Our Culture understands little about these matters, so when we ask The Other Person for Our Gold back, she probably won’t know what we’re talking about.
She might say, “Last week you were opening doors for me and treating me like A Princess, and this week you’re ignoring me.”
People don’t understand the dynamics.
It is only after you get Your Gold back that you can see The Gold of The Other Person.
When The Time is Right, when you are Ready to Bear The Weight, You Must Get Your Gold Back.
If you can do it with Dignity and Tact, that’s Best.
But you MUST get it back, one way or another.
When you are struck, when Gold is being exchanged, sit quietly until The Smoke clears and You See Where You Are.
If you can talk this out with The Person Holding Your Gold — with all the Dignity and Intelligence you can muster — it’s a beautiful way of affirming what is going on. It may be risky, but it is well worth the effort.
One reason we hesitate to carry Our Own Gold is that it is Dangerously Close to God.
Our Gold has Godlike characteristics, and it is difficult to bear The Weight of it.
In Indian culture, there’s a time-honored custom that you have the right to go to another person — a man, a woman, a stranger — and ask him or her to be The Incarnation of God for you.
There are Strict Laws governing this.
If the person agrees to be The Incarnation of God for you, you must neverpester him.
You must never put a heavy weight on him — it’s weighty enough as it is.
And you must not engage in any other kind of relationship with that person.
You don’t become friends, and you don’t Marry Him.
The Person becomes a kind of Patron Saint for You.
J. Krishnamurti was a wonderful man.
Lots of people put Gold on him.
One afternoon, he and I went for a walk in Ojai, California, and a little old lady was kneeling alongside the path.
We just walked by.
Later he told me,
“She has put the image of God on me.
She knows what she’s doing.
She never talks or asks anything of me.
But when I go for a walk, she somehow knows where I’m going to be, and she’s always there.”
What was most touching was his attitude.
If she needed this, he would do it.
This is the original meaning of the terms Godfather and Godmother. That person is The Carrier of Godlike qualities for you.
Nowadays we think of a Godparent as the one who will take care of us materially in case our parents are not able to see it through.
But the original meaning was of someone who carries the subtle part of your life — a parent in an interior, Godlike way. It’s a wonderful custom.
Most parents are worn out just seeing their child through to physical maturity.
We need someone else who isn’t bothered with Authority Issues, like “How much is my allowance this week?”
Being a Godparent was originally a quiet arrangement for holding a child’s Gold.
When I was sixteen, two years after meeting Thor, I desperately needed someone like that.
So I appointed a Godmother and Godfather, and those two people saved My Life.
They knew instinctively the duties of this need, and they fulfilled them.
My godmother died when I was twenty-two, and I wasn’t ready to give her up. It was the most difficult loss of My Life.
I was forced to take my Gold back before I was ready. My Godfather lived until I was in my fifties, and by then I was ready to let him go.
I love the idea of Godparents.
Sometimes Young People come circling around me, and I bring up This Language. “Do you want a Godfather?”
If it fits, we work out the necessary rules. “You may have this out of me, and you must not ask that.”
These are the old Godparent laws. It’s a version of the incarnation of God in Indian custom.
Sometimes Gold is Dark
I love India, but being there can be challenging, sometimes even dreadful. During one visit, I nearly sank in The Darkness.
An Indian friend and I went to Calcutta. He wanted to see his father, who lived in a politically sensitive zone near The City, where foreigners were not allowed.
So I said, “Please go. I’ll stay in Calcutta while you visit him.”
My Friend tried to help me get a hotel, but there were no good ones, so I ended up in a sleazy hotel in a dark part of town.
Because he was so anxious to see His Father, once he got me settled, I encouraged him to go.
Within hours, a woman on the street thrust a dead baby into my hands, children with amputated limbs poked their stumps into my ribs begging for money, and lepers and corpses were lying in the streets where I walked.
It was too much for me, and I didn’t know how to get away from it.
Normally I could just go to my room and hole up. As an introvert, that isn’t difficult for me.
But my room in that hotel had paper-thin walls, and someone was actually dying in the room on one side, people were screaming and fighting in the room on the other side, and there was a nightlong political rally in the square outside my window.
I just couldn’t take it.
I had more in me than I could hold, and I started falling to pieces.
Gold comes in many varieties. Sometimes our Gold is bright, but at other times it is heavy and difficult, and seems anything but Golden.
I had no friends and no telephone, and couldn’t cope.
Then I remembered the custom I’d witnessed with Krishna-murti.
I needed to ask someone to be the incarnation of God for me, someone with whom I could share my burden.
I went to a park nearby to look for a candidate.
After standing still and observing many people for about twenty minutes, I selected a middle-aged man who was wearing traditional Indian garb.
I felt a particular respect for him. He walked with great Dignity. I continued to watch him closely.
Finally, trembling, I went up to him and asked, “Sir, do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be The Incarnation of God for me?”
It was the second sentence I spoke to that Man.
And, God bless him, he said, “Yes.”
I told him who I was and how frightened and burdened I was feeling, and that I was unable to stand it. I poured out my misery, and he just listened without saying a word.
Finally I wound down and apologized for splashing all over him.
I felt so much better.
I had my feet under me again.
I thanked him, and then I asked, “And Who Are You?”
He told me his name. I said, “Yes, and Who Are You?”
He said, “I am a Roman Catholic Preist.”
There are very few Catholic Preists in India, and I had picked one to be The Incarnation of God for me.
He had listened, heard, and understood. Then we bowed to each other and went our separate ways.
Because he did that for me, neither of us will ever be the same again. He did exactly what I needed with a Grace and a Dignity that lives with me to this day.
