Here is the story of the most obvious example of *something other than coincidence* working in my life. Scene One: After some weeks of living in Mexico, and being rather stoned on strong Mexican marijuana, I decide I can skip boiling the local well water before drinking it (BIG mistake!). Not long after this fateful decision, I enter into a two or three day period of cleansing out both ends so extreme that my stomach walls and intestinal wall themselves are coming out. Extreme delirium sets in. Eventually things settle down, but even trying to take in a teaspoon of water sets off violent rejection and further vomiting.

A straighter and more together young American tourist about this time happens to come by the house where I am staying, and attempts to give me some prescription medicine that his doctor in the States gave him to take to Mexico in case he got a bad case of *Montezuma's Revenge.* I tried, but was unable to swallow the medicine. This tourist, we'll call him *Bob,* because I can't remember his real name, couldn't stand to see me die of dehydration, so arranges to have a local doctor come to the house while he (Bob) leaves to catch an airplane back to the States.

The doctor comes, and is able to give me medicine by first giving me a creamy pink medicine that is specifically made to stop nausea. Amazingly, I am able to hold it down, and a couple of days later I'm eating ham sandwiches and drinking sodas! (provided by other traveling Americans, who thought our usual Mexican diet exceeding sparse).
Anyone who enjoys me being alive today can thank Bob, because I surely would have died then, if he had not called and paid for that Mexican doctor.

Fast forward ahead three years. I'm traveling with hippy friends in a converted 1948 UPS delivery truck, and camping for two weeks along the Russian River in the Coastal Redwoods. Some of the companions decide they really want to drive fifteen miles north to Guerneville to buy pie and ice cream. This is very unusual for us, but in an hour or so five or six hippies are seated in a small town cafe eating pie and ice cream. In the midst of conversation amongst ourselves, a man from the booth immediately behind my back, comes from around the high wooden bench back that separated booths, and says *It's Jay!!*

It was Bob who has called the doctor and saved my live in Ajijic Mexico, a good 2000 miles from this small town in the Redwoods. He and his new wife had just travelled fifteen east from their home in an even tinier settlement, on an impulse to drive to Guerneville to buy french fries! For three years Bob had wondered what had happened to me, and if indeed there had been any way to save me when I was completely unable to take in even a teaspoon of water. We all crowded into the same booth and talked for a long time. *Bob*, if you happen to read this on the internet, send me an e-mail!