I Donít Want to be Your Guru, but I Have Something to Say (New Edition)

This spiritual novel, busting at the seams with wisdom, is a must read. Once you start reading it, you'll quickly be engaged. This little treasure is a clever use of fiction to get important messages across, devoid of the dogma often attached to books teaching important life-lessons.

 Selected as a book-of-the-month for discussion by a 9/11 support group in NYC.

 

Chapter 1

It wasn’t there.  The old filling station and house were, but B’s was gone.  Maybe he was still alive. 

I pulled into the filling station.  The ping-ping of the old-fashioned hose stretched across the ground, used to alert attendants they had a customer, was something most modern service stations had abandoned long ago.  It seemed unnecessary in this isolated location.  The dust cloud from a car on the road would be enough warning.   I got out of my old VW and stretched.  It was noon.  The August desert air was hot and dry.

The screen door opened on the small unpainted wood-frame house to the left of the station.  A man waved and said, “Be right with ya.”  A napkin was hanging from the top of his stained overalls.  I’d interrupted his lunch.  I started to tell him I’d wait, but he’d already gone back inside.

The toe of my boot nudged at a pebble.  I kicked at the pebble and it dinged off one of the gas pumps.  Looking over at the house, I saw the door open.  The man walked across the porch, down the three steps, and started in my direction.

He looked to be in his sixties, face tanned and wrinkled from time in the sun.  As he got closer, he smiled.  His eyes crinkled.  Just like the old man’s.  But unlike the old man’s emerald green eyes, his were deep brown.

“What can I do fer ya?  Need a fill-up?  There ain’t another station fer a piece, you know.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch.  I’m not in a hurry.  I can wait if you’d like to finish.”

“Don’t worry none about that.  All’s that’s left to eat is dessert.  Now, what can I do fer ya?”

I knew my car was in good working order and that my half-full tank would make it to the next town.  But I wanted to ask him about the café and the old man.  “Fill it up, please.  And it’s probably a good idea to check the fluids and tire pressure.”

He nodded, walked to the back of the car, and popped the hood latch.  “Only have Premium,” he said when he straightened up.

“That’s fine.  It’s only half a tank.” I looked around at the view as he set the gas to pump and began to check the belts and whatnots of my engine. 

“You’ve kept this little beauty up just fine,” he said.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me. How long have you been out here?”

“Five years.  Before, I used to drive here every day to work the station. But me and the wife decided it would be easier to just live next door.”

“I passed this way ten years ago and stopped in at B’s Café.  I couldn’t help but notice nothing is there anymore.  In fact, it doesn’t even look as though anything ever was.”  I heard him slide the dip stick out to check the oil.  “I was hoping to see an old man I met there.  His name was Bill–Old Bill was what he said people called him.  Do you know if he’s still around?”

He stuffed the oily rag into a back pocket, then slid the dip stick back in slowly, closed the hood and stood still for a moment.

“Did you know him?” I repeated.

“Yup.”

“Do you know where I can find him?  I’d really like to see him again.”

He stood looking at me.  I held his gaze and resisted shuffling my feet. 

Finally, he said, “I’ll take you to see him.”

I felt the tension in my shoulders release.  Old Bill had changed my life ten years ago and I had a gift for him.  “That’s great.  Very nice of you.  This is really important to me.”

“Follow me,” he said, and he started off around the other side of the station. 

We walked about twenty yards behind the station, then veered more towards the back of the house.  On the ground was a plaque made from the same wood as the house, but not as weathered.  I realized it was a headstone.  Its inscription read

Here rests Old Bill.

Those who knew him

learned a lot.

Those who didn’t,

missed out.

I was forced to shift from excitement to deep sadness in just a matter of seconds.  But it was the date he died that made my breath stop.  I turned to my companion and said, “I don’t understand.  There has to be a mistake.”

“What mistake would that be?” he asked as he narrowed his eyes.

No way to avoid sounding like a fool, but I had to get the facts straight.  “Ten years ago, I stopped at B’s Café.  I spent all day talking with a man who called himself Old Bill.  But...this marker says he died fifteen years ago.  Maybe this is another Old Bill.  I mean, it’s impossible...,” I didn’t finish my sentence.

He nodded.  “Best you come back with me to the house.  The missus makes a potent cup of coffee and a humdinger of an apple pie.”

“I don’t understand...”

“Come on.  You’ll feel better with some strong coffee in ya.”

I followed him, turning once to glance back at the grave marker.  My mind felt like it was swirling in a marsh fog.  Neither of us said a word.  When he opened the screen door, he said, “Esther, fire up a strong pot a coffee.  We got us another one.”

 

© by Joyce Shafer. All rights reserved. Excerpt from I Don’t Want to be Your Guru, but I Have Something to Say.

 

 

Additional Product Details

Format: PDF; 66 Pages

 

About the Author

Joyce ShaferJoyce Shafer is a Life Empowerment Coach dedicated to helping people feel, be, and live their true inner power. She is the author of ďI Donít Want to be Your GuruĒ and other books/ebooks, and publishes a free weekly online newsletter that offers empowering articles and free downloads.


 

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