Introduction

Thirty-five years ago, I had not given one thought, not even a rumor of a thought, to writing a book – let alone a book about Love and Belovedness – until an unforgettable evening with a psychic at a friend’s house. I was reluctant to attend the event, as I had a cast on my leg from knee surgery; but he insisted, and he drove me to his house and plopped me down on the couch. The psychic was a tall, very heavy-set young man with a neatly trimmed beard. Looking at him, I could not believe he possessed any “psychic” abilities. When he sat down on a cushion on the floor, his big belly reminded me of statues of the Buddha. That was as far as the connection went. The others at the event that evening asked him questions about their future – where they would live, their relationships, finances, health, and so on, and he answered them. I thought, there’s no way for anyone to know whether there’s any truth to those answers.

When everyone was done with their readings, in a “just for the hell of it” moment, I decided to ask him about my idea of teaching computer programming at schools in underserved neighborhoods, as a way of giving back. He looked at me, closed his eyes briefly, then opened his eyes and said “No.” I thought, What do you mean, No? I just told you what I wanted to do with my life, and in less than two minutes you’re telling me I’m wrong? He continued by saying, “You are going to write a book, and then you will go around and share what you have written with others.” I had struggled with English in high school and college. How on earth was I going to write a book? Now I really had my doubts about this guy. And then he got me! He really got me when he closed his eyes again and said: “The subject of the book will be Love.” I was stunned, bewildered, mind blown. In one jaw-dropping moment, he had brought the entire apparatus that I knew as “David” to a halt.

I allowed this man’s words to sink into my heart and soul on the drive home with my friend. And as I was falling asleep that night, the title of the book came to me: David The Beloved. The title just came to me without my looking for it. That was thirty-five years ago. It was only from the title of the book that I remembered that my name “David,” in Hebrew, has meanings that include “beloved one” and “the beloved.” I did not make the connection of this meaning of my name with who I thought myself to be, nor did I associate myself with the word [“love” – in fact, I didn’t even realize at the time that I did not know what that word meant.] It was not until my experience with cancer that I realized that cancer came to teach me the most important lesson of my life, and it would bring understanding of all that I lost during my childhood, namely my innocence, my feelings, my connection to my heart, my belovedness – and the knowing of love.

            This is a story about a precious young child who was dearly loved by many people early in his life. Yet unexpected and tragic events led this child to experiences inconsistent with his preciousness. From these experiences, he took on heartbreaking beliefs about himself, and he kept these beliefs hidden – and treated them like gospel – losing his true, loving nature. How could this have happened? To truly understand the events of my journey that I share in this memoir, I had to reflect on my life and ask myself some profound questions. And I had to be willing to see the truth.

How could I explain that I was touched by loving beings, without fully realizing it, for years? It was as if a light had illuminated a path in front of me, coaxing me to go that way, even though my experiences in life said, “Don’t go.” How could I explain why I took so many risks without realizing what I was doing, as if I had no choice in the matter? And even though my mind said there was something wrong with me, that I somehow deserved the childhood abuse and cancer I suffered through, I brought loving human beings into my life. How was that possible? They touched me without my realizing it – and they reminded me who I truly am just by the nature of who they were. And where did I find the will, strength, and perseverance to keep the journey alive to find the truth of who I really am?

            While writing my memoir, I came up with a train station metaphor for my journey.

There’s a true story behind this. When I was around six years old my Uncle Bernie, to the dismay of my Aunt Roz, kept a big piece of plywood under their bed. On the plywood my uncle had nailed a set of tracks for an American Flyer train set. There were only two train cars – a black locomotive and a red caboose. The power box that ran the train had a dial with a knob that you turned to make the train go faster or slower. I can still remember the creaky sound as I moved the dial. I was captivated not just by the train going around the tracks, but also by the fact that I could control it. The circular tracks gave me the metaphor for my life story, as I will present it to you here.

The tracks of my life started at my birth and will end at my death. Each step of the journey creates the next step that leads me toward future life adventures. My story starts at the station where conception of a precious, innocent, openhearted new human being occurs, followed by many stations where the child’s innocence and openheartedness will get lost – yet not totally lost. And there are many more stations, some magical, as the tracks of my life wind around to head back toward the station at the end of the line. Each significant event along the tracks – birth, marriage, divorce, fatherhood, to name a few – will be the stations on these tracks. What I am to encounter at each of these stations will be a mystery, influenced by the many people I meet, and by events impossible to predict.

There are several cartoons, other than those depicting the chapter titles, that are meant for comic relief as the nature of the subject they are depicting could be seen in a negative light. These subjects, for instance of mind development, which sets the future footsteps of life are not bad, it is our imprinting at birth.

            I invite you on board for a train ride through my life, as I share certain events and experiences that I would not have imagined possible in a million years until I arrived at the train stops along the tracks. This is the Bronx version of the Orient Express – a train ride that is both a love story and a mystery – never knowing what the next station would have in store for me and my heart. Yet with courage and moments of fearlessness, like the Energizer Bunny, I just kept on going – as my quest to reclaim all that was lost unfolded before my eyes.

Let the journey begin . . . .