Encountering The Doorman
By James Donahue
There is a story among the ancients that we all come to Earth
on a planned mission and that we choose our own names. The names are perhaps the key to our real identity. They are carefully
designed to remind us just what our mission is as we stumble our way through this dark passage in a place that we are not
allowed to enter with any memory of who we are or why we came.
Obviously the selection of my name was the work of a prankster.
. . a devious soul who thought I should be made to work at finding the clue lying buried therein. I have lived more than 60
years without yet knowing this secret. It is something that I don't lose sleep over, however, because by all indications,
I have been correctly following the path I was given.
The man who helped my wife and me come to an understanding of
just who we are, and what we are doing here, had a very simple name that made his identity clear. His name was Archie Dorman.
Looking back at that moment in our past, I realize that he was, indeed, a doorman standing at the arch. His job was to open
the door and invite us in to an occult world that our path, until that time, had been closed to us by social and religious
rules designed by the church that held us captive. We were practicing Christians then, and I a recognized pillar in the community.
I was a member of our church board. I taught an adult Bible class every Wednesday night. Archie was one of my students.
There was something odd about Archie and his wife coming to
our little country church because they were members of another church located right across the road from where they lived,
nearly 25 miles away. But they seemed to like to drive to Snover, Michigan, where I was teaching, just to be in my class.
I had been studying Bible for years, and did some teaching,
but I considered myself a novice. I taught the class, however, like I tackle most of the other things I agree to do in life,
with zeal. I studied my topic, read not only the Bible verses chosen for the lesson, but devoted time pouring through every
other book on the topic that I could find. I had an extensive library on both the Old and New Testament Books and even studies
that allowed me to go back through old Greek and Hebrew text as I poured over ancient translations.
The Dormans seemed to like my class. They also seemed to take
a personal interest in both Doris and me. During the brief time that we knew them, we learned to like them in return.
Archie kept asking a question I could never answer. In fact,
at the time, it seemed to be a question that had no answer. Even the minister of our church didn't believe there was an answer
because to him, there was no difference. The question: "What is the difference between the Holy Ghost and the Holy Spirit?"
I have since learned that there is a very big difference between
these two entities. But to understand the difference, a person must be steeped in occult knowledge. The understanding comes
from being a learned student of secret societies that hold keys to the universe. I can't help but think that there was much
more to Archie Dorman than the simple little prayer warrior and retired dry cleaner operator he presented himself to be.
Archie was dying when he asked the question that altered our
lives forever. He came to the hospital one evening where Doris was working. They were alone in the emergency room for a few
moments where she was carefully drawing blood from his arm.
"Tell me," he asked her. "When you pray, have you ever asked
who you are praying to?"
"No, I never have," she answered.
"The next time you pray, would you ask the question?" Archie
asked. "Then tell me what you find out."
Doris came home that night and related the strange request to
me. We thought it was a very odd thing to ask while in prayer, but we found ourselves unable to resist the temptation. We
both prayed the prayer, and asked to whom we prayed.
Archie Dorman died a few days later. We attended his funeral,
still not having an answer to this prayer. It was at least a year or more before we really understood the power of that question.
We were praying to ourselves.