of places. The creation is huge, and diverse enough to stir the wonder in every heart.

2. Perception matters. I mentioned Joel Barton’s comment about my “guitar player hands.” I’ve often wondered what it was that caused him to say that. Was he just being kind toward me? That in itself is remarkable in light of the constant harassment I got from most of the other guys. Did he perceive something about me that I did not? That too is intriguing given the fact that were both just fourteen years old; not exactly the age of keen insight. Whatever it was, those words had a tremendous impact upon my own perception of myself. They encouraged me to do something I may not have had the faith or courage to do. So perception matters a lot – the perception others have of us, as well as the perception we have of ourselves. Sometimes one can change the other.

3. “Impossible” things are sometimes possible. Nothing in my life up to the moment I stepped out on that stage at the talent show could have suggested I would ever do such a thing. I was shy and introverted. I’d only been playing guitar for a few months. I had never sung anything outside of a large group. And I just didn’t have the cool factor that guys like Joel Barton seemed to have been born with. But there I was, and I have the picture to prove it. Since then, I’ve done other “impossible” things; things that my younger self just wouldn’t have believed. I suspect everyone has. Now that I understand this, I cannot help but wonder about the things that I currently think are impossible. What wondrous stories would my future self tell me if we were to meet?

There they are – three more truths revealed by my Course Charting. Looking at them, it occurs to me that these truths are constantly in danger of being ignored. I know because I ignored them from time to time. I miss the wonder of life when I stop looking. I miss the significance of perception when I stop listening. And the impossible remains impossible when I stop believing.

Course Charting – Music (Part 2)

The first time I stepped onto a stage with an electric guitar in my hands, I knew I’d found my place in this world. It was one of those rare occasions when logic said, “Impossible,” yet it was happening anyway. Here’s how I arrived at the impossible:

The year was 1979. I was a freshman in high school, and I my “dark” year was a few months in the past. Up to this point, my only experience in any kind of band was the school band. I played the trumpet, and I wasn’t very good at that. My best friend, Dave, was also in the band, and was a pretty good drummer. When I told him about my encounter with rock music during the “dark” year and Joel Barton’s comment about my “guitar player hands,” it sparked the idea that we should form a rock band. Just one problem: There were only two of us, and I was a mediocre trumpet player at best. Enter Jim, a recent transplant from L.A. He said he could play, but he didn’t have a guitar either. So there we were: Three guys, one drum set, and no guitars. Logic was already shouting, “Impossible!” but we weren’t listening. Somehow, in a matter of a few months, Jim and I managed to acquire guitars, learn how to play them (sort of), and enter a talent show that put us on the main stage at the Sahara casino. I can’t say our performance was anything to brag about. In fact, I’m sure it was awful, but the experience of playing in a band in front of thousands and not being laughed at was huge. It was the fulfillment of Joel Barton’s prophetic comment. It was proof that I might actually be able to do something cool for a change.

But it’s not enough to jump into the deep end; you have to learn how to swim. Even though I wanted to be a rock guitarist, and I had one performance under my belt, I was still pretty clueless. So, from 1980 to 1983, I saw every major rock band that played in Reno – Ted Nugent, Jefferson Starship, Black Sabbath (with Dio), Night Ranger, Sammy Hagar, The Outlaws, Kansas, Humble Pie, Yngwie Malmsteen – as well as the few that came to Tahoe – The Steve Miller Band, Toto, Pablo Cruise, Jefferson Starship (again). In June of 1981, my coolest dad in the world drove my bandmates in me all the way to Oakland to see the mighty Van Halen. These concerts were like school to me, but in a good way. I always tried to get as close to the stage as possible so I could really study the guitarists. I wanted to see their hands, watch how they played, and learn how to move on stage. When MTV launched – it was like distance education as I watched guitarists from all over the world. I also got to know some of the local bands. They used to pass me off as their sound man so I could watch them play in the clubs I couldn’t get into because of my age.

That was high school for me, and the closer I got to graduation, the more convinced I was that I would one day be a professional rock guitarist. Then everything changed.

(to be continued…)

1983 – Our third and final appearance in the “Stars of Tomorrow” talent show at the Sahara casino in South Lake Tahoe.

Course Charting – Music (Part One)

I became aware of music sometime in the early ’70s. I have vivid memories of my older sister hanging out with her friends. There was always music playing. So at an early age I associated it with having a good time. Today, music means much more to me than entertainment. It enhances my many moods. It is a means of expression. It provides the backdrop for my writing. Charting my musical course reveals a decades-long journey through a diverse landscape of styles and sounds and people.

The first song I felt any attachment to was “My Love is Alive” by Gary Wright. This may sound strange, but I used to think that song followed me. Like the number 23, it just showed up. And every time it did, I felt like I was meant to hear it. I like the song, but I’ve never owned a recording of it; and never will. For some mysterious reason, I feel like I’m suppose to let come to me on it’s own.