Making the Exchange Conscious
I’m astonished by the enormity of the transfers of Gold that I watch every day. It goes on everywhere.
Often when I give a talk, for example, I single out someone and speak to him, putting Gold in his lap.
I do this to nourish myself.
I used to think,
“What kind of adolescent impostor am I?”
But one day I was lecturing with Marie Louise von Franz, one of Dr. Jung’s foremost disciples, and she cheerfully said, “The only way I can lecture is to find somebody I like and talk to him.” What a relief Occasionally after doing this, I tell the person, but mostly, I don’t.
Generally we don’t exchange Gold well, and much of our depression and loneliness revolves around misunderstanding this exchange. We run around in a state of guilt.
“I’m a failure.”
“This isn’t working.”
“What are they going to think about me?”
But when you understand the Transmission of Gold, you can honor it and not feel guilty. You know something indirect is taking place.
You can sense it, but you can’t possess it yet. Just try to remember that it’s your Gold that is being held by whomever or whatever.
Knowing this gives you a certain Dignity, which we all desperately need.
Touching final scene from the movie "St. Vincent",
Starring Bill Murray.
"Saints are Human Beings we celebrate for their commitment and dedication to other Human Beings."
Brother Gerharty,
circa-around March.
(Laughs.)
INT. ST. FRANCIS DE SALES - AUDITORIUM - CONTINUOUS
Oliver’s in mid-presentation. On the massive projection screen behind him, we see a portrait of St. William of Rochester. Click.
The screen refreshes...and a picture of Vin pops up.
OLIVER :
For my Modern Day Saint, I chose a man who shares many of the same qualities as St. William of Rochester:
INT. ST. FRANCIS DE SALES - CONTINUOUS
Outside the auditorium. Vincent stands in front of a marquee board. It’s the “Saint Wall.” Under each student’s name are two pictures: a real Saint next to a Modern Day Saint.
Under Oliver Bornstein, we find: St. William of Rochester and...Vincent Canatella.
And he’s one fucked-up looking “Saint.” Eyes black, face distorted, assuredly on drugs, lying in his hospital bed.
Vin stares at the picture of himself.
He hears Oliver’s voice within.
Walks to the auditorium doors.
On the surface, one might think that my candidate is least-likely for sainthood :
He's NOT a Happy Person.
He doesn't like People, and not many people like him.
He's grumpy, angry, mad at The World and I'm sure, full of regrets.
He drinks too much, smokes, he gambles, curses, lies and cheats.
And he spends a lot of time with a Lady of The Night.
But that's what you see at first glace --
if you dig deeper, you'll see A Man Beyond His Flaws.
Mr. Vincent Mckenna was born in 1946 in Sheepshead Bay, the son of first generation Irish immigrants.
Growing up poor on the streets of Brooklyn, Vincent learned all the things a kid SHOULDN'T need to know.
Fighting, cursing and gambling.
The slide show shuffles images of VINCENT AS A BABY.
Then a YOUNG BOY. Poor. Tough. Street. Pictures of a hard life.
All the memories Vin had tossed in the trash.
In 1965, as a member of United States Army’s 5th Regiment, Vincent was among the 450 soldiers dropped into the la Drang Valley, and immediately ambushed by 2000 Enemy troops.
A headshot of Vincent as a young Marine in Vietnam.
Smoking a cigarette, proud, strong.
There, he heroically saved the lives of two wounded officers pinned down by enemy fire, and carried them to safety.
He was awarded the Bronze Star for his Bravery.
Newspaper clippings of Vin’s heroics.
A picture of Vin receiving the Bronze Star.
In the back of the auditorium, Vin is frozen...seeing his life through the eyes of another.
I imagine the best way I can tell you who Vincent McKenna is...is to tell you what he’s done for me.
When me and my mom first moved here, we knew no one.
And Mr. McKenna took me in -- when he didn’t HAVE to, and most likely didn’t WANT to.
But he did it anyhow.
Because THAT'S What Saints Do.
A wedding picture of Vin and Sandy pops up on the screen.
We visited his wife, Sandy, of forty years who recently passed away.
Vin did her laundry every week for the past eight years, long after she no longer recognized him.
Because Saints NEVER Give Up.
A picture of VIN AS A FIGHTER, with boxing gloves on.
HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO FIGHT - HOW TO STAND MY GROUND AND BE BRAVE - HOW TO SPEAK-UP AND BE BOLD
Because Saints Fight for Themselves and Others -
So That They Might Be HEARD.
He taught me How to Gamble.
Horse racing, Keno, the over and under --
Which is a big reason why I’m grounded till I’m eighteen.
But in that, I learned how to take risks and go for broke.
Because in Life, the odds can be stacked against you.
This is Vin’s cat, Felix, who eats gourmet cat food, while Vin eats sardines.
Because Saints Make SACRIFICES.
Yes, Mr. Vincent McKenna is flawed -- SERIOUSLY flawed.
But just like all the other Saints we have studied.
Because after all, Saints are Human Beings. VERY human beings.
Courage, Sacrifice, Compassion, Humanity
These are the markings of a Saint.
And what makes Mr. Vincent McKenna not so far removed from William of Rochester...
And with that, I’d like to present my friend and baby sitter, Mr. Vincent McKenna for Sainthood.
And hereby proclaim him
St. Vincent Sheepshead Bay.
The place is wild with applause.
Vin doesn’t know what to do. People are looking around for him. Finally...he starts walking down the aisle.
Brother Crespi helps Vin up the steps. And towards Oliver, who’s holding the “Saint Medal.”
Vin steps in front of Oliver. He leans over as Oliver puts the medal around his neck.
