Countdown to The Superman Effect- 34 Days

My co-worker’s nephew is in an intensive care unit. He has developed a blood infection two years after being diagnosed with cancer. After so many chemotherapy battles won, the outcome of this one feels uncertain. He is my age and also has three young daughters which makes me feel uniquely close to his plight. One of my assistant directors has received bad news about her health today. I don’t have the details but am concerned about her. My sister’s father in law who was pronounced dead two weeks ago is in hospice care. No one expects it will be long. My wife’s grandfather is only ingesting Ensure. No solid foods. At 94, his days are not many. My co-worker’s dad received news that there is no sign of brain activity in the area where there is atrophy. She is reaching out to me and I can't stop thinking about her daddy. Who do I focus on? How can I help? I feel like today is the first day of a nine day journey to help those close to me through prayer. I can’t write about leaving the university right now. I am overwhelmed by the request for prayers and even with all the “proof” through spirit communication, at this moment, I have no idea how I can help. I can’t manipulate or force a mystical experience. Believe me, I have tried. I don’t choose the timing either.

A few years ago, I was in a similar state. One in which I found myself being drawn to an intense period of prayer for nine days straight. I know I have said this before but it begs being mentioned once more: Except for these past 30 days of daily writing, I typically find it hard to do anything consistently. Prayers are usually attempted while lying in bed and last as long as it takes for me to reach REM a few minutes later. So the idea of heading to the basement for two hours of silence is foreign to me as well. Yet, when it happens, I am given the energy and desire to accomplish this task with ease.

I had no idea why I was called to another nine-day period of prayer and for who just a couple of months after the one for my wife's mother. I guess I did not need to know. On the eighth day, I received an email from a friend that a mutual friend of ours, who was battling a kidney disorder at the age of 90, was receiving final visitors. He was home with his newlywed and two daughters to pass in peace. I immediately felt the all too familiar energy course through my body. I knew in that instant that he was the object of my prayers and that I was going to see him soon.

He was a special man. We were neighbors in a cohousing community in Denver and shared countless nights of philosophy and religion chats. You see, in his earlier days he was a CU-Boulder philosophy professor and had a great deal to teach a young lad. Every time there was a community meal, we would find each other and block everyone else out. I would visit him in his little yellow house and he would make me tea. So much to learn, so little time.

On the ninth day, I told my wife that I wanted to visit him and say my goodbyes. I told her that I believed he is expecting me even though he was no longer conscious. At 5:15pm, my wife came by with the kids to the university and picked me up. She drove to the back parking lot of the cohousing community. “Why don’t you wait here, I won’t be long” I said. She was not interested in seeing nor having the two girls see a dying man. I was. I got to the front door and saw a sign that said: “No visitors tonight.” I froze. I did not want to leave. I had to see him. Should I knock? No, it says no visitors. I just stood there waiting for some movement in the house. Finally, his wife saw me peeking through the window and smiled. She opened the door. “Dennis, please come in” “Are you sure?” I said. “The sign said no visitors.” “Yes, you can come in. He does not have long.” I went into their bedroom and asked her if I can have a few minutes alone with him. She said yes and closed the door. He was breathing very heavily and although his eyes were open, he was no longer present in this realm. I put my left hand over his and my right hand on his chest. He started to writhe and moan. I then said to him: “Don’t be afraid. It’s time to let go. I love you.” His struggle stopped and his breathing became slightly calmer. I then left, said a few inadequate words to his wife and daughters and went to join my own. The next day I opened an email that said he had died at 6pm. 30 minutes after my visit.

I now feel I am entering a similar period and again do not know who it’s for.

I asked my wife if it would be appropriate to stop writing for the next nine days while I deal with whatever is happening. Her response was absolutely not. “Write from your heart and write for you.” I will.