It was December 1978 and bitterly cold. Besides being one of the worst blizzards Oklahoma had experienced in the southeastern section of the state, it was my misfortune to get caught out in it after a long, hard walk up from Florida, where a friend and I had gone searching for work in an old milk van, converted into a camper. After a few weeks of slim pickings and little if no work, we began to feud and it was clear that one of us had to leave or we might end up destroying what was left of a great friendship. So it became obvious that one of us would have to leave, and since it was technically his van, it was clear it would be me. Later that night, parked near a beach, I decided to pack what little clothes I had and head off hitch-hiking to Oklahoma. I optimistically figured it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for one person to get a few rides and in no time arrive there; even if I had no more than a five-dollar bill in my wallet. I was accustomed to going the distance lean, after all, we had struggled for a month to make it on little money or food.
Later that night, I got up, tossed the backpack on my back and said, “Good by, old buddy, I’m sorry, but one of us has to go and it might as well be me.” I closed the door and walked out into the warm night air, feeling slightly saddened but very positive, thinking how could anything go wrong. But that was in sunny Orlando, Florida where the nights were balmy and the days beautiful—not a hint of what lay ahead for me.
Though it was late, I stuck my thumb out and fortune smiled on me. The first car that came by stopped and I got in. The driver was a pleasant older man, out to see the world, and in need of companionship and a second hand to spell him from the hypnotic effects of the road. We talked for a while, I drove and went on through the night. I guess that first ride lasted about two hours when I found myself entering Alabama. You see, I had decided to take the southern route, where it was warm, cut up through Louisiana into Texarkana and from there to Oklahoma. I said, “Thank you,” and stepped out of the car into the night as he drove off in the distance, his taillights dimming the further he went, until they winked out.
I loved walking and hitchhiking. It was always good to me. Why, in those days a person could stick their thumb out and hitch anywhere they wanted in the U.S. in a few days. But that was, as I recall, back in the sixties when everyone was a little more trusting. I guess I expected it to be that way again—but it wasn’t.
Instead, after about a couple of hours walking and hitching I began to realize that no one seemed to care. Several hours later, I lost some of my enthusiasm, sat down on the side of the road and tried hitching from there, but to no avail. Strange, I thought, it never had been this hard before. So I made a sign like those you sometime see held up by hitchhikers to catch your attention. Mine read: TULSA OR BUST! Thinking back, maybe that wasn’t the best of signs.
Anyway, to make a long story short--it didn’t work. So I got up and hitched some more while walking. Between bouts of walking, sitting down and holding up the sign, I tried singing, then meditating on my Oneness with the Universe. That was one of my favorite mental-spiritual past time, especially when I had a lot of time and things were starting to worry me, plus humming old Beatles songs. Suffice it to say, this singing, walking and meditation went on for several days, sustained only by brief rides, in which I immediately fell asleep when I got a lift, and diversions to get water, buy fruit or an inexpensive sandwich. By the time I got to Louisiana, it was clear this was not my day or week. It was as though Spirit had abandoned me, left me to the wolves, to survive on my own wits without a bit of help.
I began to feel a little sad and frustrated. It was winding on into three days and during some of the weary nights a soaking, cold rain fell upon my weakened condition, and I began to feel the onset of a throaty cough welling up in my respiratory tract. That, I didn’t like. Struggling against the elements and feeling the rejection of people on the road was one thing, but suffering from a physical ailment was new to me. I guess that came from a part of my ingrained self-confidence that I could always make it, that is, the knowledge that my health was reliable. But now, with this cold and my weakened condition, it began to dawn on me that this trip would test me in new ways I had never experienced before. Coming up through Texarkana and moving into Oklahoma, a Native American brother gave me a lift and half his sandwich, which was next to a minor miracle, because I had long ago ran out of cash. He dropped me off somewhere South East of Tulsa, near McAlester, Oklahoma, which was perhaps 190 miles to my destination. I was so grateful to see a sign indicating that I was getting closer to Tulsa, even if it meant facing one of the worst storms Oklahoma had seen in years. I laughed it off, thinking, no sweat—I’ll make it, even if I have to walk all the way!
It was around 1:00 A.M. in the morning, the bleak sky and frozen landscape seemed to compound the feeling of desperation that began to gnaw at me, that this just might be my last hitchhiking trip I would ever try to undertake. Looking up at the driving snow, feeling the biting cold, wet slush as it was flung up on me by the roaring trucks that rushed by like heartless ghosts in the road, and sensing the weakness running through my rapidly tiring legs, told me that things better change and quick, or I could be the victim of freezing or hyperthermia. My situation really wasn’t funny. In fact, it became horrifying how my body started caving in. Where was my strength that I had always relied on? Now I felt like a hacking weakling. “No!” I cried out at the frigid night, “I will not give up!” I will keep on, regardless, relentlessly to my goal. Like always, I would make it, no matter what!