Another song that “spoke” to me was “Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty. It was released in 1978, the year my family moved from Lake Tahoe to Pleasanton, California. Being the new kid at a tough junior high school, and somewhat nerdy, I was relentlessly picked on. My parents told me that we would be moving back to Lake Tahoe the next summer, and if could just endure until then…well, I’d be back with my friends. There is a line in “Baker Street” that says, “Another year and then you’ll be happy. Just one more year and then you’ll be happy. But you’re cryin’, you’re cryin’ now.” I took that as a sign that I would be okay. Strange how just the right song can come at just the right time and mean so much.

As bad as that year was for me, three critical events happened.

1. I got my first stereo and first record album. The record was “Book of Dreams ” by The Steve Miller band. The stereo allowed me to plunge freely and deeply into the music as I spent so much time in my room. It became my escape from the torment I encountered at school. In a way, music became my friend that year.

2. I went to my first rock concert: The Electric Light Orchestra’s 1978 Spaceship tour with opening band Trickster at the Oakland Coliseum. I went only because my neighbor invited me, but it turned out to be one of those strange moments; like I was meant to experience it. The wall of sound, the lazar light show, the way the band commanded the stage, the response of the crowd–it was unlike anything I had ever experienced, but it felt right, like another sign sent out especially for me.

3. I met a young Gene Simmons. Well, not really, but he looked like Gene Simmons and played a guitar like Paul Stanley’s Washburn. His name was Joel Barton. He and some other guys in my class had a rock band. I used to listen to them practice at lunch time while I was hiding from my tormentors. The only song I remember them playing was “Freebird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd; to me it was amazing. The pivotal moment came one day after school. Joel and I were waiting for our rides. He was playing his guitar and I was listening. We talked, he played some more, and for a moment I didn’t feel like such a loser. When my ride came, he shook my hand and said, “Hey, do you play guitar? You should because you have guitar player hands.” I doubt Joel gave our conversation a second thought, but his words meant something to me. Another sign that proved prophetic. A year later, I got my first guitar. Joel went on to form a metal band called Last Descendants and record a few albums. I thanked him in the liner notes of my first recording project.

To be continued…

Course Charting – Path to Mystery

I don’t remember the exact moment I first became interested in mysterious things, but I do remember where I lived and what it was. My family moved from California to Alaska when I was four. It was the perfect location for a young mind to discover the idea of mystery. So much about Alaska is mysterious. Situated so far north, the sun barely rises in the dead of winter and doesn’t completely set in the summer. It’s also remote, cut off from the rest of the United State by a whole other county. And it has a certain untamed quality to it. It’s no wonder they call it the last frontier. That’s the where. The what was dinosaurs and outer space. As a child, I was fascinated by the strange creatures of the past who left us only their bones to ponder; their size and ferocity so unlike anything we can see at a zoo. And I was captivated by the vastness of the cosmos; undoubtedly filled with all manner of objects and creatures unlike anything we have on Earth. These two mysteries shaped my childhood. During the long lighted summers, I would dig in the vacant lot beside our house in search of the bones of a T-Rex or Triceratops. During the long dark winters, I turned my attention skyward, looking for a light that could be a UFO from another planet.

I guess these interests came from television shows like Land of the Lost, Lost in Space, and Star Trek. I loved these old shows, but the one that went beyond entertainment for me was The Twilight Zone. The first episode I saw was the one where a WWI pilot flies through a cloud and ends up in the 1960s. It was my first exposure to the concept of time travel. As fantastic as it sounds, I was enthralled by the idea and the possibilities it presented. I was only ten at the time, but the themes of these shows were already shaping the way I looked at life.

By the time I got to high school, I developed other interest – music, girls, skiing, girls, and music. But an experience during my senior year brought my childhood fascination firmly into my maturing psyche. It happened at a restaurant where I was dining with a friend and his family. We were joined by a man they called the doctor who talked about crystals and pyramids, and how they amplified human brain power. The conversation continued from the restaurant to the guy’s house where I saw what he had been talking about. There were pyramids over everything – a bowl of fruit, the doghouse, his bed, an entire room. He claimed that pyramid power prevented fruit spoilage and enhanced dreams. He also had “top secret” books that contained the testimony of an air force pilot who claimed to have had a series of encounters with UFOs and aliens from the Pleiades star system. From this book I learned that these alien pilots were all women because the males were so aggressive no human pilot would survive to tell the tale.

I’m a lot older now with a much more mature perspective. However, I must confess that I am still intrigued with mysterious things. While I no longer believe in a lot of the things I did as a kid, I do sense there is much more to this reality than we know. I’ve learned to look beneath the surface of what our physical senses tell us, and I have become wary of so-called conventional wisdom. I remain firmly dedicated to the discovery of the truth, and I have found that the way of truth sometimes leads deep into the realm of unconventional thinking.

So there you have it. What began as a simple childhood fascination has remained well into my adult years. And what’s more, I now believe there is great truth shrouded in mysteries that are waiting to be discovered.