An Angel in Albuquerque

Espanola, New Mexico

May 13, 2011

11:02 p.m.

An Angel in Albuquerque

“Heaven itself is reached with empty hands and open minds.”

--from A Course In Miracles, Lesson 133

“Do you know what unconditional love is?”  The question came from the mouth of a 77-year old man named Carl Banks, a self-proclaimed nomad who lives in his van, sometimes parking in the lot of the Veteran’s Administration building in Albuquerque, New Mexico.  

It was a momentous question.  I paused to reflect.  As a minister, I had read and had used the term often, and therefore thought that I must understand it.  But I had to give an honest answer:  “I thought I did, but maybe not.  Why don’t you tell me?”

*   *   *

It was Saturday morning, May 7.  Carl and I were sitting in a McDonald’s restaurant in Albuquerque where I had offered to buy him breakfast.  He had declined, but did accept a large orange juice. 

Buying breakfast for Carl was the least I could do, for the way he had shown up out of the blue to help us.  You see, the previous morning, Friday, Viveka and I had found ourselves in the Walmart parking lot, having stayed overnight, expecting to make the easy leap to Santa Fe the following morning, 60 miles to the Northeast.  I was scheduled to make contact with with some American Sikhs at their Ashram 30 miles North of the city and address them in their worship service on Sunday, May 8, Mother’s Day.  But when Viveka turned the key in the ignition, there was no response at all.  Nada, zero, zilch.  We were dead in the water.

There have been times in my life when this would have caused a major upset.  My mind would have raced in every direction, imagining the worst -- further delays, costly repairs, or perhaps, facing the very real possibility that dear old Lindy just might not be up to this journey, and we may need to look for a more reliable means of transportation!  A very troubling thought. 

This time, however, I was rather surprised and amused to observe that I took a very relaxed attitude.  I simply prayed, knowing that there are no accidents, and that we would be shown what our next step was.  Our steps had certainly been guided this far, and I had utmost confidence that a way would appear through this challenge as well.

That is when Carl Banks showed up in his vintage van with a “Semper Fi” sticker suggesting a connection with the U.S. Marine Corps.  He was wearing a red long-sleeved shirt, a straw cowboy hat, and tinted sunglasses.  His clean, white “Colonel Sanders” beard was distinctive. 

“You ladies need some help?”  His voice was polite and folksy, with a hint of  “southern.”

Viveka and I were glad for the offer.  After a few minutes poking around under the hood, and looking at the wiring, he determined that we needed more help than he could give.  (The wiring had given Smitty, our original mechanic and driver, problems before, due to a prior electrical fire.)  Carl left and came back in a few minutes with the business card of a garage nearby where we could be towed.  The garage personnel worked steadily on the problem all day.  Clearly puzzled, but with a little help from Smitty by phone, they finally found an unorthodox solution by quitting time, and the engine fired up -- all for a mere $160.

But Carl Banks was not finished with us, nor we with him.  He had visited us during the day to check on our progress, and again the next morning, Saturday, for we had decided to stay in the garage’s parking lot overnight, to do our walking miles in Albuquerque, and leave for Santa Fe early Sunday morning.

In a series of conversations over two days, I learned that Carl had had an unusual life.  The son of an alcoholic father he had joined the marines the first chance he got.   After the service he, said, “I was insane, but I didn’t know it yet.”  Carl had turned to crime and served two separate sentences for a total of about 7 years.  He had a mentor in prison, a mafia member serving 115 years (with nothing to lose) who helped him see the insanity of his path.  Eventually he found AA and has now been sober for over 40 years.  

But what Carl wanted most to talk to me about was his out-of-body experiences, and the fact that he had died several times and had experienced “the other side.”  He gave me a book, “The Awakening Heart,’ by Betty J. Eadie whose prior book, “Embraced By The Light” -- detailing her vividly explicit experiences of the afterlife -- I had read in the early 90s.

“I like this book,” he said.  “because Mrs. Eadie really tells it like it is.”

To me Carl Banks is not just “an unforgettable character.”  He has unforgettable character.  He is an honorable elder, beaming with a wise secret, who now, after recovering from several heart attacks and strokes, lives only to be of service.   Offhandedly, he revealed his secret to me:  “I have learned to forgive myself.  I like myself!”

Surprisingly well read and well spoken for a man who is not formally educated -- he taught himself to read -- Carl is no braggart.  I believe him when he tells me that a judge often consulted him for advice on cases before her.  After retiring from his business as a paint contractor, and completing his relationships amicably with his three wives, his step-children and his daughter, he now lives simply -- alone -- sometimes in the wild, communing with nature.  

On the back cover of the book that Carl gave me, Betty J. Eadie writes of her books:  “Embraced By The Light was the plow;  The Awakening Heart is the seed;  Our harvest... Unconditional Love.”

*   *   *

“Do you know what unconditional love is?”  Carl asked me, as we sipped our orange juice.  

“I thought I did, but maybe not.  Why don’t you tell me?”  I answered.

“Four things:

• No conditions
• No demands
• No expectations
• No judgments”

“Carl,” I said, “That is really quite illuminating, and helpful.  I never really broke it down that way.  Unconditional love is a practice, isn’t it?  Not just a concept.  Did you read that in any book?” 

“No.  I just know it’s true.”

“Can I quote you in my blog?”

He nodded.  “You want to know how I do it?”

“Sure.”

“With humility.”