After I intentionally set myself up to commit professional suicide, I worked as a private investigator for the criminal defense attorneys that had been my enemies in organized crime. In fact, they helped me get my license. I realized that allies and enemies are interchangeable depending on the opportunity of the moment.
My psychological game of Russian roulette eventually led me to being detained in the Russian Embassy in Washington, D.C. It was the sudden realization that I was trapped on foreign ground that became the second turning point in my life.
After a near fatal, alcohol-driven accident that almost ended my life, I found new life in seminary. However, I still could not escape the ghosts that lived within the abyss of my mind, soul and psyche.
My life was not complete until God finally gave me the one piece of the puzzle that I was searching to find most of my life – LOVE. In Sharon, I found peace. In Sharon, I found the one part of life that I had lost. But eventually I would lose it again.
With Sharon, I discovered the mystery of a higher form and deeper level of love – love that I had never felt or experienced before in my life. My heart opened up in a way that had long been dead within me. I began to feel life rather than think about life.
Then Sharon was taken from me. The life I had known as Sharon was gone and I felt a dark sense of emptiness. Once again, I fell into a deep emotional and mental hole. Nevertheless, eventually her death opened me up again to a new sense of meaning and purpose in life. I understood why I had survived and lived without suicide. The game of Russian roulette was finally finished. The game would be over.
Although in Sharon’s physical death, I experienced a different form of loss as well as a deep anger toward God. However, in a strange and mysterious way, I met myself again and found new life.
As I write this self-discovery of my dark psyche, I hold close to me at times and consider an old friend. As I reflect on the memories of a life that lead me to death, new life, lost love and self-realization through the power of faith, my old friend still reminds me of a life that was very deadly and violent at times. The friend that I hold close, but keep at a distance, is the gun that protected me for many years.
We are who we have become because of the many paths in our life. The experiences, events, challenges, opportunities and survival skills that mold our personality, morals, values and belief systems create and develop our personality, the person we are today.
For many of us, we are not the person people perceive us to be, even those who think they are close to us. We are mere reflections of images people have, view and believe that they see in us. We are distortions of what people think we are. And there are conflicts within every human heart, mind and soul.
I have come to a point in life where I understand and accept life as a continuous educational journey of self-discovery. Life is an on-going process of discovery, uncovering and recovery. We need to uncover our true perception of self, discover who we really are and recover from the life we have lead as the person we created to survive.
I have been called a survivor and an opportunist. Those labels could be true and accurate. But I believe that each one of us develops survival skills and have the potential to take advantage of opportunities to get to the place where we want to be in life.
This book is based on actual events. It is a story about living with life and death. Before I could appreciate life, I had to understand and accept the meaning of death. Before I could learn to walk again, I had to live with the vision and image of my own mortality, death and dying.
In the end, this glance into one person’s psyche and soul is ultimately about LOVE. It is the story about a form of love that many people search for all their lives but never really find.
In the end, this is a story about love that is found in unexpected ways. It is a story about love that is physically taken away but never really lost. The physical relationship can be separated by time and space but the connection of true love will never die. True love is formless and permanent.
In order to feel real true love, you need to understand what it means to know hatred. Before you can really live, you need to experience death.
Chapter 1: REFLECTIONS IN THE MIRROR OF MY MIND
I stared emotionless at the police revolver pointed straight at my eyes. Suppressed thoughts and memories surfaced again from the darkness of my mind. Thoughts about the complexities, contradictions and conflicts that live within every human heart and soul, especially within me, came alive. The moral and ethical decisions tugged in different directions like a mental, spiritual and psychological tug of war.
As I focused my attention on the Smith & Wesson .38 Special hovering within inches of my head, the contrast of darkness and light, the blackness of the inner tube compared to the bright stainless steel barrel fascinated me. The old powder burns and encrusted residue encircled and surrounded the cylinder. The depth of the indentions within the police issue hollow point bullets appeared like cold eyes looking back at me.
I knew the man holding the gun held it with a very steady grip. I thought I knew him as I reflected on my situation. Memories of past encounters and experiences took control of my mind. Although this was not the first time a gun had been pointed directly at me or at my head, it was the first time I was the one holding the grip.
I sat upright in bed and looked at my surroundings. I had been at Lancaster Theological Seminary for two and a half years. During that time, I never desired to make my two-room residence feel like home.
The bedroom was bare except for the bed, a small refrigerator and a mirror on the door. No pictures hung on the walls. No other furniture. No rug on the cold tile floor, just a bed and a refrigerator to keep the brandy and beer cold.
The other room, my living room, was no different in creative interior design. However, it did have two chairs, a desk and even a small rug on the floor. In a way, my small suite reminded me of the apartment I had when I was living undercover and working in organized crime and Narcotics on The Block in Baltimore.
Maybe, psychologically, I did not want to become too comfortable in this environment. I was working through my third and final year and still did not feel really religious or even deeply spiritual.
“Why was I even in seminary?” I thought.
Holding a glass of brandy in my left hand and my gun in my right, I reflected on the years and experiences that led me to this place in life. I looked at the old biker hat that draped over one of the Bibles sitting on the desk. The contrast was almost amusing.
The sun had set very early on that cold evening in January of 1989. It seemed like the brief brightness of the day and the short winter sun was quickly overcome by the darkness of the long winter night. The shadows of the nights always haunted me.
I just returned to seminary that day after the holiday break and prepared for next semester’s classes.
“Holidays,” I smiled as I swallowed the glass of brandy quickly. “I hate the holidays. I hate Christmas music. Hell, I even hate Christmas. What kind of minister would I be, anyway?”
I had been in seminary since September of 1986 and my understanding of why I was on this journey still remained a mystery to everyone, including me.
As the thoughts in my mind drifted back to that long dark night and warm summer morning in August of 1979, the darkness of the early morning hours created a surreal scene as I relived the events of the deadly shooting.
We all knew how the situation would end. Although none of us openly talked about what was going to happen in the morning, everyone involved in the setup understood the eventuality of Max dying.
When