After about twenty miles of slugging through the slush, it became obvious that no one cared. In fact, they nearly ran me over, maybe not even seeing me, so I stayed far over to the side, walking on the shoulder or in the grass. And believe me, that was even more difficult walking, if you have ever walked through high, frozen grass late at night.
The powerful wind drove the crystallized snow particles into my face as I fought to keep moving ahead. Just about the time that I felt tears welling from my eyes in desperation and I began talking to myself like a raving lunatic to keep moving, I noticed something that caught my eye, high in the night sky and off in the distance. It was a thick, roseate cloud that moved suspiciously toward me, as if gravitating in my direction. Something about its movement and sudden appearance attracted me, almost with rapt curiosity to its presence; I cannot say what that intuition was, except that it spoke to me in a personal way. Sure, many will think me delusional, a maddened victim of my condition, driven to fanciful hallucinations and odd dreams. Certainly, I was exhausted, ready to fall, if the truth was known. But none-the-less I stood stock still, magnetized by that cloud’s presence as it drew near me. One thing that stood out clearly, as it slowly passed over, was its odd, red color that grew brighter as it turned toward me, exposing a figure in its midst. There, lo and behold, in its shape and form, I could see the wondrous outline of a figure that I immediately knew to be the Holy Mother. Miraculous though it may be, there she was, her arms outstretched toward me, her face smiling benevolently. From her hands poured a glowing light that radiated down on me, and as it did, I jumped, thrilled by her touch like a person receiving the Holy Ghost. Waves of heat passed through me. I began crying and laughing all at once! An incredibly powerful force permeated my body and every part was warmed.
Without a moment of doubt, my whole Spirit changed! I sang songs again, laughed and cried out loud to the night, reveling in my blessing. And things did change. Rapidly and without my efforts, a car came through the blowing snow and blackness to stop in the highway across from me. I could see a man wiping the window and looking. I didn’t even try to catch his attention, because I knew he came for me!
Sure enough, he cut through the snow banks piled high on each side and made his way up to me. I stopped, looked over at him as he rolled the window down and said, “Someone laid it on my heart to come and get you.” I said, “Yes, I know, it was the Holy Mother!” He continued, “Come on, get in. When was the last time you ate?” I replied, “Yesterday,” and sank into the warm interior of the seat next to him. “Come on,” he continued, “I’m going to feed you.” From there we drove to an all night diner. We went in and he ordered eggs and waffles for me, drank a cup of coffee, and read a newspaper. I felt love for this stranger fill my heart. When I got done eating, he looked over at me and said, “I’m going fifty miles in the other direction, but because someone laid it on my heart to rescue you, I have decided to take you the 175 miles you need to go to Tulsa.” I was overjoyed and thanked him profoundly, knowing in my heart that if Spirit hadn’t touched him, my fate would be to face the harsh elements and, in my desperate condition, perish.
After eating, we went out to the car and I got in and laid back on the seat, promptly passing out. Hours later, I awoke to find us pulling up to the address of the house I’d given him, of my good friend, Barry, in Tulsa, Oklahoma. As I got up and shook his hand, turning toward him, I suddenly knew exactly who he was, looked him in the eye and said, “I know who you are.” He smiled, looked at me with sincerity and replied, “Who do you think I am?” I said with unwavering certainty, straight from my heart, “You’re an angel!” He continued to smile and said, “Bless God, my friend.”
Epilogue
When I went up to the house and knocked, my friend Barry opened the door saying, “You look like you have lost a lot of weight and must be very tired. Come on in.” As I stepped in, full of happiness in spite of my exhausted condition, he suddenly pointed to a shadowy figure, “Look,” he said, “there’s an image of the Virgin Mary on the wall over you!” I looked and was amazed to see that there she was again, shimmering in the light of a lamp, her arms outstreched, just like I had seen her on the road. And you know, to this day, I can still feel her presence near me during times of crisis, ever vigilant. I will never forget that moment and feel that her presence bestowed upon me the opportunity to share my spiritual experiences with others.
Note: If anyone has similar stories and would like to share them, they may write me an email at: nahudini2@aol.com. Author of: UFOs: GOD FROM INNER SPACE
