From the Heart - by Alan Cohen

Every great master has had his moment of enlightenment. Moses found God within the burning bush. Buddha saw the truth after fasting under the Bodhi tree. Jesus, we are told, became the Christ when the dove of Spirit descended upon him at the moment of his baptism.

I found my revelation at McDonald's. Strange though it may sound, I had my date with destiny under those arches of gold. No Mckidding.

It was a breezy Saturday afternoon in March when I found myself touched by the angel of hunger while driving south on the Garden State Parkway. Realizing that there was quite no other choice than McDonald's, I flicked my blinker in the direction of hamburger heaven and steered straight for the beef.

In I strode to find my fast food fix. There, to my dismay, I found that it was Family Day, which brought a platoon of children practicing a variety of interesting methods to gain their parent's attention. Amid this prepubescent circus there was even a birthday party happening. I mean, there were lots of kids!

Quickly I began to feel stifled and righteously irritated. "Where did all these kids come from?" I pondered, seeking to find a little corner where I could eat in peace.

As I began salting my french fries, I remembered that someone had told me that McDonald's puts sugar in their french fries.

"Gross!" I thought. "Why do they have to put sugar in everything?!" I complained to the Spirit of Carlton Fredericks. My irritation grew.

Then I glanced at the four-colored cardboard containing my hot apple pie. I found no listing of ingredients, which led me to the natural conclusion that there were probably so many preservatives and chemical additives that they neatly omitted them all. "Hrrmmph," I muttered -- "more deception!"

Then I saw something I had never seen before; I discovered that I was sitting near a life-sized, plastic Ronald McDonald, repeating a tape loop of ridiculous jokes to a bunch of squally kids surrounding him in a caged area. Not only that, but Ronald's designers had programmed a crazy laugh to follow each of the cornball offerings. The whole scene felt like a cross between Amazing Stories and The Twilight Zone.

"This takes the cake," I thought. "I'm never coming here again -- bad vibes."

Then something happened. Something very precious, something holy, something that changed my life.

Sitting there in the smog of my own thoughts, a little voice within my soul spoke to me. It asked but one question, but it was the one that made all the difference.

"What if this were all alright?" the gentle voice whispered.

"What do you mean, 'all alright?'" my conscious mind retorted. "This scene is weird."

"Think again," that noble voice gently urged. 'Imagine -- just imagine for a moment -- that all of this was okay, and that none of what you see around you holds any real threat to who you are or your power to be happy now. Imagine that your safety remains quite inviolate even in the midst of this story line."

Now, that was interesting. I did feel a breeze of peace as I considered this notion.

I began to reconsider. I went over the scene in my mind, attempting to look at it in this new and different light. I pondered the thought that sugar has no real power to affect my ability to love. I considered that the list of loving attributes of the God within me was longer than the list of preservatives in the pie. And how would I feel if I knew that there was no real harm in that plastic toy telling silly jokes to those kids?

I shifted my attention to the kids in that area. They were laughing. They were happy. They were in heaven. I enjoyed watching them.

Something happened to me when I let it all be okay. I felt relief. My heart opened. I was at peace. I had found the answer to being there. I had found the answer to all of life. Just let it be.

I got in line for some more french fries and apple pie. That's what they serve in heaven, I found out.