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Drawing Out Each Other's Delusions

FROM
Break Out: Finding Freedom
When You Don't Quite Fit The Mold
James R. Hasse

"I dwell in Possibility --
A fairer House than Prose --
More numerous of Windows --
Superior -- for Doors."

Emily Dickinson

I know how it must feel to be healed -- almost. It was 1975 (before the 1980s brought us Jim Bakker, freeway shootings and street people).

I was walking back to my car with the routine clank-clank of my worn Canadian crutches, marking each step when he came stumbling out of the Square Tavern in a long overcoat.

He moved so fast (or I moved so slow) he caught me right at the parking meter before I could reach my car door.

"Could I touch you?" he slurred in more of a command than a request.

Before I could reply, he placed his right forefinger firmly on my forehead. I then had a chance to look into his face. His eyes, set deep, raced from side to side. His mouth skewed to the right.

With my forehead tipped at a 45 degree angle, I still managed to glance down the street to see if anyone was watching. It was empty. I was more embarrassed than frightened and scenes of evangelist Oral Roberts healing entranced people on TV flashed before my eyes. Was this another put-on?

I chuckled to myself, expecting him to release the pressure on my forehead and be on his way.

[Continued On Next Page: Click Here]

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