In The Day of The Great Storm
August 2nd, 2012
By John Wright
“In the day of the Great Storm it is not what you write that they shall follow. It is your hope.” — Navajo Indian Medicine Man in 1988
When I was younger I was a realist. What did this mean? It meant if you would have told me that there was something called “fate” I probably would not have believed you. Nevertheless, in 1988, something happened to me that I can no longer deny but only confess how I now indeed believe everyone has a purpose.
Therefore — Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court of Public Opinion — it gives me great honor and great pleasure to present to you a true story appropriately titled — “In The Day of The Great Storm”.
The greatest spiritual teacher I ever had in my life was my Oma. The title “Oma” once translated from German to English means “Grandma”. Oma had a unique and interesting history. This is based on the fact that Oma was a German citizen back during the Nazi times under the dictatorship of none other than Adolf Hitler. That’s right! My grandma used to be a Nazi! It was ultimately the reason she would always tell me stories about what it was like growing up as a teenager running around Germany during the days of war II.
Oma: “I was at one of Hitler’s first speeches. He was such a dynamic speaker. It felt like the whole town was there. You can imagine how much noise people can make from one of your rock concerts you go to all the time. Nevertheless, you could hear a pin drop the second Hitler came out on the stage. The German people were suffering because we were in a depression. We were all very excited to hear what he had to say.”
John Wright: “Did you know what was happening to the Jews?”
Oma: “No. We did not have CNN. I remember the hairdresser talking to me about what we thought were rumors regarding what was happening to the Jews. It would be like you hearing the United States of America was doing these kinds of things to people. You would just believe it was too horrible to be true.”
There were many stories. Nevertheless, I remember one story in particular. It was a story where Oma described to me the fear she felt when bombs would drop down from the sky towards her from the hundreds of allied planes flying toward her town. I remember Oma explained to me that she did not know if she should run forward because she was afraid she would run into one. She did not know if she should run backwards because she would run into it still. Yet she feared that if she stood right in the same place it might run into her. That is when she explained that it felt as if there were steal pins running through her arms and legs to the point she could not move in any direction.
Oma: “And you know what kid? Those bombs landed everywhere except where I was standing. That is when I realized that I had a purpose in life. So I looked up at God and asked him what he wanted me to do next.”
I was Intrigued. Therefore — I asked Oma what she learned our purpose was. As always, her response was simple but powerful.
Oma: “Amazingly enough kid — it is not all that complicated really. We are put here to help someone else. You are here to put yourself in a position to help someone else. The problem in the world today is that too many people only want to concentrate on helping themselves and not others.”
John: “Wow! Oma! You should write a book! That’s because it’s not too often we hear about German history from a German’s perspective!”
Oma: “No. You are the writer. That’s why I think I will leave that up to you kid. I think I will let you tell my story to the world instead.”
Oma was the only one in my family who I felt loved me unconditionally. It was ultimately the reason I was in shock when Oma passed away suddenly in my arms in 2003. I remember it was as though the back of my chair had broken and I fell completely to the ground. God had given her to me and I gave her back. He would not take her until I gave her back.
Prayer I said out loud looking at the ceiling with Oma in my arms:
“Father — I bring a legal case before You. That is because it has occurred to me that my Oma has given me the Power of Attorney in all her affairs while she is alive. This means I am Oma when I speak to the City. This means I am Oma when I speak to a judge. This means I am Oma when I speak to the banks. This means I am Oma when I speak to God. It has been written that which is bound on earth shall be bound in heaven. This means — once translated — You have said You will honor an honorable agreement in heaven made on earth. It is ultimately the reason I already know that You will honor that I have been given the Power of Attorney in all her affairs. You gave her to me but I have come before You to give her back to You. Therefore — Father — I Lucy Wright cast my life into your hands — signed durable Power of Attorney — John Wright. Amen.”
Oma let her last breath out exactly on the “Amen“.
I remember I cried my eyes out looking at my former wife as she looked back at me also crying with her hand over her mouth. She was crying because she also loved Oma. There was another reason she was crying on that morning though. The other reason was because she knew how much pain I was in losing one of the greatest spiritual teachers and human beings I had ever met in my entire life.
