When the World No Longer Fits the Story

On belief, experience, and the loosening of certainty

At the start of my senior year of high school, I found myself drawn to books about improving my attitude and outlook on life.

I turned to titles such as Psycho-Cybernetics, Thoughts Through Space, and How to Use the Power of Prayer for solace, guidance, and inspiration.

At eighteen, I couldn’t name what was going on, but moving in this direction felt natural.

These books suggested that human beings possess underused mental and spiritual capacities, and that through certain techniques and practices, life could be dramatically improved.

At the same time, they implied the self needed to be healed, empowered, or expanded.

However, I wasn’t aware of these deeper implications. I simply experienced the books as hopeful, inspiring, and filled with possibility.

Few, if any, of my classmates shared my enthusiasm, and I never mentioned any of this to my mom or dad.

For weeks, I had been having a hard time falling asleep at night. I would turn on my transistor radio next to my bed and listen softly to my favorite AM station out of Chicago, WCFL. The reception was often spotty, and I’d feel a small sense of relief whenever I turned the dial just so and locked in a clear signal of the music I liked. WCFL was located several hundred miles from where I lived in New York.

When sleep didn’t come, I would sometimes lift my leg up into the air and let it drop back onto the bed, almost as if I were trying to exhaust myself physically.

During this time, something else started happening.

As I struggled to relax and drift off to sleep, I would suddenly feel as though some force were trying to enter my body.

It felt as if my spirit, or some part of me, was being squeezed out and off the side of the bed. I fought against this sensation inch by inch, feeling as though I were trying to claw my way back into my body.

If this had been a one-off experience, I’d probably have forgotten about it. But this happened several more times over a few weeks. I had no idea what was going on.

I first corresponded with the author, Harold Sherman, when ordering his book How to Use the Power of Prayer. When the book arrived, I found a small prayer meditation pamphlet tucked inside the book jacket.

On the typed pamphlet, Sherman had written a personal note encouraging me to use this seven-point meditation each night before bed. As I read it, I felt my body begin to relax and sink more deeply into the bed. I told myself I now had a way to protect myself from this strange experience, and that perhaps I could finally fall asleep more easily.

I didn’t have the language for it then, but looking back, I can see how his personal correspondence may have encouraged me during a sensitive and uncertain time in my life.

Not long afterward, I ordered his book Thoughts Through Space. It arrived a few weeks later in an oversized brown padded envelope. To my surprise, inside was a thick hardcover copy of the book. I had been expecting a paperback.

The book felt heavy in my hands. Its dark blue cover and gold-lettered title gave it the appearance of something old and important, while the thick, parchment-colored pages made it feel as though it belonged to another era. It even carried a slight musty smell.

Sitting on my bed in my downstairs basement bedroom, I opened to the front cover and was thrilled to discover Sherman’s handwritten inscription directed to me:

“Dear John: My thoughts go out through space to wish for you the finest things in life!”

In the weeks that followed, I began using these books in an effort to make things better.

I recited the prayer meditation each night before going to bed. This practice gave me a warm feeling of being held and protected by an invisible force I hoped would watch over me and protect me.

From Psycho-Cybernetics, I started to rehearse in my mind’s eye successfully shooting foul shots on the basketball court, hoping to improve my performance and increase my chances of becoming a starter on the high school team.

In Thoughts Through Space, I was fascinated by the idea that thought itself could travel and influence the mind of another. At night, lying in bed, I would focus my thoughts outward toward a high school friend, as if I might be able to reach his mind and send him messages.

Looking back, I can see that each of these approaches, though different in form, pointed in the same direction.

Whether it was prayer, visualization, or directing thought outward, each suggested something within me needed to be improved, strengthened, or brought into alignment.

Only later would I begin to recognize how easily this way of thinking can also carry the sense that something about the self needs fixing or repair.

What I did not yet understand was how naturally this longing could evolve into a search for a more complete and authoritative vision of reality.

Over time, that search would lead me into deep involvement with a religious movement that appeared to provide the right answers to my most pressing questions.

I felt fortunate to have found a story large enough to make sense of my life. It gave me a way to stand in the world with confidence and conviction about the future.

My steps grew lighter. There was more energy and bounce in my stride. My posture straightened. I smiled a lot more. I felt a renewed sense of purpose and meaning to my life.

But over time, things began to happen that gradually loosened the certainty I had once carried so completely.

I recall an experience during this period involving a co-worker who invited me to attend a Sunday service at his church. At one point during the service, a slim, elderly-looking man with silver-gray hair came to the front to give his personal testimony of faith. Early in his remarks, he said:

“I must be different than most people. Because, since the beginning of my faith journey many years ago, I’ve not changed one iota regarding my conviction about the truth of our teachings.”

Sitting there next to my co-worker, I marveled at what he had just said. Here was a man involved with his faith for decades who had not altered his views about his church and its teachings one bit. I took him at his word.

On my train ride back home afterward, I thought a lot about what this man had to say. What struck me was not whether he was right or wrong, sincere or insincere.

It was the realization that I could never again inhabit certainty in quite the same way.