Butterfly

He is, he tells me, opening a new business a few doors down, and wanted to introduce himself to his new neighbors. He has already learned the best form of advertising in a small town. Word of mouth. He is young, 32, and the proverbial 'tall, dark and handsome'. The young man with him is Apache, and wants to learn anything and everything about his people. I tell him that I have several books available, and show him to the library section of the shop. I leave him there to browse the shelves, and return to my new neighbor.

We talk of his new endeavor, and how he hopes to provide a positive impact on the young people of Kingman. We discussed his dreams for his new business, and with the second young man returning to the main section, I wished him much good luck, and the promise that I would send anyone I could to him.

Over the next decade, our paths would cross many, many times. He or his wife would come in so that I could make copies of various papers they needed in their business. He wanted to work with birds of prey, so together we filled out the tedious forms the federal government requires for such an undertaking. He asked that I be a personal reference for him for this project, and I happily agreed. He learned of my pet project -- providing toys at Christmastime for children from broken homes on the Navajo reservation. For eight years, he had his students bring in either new or almost new toys during the holidays. Then they would have a little parade between our businesses, delivering the toys to me so that I could deliver them to Navajoland. He, himself, provided a dozen or so bicycles each year. All were used, but he had completely refurbished each one.

We talked of many things during those years. Mainly, we spoke about how our paths were so similar, even though we followed different teachings. Either of us could comfortably walk on the other's path, and we did so frequently. He on mine; me on his. We had what I considered a very strong friendship.

I starting hearing rumors about him about two years after we first met. I am not a rumor-monger, so I will not repeat them here. Knowing the man, I brushed these stories off as just rumors. The man I saw was a good person, and nothing could change that in my eyes.

Sadly, his wife became ill during the summer of last year, and passed over in mid-December. I went to the services, and was truly surprised by his reaction to these events. There was absolutely no grief in his demeanor. He explained it as 'life goes on'. Yes, it does. But even after three years, I still grieve for Bear. So does Terry, who was like a brother to Bear. Naturally, our grief is not as strong as it once was, but it is still grief. Terry and I have picked up the pieces of our lives, but Bear is still a very strong influence in what we make of them.

I remembered that, in one of our myriad conversations, I had told him that he was a good man. His reply was, 'No, I'm not." Could I have been so wrong about this man? Could the stories have been true?? I did not want to believe what I knew in my heart to be true. I had allowed this person to deceive me.

As spiritual people, after a traumatic experience, we are often offered a different path from the one we have been following. It is usually an easier path, but the rewards are not as great. He was given the choice of two paths, and he chose unwisely. The path he has chosen leads to his destruction. It is a path on which my feet cannot tread. While we still speak with each other on occasion, the friendship is gone. Also gone is the respect I had for this man. There will no longer be any conversations between us, long or short. He has lost a great many things. And, sadly, it is too late for him to go back.