Oma’s death was a very spiritual experience for me. However, even considering, it was not the first spiritual experience I ever had in my life. I had been experiencing spiritually way before Oma died. I had started to experience the more spiritual sides of life soon after I had moved from California to New Mexico in 1988 at the age of 18 years old. I had decided to move to New Mexico with another 18 year old friend from high school. There were many reasons my friend’s family were moving to New Mexico. One reason was because he had had family there that he had never met during the time he lived in California. The other reason was because his family in New Mexico said they could help us start out if we moved there. It sounded like a good idea because we both needed to get away from all the bad influences we had back in California. We seemed to be having too much fun — if you know what I mean? So, next thing I knew, we were off to a distant land far from the life I knew in California.
Now this was the kind of move that was an extraordinary journey for a California kid. This I am sure you can imagine if you have ever been to the remote parts of New Mexico. It was ultimately the reason I was not accustomed to the superstitions of the New Mexico people. New Mexico had a large but mostly Catholic and Navajo Indian population — which had a completely different way of thinking than we did in California. I am guessing that one of the reasons might have been because I noticed they all seemed much more spiritual. It might have been because people were very poor where I first lived in New Mexico.
The first thing I realized when I arrived in New Mexico was that the guys my age all hated California guys. I just figured it was because all the New Mexico girls loved California guys. One day out of curiosity I asked one of the New Mexico guys named “Daryl” why they seem to hate California guys so much. He said that it was because all the California teens smoke pot – have orgies –and drink martinis in their hot tubs all day and night. I think he was implying that we were spoiled.
John Wright: “I have never had a martini in my life!”
There was this long pause. Then Daryl started laughing with a big smile on his face. That is because he thought it was funny that the only thing I denied was that I had never had a martini before. That’s the thing — I have always had the ability to make people laugh during tense situations. This is the day that me and the Navajo Indian guy Daryl became friends.
Daryl was 25 years old and married with kids at the time. I–on the other hand– was 18 and 19 years old when I was living in New Mexico. Daryl and his wife lived with their children right next door to me in our apartment complex. This meant that I could hear Daryl and his wife arguing all the time. I am guessing that it always had to do with the fact that Daryl would stay out late drinking the night before. I am sure his wife did not appreciate being left home alone with the kids all the time while he was drinking. That was another thing about the Navajo’s back then — all the ones that I knew seemed to have a drinking problem. I was told the American Indians had a drinking problem because they were a repressed people who had not been afforded the opportunities that white people had. They seem to lack hope for their future. It was sort of sad.
One day Daryl came over after fighting with his wife. I let him in – and as usual — he went over and sat on the couch that had the coffee table in front of it. I immediately went over and picked up a stack of tw0 fee high daily journals that I had sitting on the coffee table in front of him to put them away.
Daryl: “What are those?”
John Wright: “These are my journals.”
Daryl: “What is a journal?”
John Wright: “It’s sort of like a diary for men.”
Daryl: “What!? You write!?”
John Wright: “Yes. I write.”
Daryl: “What do you write about?”
John Wright: “I write about whatever happens in my day.”
Daryl: “Do you ever write about me!?”
John Wright: “If you stop by like you did now — I guess I write about you.”
Daryl: “I will be right back! Don’t go anywhere! I will be back in thirty minutes!”
I shrugged my shoulders while thinking about how different the New Mexico people were compared to the people I knew in California. Then I went and put my journal away.
About thirty minutes later I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it up I could see Daryl had brought back with him an older American Navajo Indian man. He looked like he was about 50 years old. The older man asked me if he could come in and talk to me with Daryl for a bit. Well — by this time — I was totally intrigued with what this was all about. It was ultimately the reason why I invited them in and offered them something to drink as they sat on the couch. At first they both sat there and staring at me for an intense two or three minutes. It was almost like they were examining me or something — which by the way — made me feel really uncomfortable.
Navajo Medicine Man: “I am the Medicine Man for our tribe. In our culture I give a boy in our tribe a reading for his life when he turns 15 years of age. I am the one that gave your friend Daryl his reading. I told Daryl that one day he would meet a young white man with blue eyes. I told him this white man would end up writing something very important chiefs would read in the future.”
John Wright: “Let me guess…… you think that I am that white man because I have blue eyes and keep a journal — right?”
Navajo Medicine Man: “I don’t think it’s you. I know it’s you.”
This is when the Medicine Man began to tell me a story in very colorful detail about the event that this person would write about in the future.
The Medicine Man said:
“In the day of the great storm you will write with a pen with no ink. There shall be many mighty ships and there will be the Chiefs who drive them. These ships have been built for storms but this storm shall be an unusually strong one. The chiefs of these ships will realize that this storm shall be worse than the storms previous. During this time the angry waves of the sea shall toss them and turn them day and night. The angry waves will consume both the large and the small vessel to the point that some of them will sink. And yet there shall be many that will remain damaged but floating. Each Chief of the remaining ships shall become tired and confused and scared and exhausted. This is because they are ships with no set course. That is why they will not know where to turn for safety during the day of the Great Storm. They shall want to give up at some point. Nevertheless — just before they do — they shall see a small pinpoint of light off in the distance. Then while fighting the angry sea they shall turn their mighty ships towards that small light. It will have something to do with the white man being cheated out of their land by the government similar to how the Indians were cheated out of their land.”
This is when the Medicine Man stopped talking and just looked at me. I remember thinking in 1988 — “Ridiculous! How can you write with a pen with no ink!” I did not say this to him though. That’s because I did not want to offend him. Therefore I said something else instead. I asked him a question.
John Wright: “What was the light these ships were heading towards?”
Navajo Medicine Man: “Whatever you shall write will be that light.”
Navajo Medicine Man: “In the day of the Great Storm it is not what you write that they shall follow. It is your hope. This is even though you will prove to have a gift of putting things into words that other people are feeling or thinking. It is a very special gift.”
John Wright (laughing): “What I do might not sound so amazing if you gave Daryl a ‘writing’ lesson instead of a ‘reading’ lesson.”
The Indian Medicine Man slowly turned his head towards Daryl and said something with a very confident and authoritative tone.
Navajo Medicine Man: “It is him.”
John Wright: “What do you mean it is me!?”
Navajo Medicine Man: “That is the thing about this individual in the vision. He has a unique sense of humor that will help people during the day of the great storm.”
It was at this time Daryl looked away from the Medicine Man and stood up staring directly at me. He slowly walked towards me and rubbed the back of his hand on my face as he slowly tilted his head saying something as he looked directly into my eyes without blinking.
Daryl: “John — will you write about me?”
John Wright: “Listen Daryl — I’m – I’m — I’m not……You bet pal.“
I simply did not have the heart to tell him I was not this person. That is because I could see in his eyes he needed to believe that I was this person.
Eventually the Indian Medicine Man and Daryl left my apartment. It was now night time when they left. I remember I stood at the front door and watched them walk away. At one point the Medicine Man stopped with his back towards me. He slowly turned around and started walking towards me with a smile on his face. He eventually stopped right in front of me. This is when he started patting the side of my face with his hand saying the last words he would ever say to me.
Indian Medicine Man: “Clever boy…. Clever boy…. Clever boy….”
He turned around and walked away and I never seen the Navajo Indian Medicine Man again.
Twenty two years later in May of 2010 I started a blog after one of the greatest economic and mortgage collapses since the Great Depression hit our nation. I named the blog “Piggybankblog”. It had over 400,000 visitors in just a few months. However — even considering that I was blogging every single day — it was not until six months after starting my blog I remembered the New Mexico Navajo Indian Medicine Man and a New Mexico Great Grandmother stories. Someone sent me an email thanking me for saving their home.
She said — “I just wanted to thank you for saving our home and our lives. I read what you write every single day. You are such a good writer.”
I responded — “You are welcome. Thank you but I think I am a better story teller than I am a writer. But thank you.”
She replied — “Well you are a good writer but I guess it is your hope we are following more than your writing.”
I remember I immediately pulled my hands off the keyboard wondering where I had heard those words before. When I remembered I put one hand on my mouth as tears streamed down my face upon remembering the Indian Medicine Man story and the New Mexico Great Grandmother story. This was along with remembering the exact words the New Mexico Navajo Indian Medicine Man said to me in 1988. He said — Whatever you shall write will be that light.” and “In the day of the Great Storm it is not what you write that they shall follow. It is your hope.” I remember it was at this point I slowly looked away from the keyboard and up towards God while silently crying and laughing at the same time. That is based on the fact that I could no long deny but only confess it was true. It was true that I was young white man with blue eyes the Navajo Indian Medicine Man had seen in the vision he had given Daryl when he was fifteen years old. That’s because here I was 22 years later writing with my pen with no ink just like the Indian Medicine Man said I would be doing. Therefore all these years later I have fulfilled my promise to Daryl to write about him during The Day of The Great Storm. I just hope he finds this story one day to see it.
Therefore — Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court of Public Opinion — in conclusion — it is still unclear to me whether or not I have written what the Navajo Indian Medicine Man described as being something “very important chiefs” would one day read. There is one thing clear though. It is clear there are some very important “chiefs” who indeed read what I write on my blog.
SITE TRACKING RESULTS BELOW: