The Stranger, the Spring, and the Seed

An Encounter in 1993 That Opened the Path to a Life of Conscious Inquiry

The year was 1993. Atlanta was already humming with spring, trees laced with bright green, and the smell of warm sidewalks still wet from overnight rain. I was a year away from enrolling full-time at Georgia State University, and my days were filled with the electric mix of hope and uncertainty that so often surrounds a person on the verge of meaningful transformation—though I could not have known it at the time.

I remember the man not for his name, which I cannot say that learned, but for his presence—quiet, poised, unassuming. He smoked a cigarette with his right hand which bore a Masonic Ring with the Square and Compasses prominently displayed, and yet marked with a certain clarity that caused me to listen more attentively than I usually did with strangers. Our meeting was unplanned. A simple act of kindness, perhaps, or a cosmic nudge that brought us into proximity. We spoke for some time during that initial exchange. Afterward, he offered me a ride back to my flat, and what unfolded during that brief drive would plant a seed I would spend the next three decades tending.

I cannot tell you exactly what I said to him. We must have spoken about ideas, or dreams, or some intuitive knowing I held about the nature of life and spirit. Whatever it was, it stirred something in him. We pulled into my apartment complex and took the winding road to my building and after parking, we exited the vehicle to talk in front of the building. He then lit a cigarette and took a drag, exhaled smoke, and turned to me and said plainly, “There’s a book I want you to find. Three Magic Words by U.S. Andersen. Secure it. Study it.” Then, extending his hand with unexpected gravity, he added, “Shake on it.”

I did.

We continued talking a bit more and just before he departed, he said what would become a lifelong echo:

“Young man, I have changed your life for the rest of your life.”

The Chase

This was before Amazon. Before AbeBooks. Before eBooks and overnight shipping. To find that book, I had to call bookstore after bookstore across the city. Most had never heard of it. A few gave me sympathetic apologies. Finally, a small shop in the Buckhead part of the city said they could special order it. I convinced a friend to take me there, paid in advance, and then waited days, perhaps even a couple of weeks, before they called to say it had arrived. I then convinced the same friend to ferry me back to the bookstore to retrieve the book.

I remember the feeling when I held it in my hands. It was unlike any other book I had encountered. The cover was unremarkable, a green and white paperback, but the energy—the aura—of the text felt charged. As if it knew I would come. As if it had been waiting. I recall her driving while I sat in the passenger’s seat reading the book. I could not wait.

Once back home, I read slowly, devouring each chapter alongside practicing the contemplations concluding each chapter with the hunger of someone who had found something both lost and familiar. The book’s central proposition—that all is Mind, and that human beings are individualized expressions of a universal intelligence—resonated so deeply it didn’t feel like learning. It felt like remembering.

I didn’t just read it. I studied it. Not for a grade, not for debate, but as one studies a sacred text that has somehow opened a door within.

When I say, that book placed my feet firmly on the path, I am not overstating its impact. Merely stating a fact of my journey for now thirty-two years this year.

The Return

The following year, as I was walking in downtown Atlanta near campus, I saw him again. By sheer accident—or divine appointment—we crossed paths near Five Points Train Station along Peachtree Street. He was walking alone through the bustle of downtown, his eyes scanning the crowd as if knowing I might appear.

He recognized me instantly.

“Young man,” he said, “were you able to secure the book?”

“Yes,” I replied, already smiling.

“Did you study it?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He paused, looked directly into my eyes, and asked, “What were your results?”

I remember sighing. Not because I was disappointed, but because I couldn’t possibly summarize what had begun to unfold within me. “Where do I even begin?” I said.

He smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Let’s talk again sometime.”

And then, as quickly as he came, he disappeared into the crowd. I never saw him again.

The Root of Reverence

Over the years, I have often reflected on that moment, that man, and the conversation we shared in the car and in front of my building that somehow led him to make the recommendation. I sometimes wonder what he heard in my words, or perhaps sensed beyond them, that moved him to hand me the key to my own transformation.

There’s no way to know. Not unless I undergo some hypnotic regression to retrieve that lost memory. But in a deeper sense, I do know. Because the results of that moment echo through every part of my life. The experience of studying the book and following its teachings, has allowed me to weather some of the most challenging moments along my journey.

It was that spring, in that year, through that book, that reverence took root in me—not as something taught or preached, but as a direct inner experience. I often tell my wife that I have never lost my childlike wonder at the world. I marvel at the way leaves turn toward the sun, the quiet yet dynamic stillness at the heart of meditation, the music of synchronicity that plays when we are aligned with our Source, the birth and maturation of our children, the various elements that needed to be in place, respectively, for me to have sensed her in the Dining Hall on campus that wintery day on Monday, 1 December 2008 alongside the courage to walk up to her and introduce myself later that week on Thursday. In short, the myriad events that needed to take place before we were to be able to meet. The permutations and combinations simply boggle the mind.

That reverence has never left me. And I believe it never will.

Mind as the First Cause

Three Magic Words taught me that the mind and consciousness are not byproducts of biology. Consciousness is not encased in skull and bone. It is primary, universal, causal. What we call “reality” is the projection of consciousness into form. And that realization opened the doors for every subsequent understanding I would later develop—be it via Rosicrucianism, Kabbalah, Transcendental Meditation, Freemasonry, Marriage, Becoming a Certified TM Teacher, Parenthood, matriculating to Grad School, later earning a PhD for my research efforts, and many other milestones that shaped both my inner and outer worlds.

It is this exact insight that now lives at the heart of the Seven Layers of Manifestation. From the formless field of Pure Consciousness to the concrete outcomes of collective human intent, each layer unfolds as an extension of this core idea: We are not separate from the world we experience. We are participants in its unfolding. What we believe, what we feel, what we practice inwardly—all of it sends ripples across the field of being.

Likewise, in the Model for Perpetual Growth and Progress, this insight grounds the First Tier—Knower, Process of Knowing, Known. Before the conscious transformation of habit or behavior, before any outer achievement, there must be a recognition: that we are connected to something vast, intelligent, and sacred. That connection gives rise to the subsequent tiers—being a Seeker and all that comes with being so through to intentional refinement and world-contribution.

I firmly believe none of this would have cohered in my consciousness had I not read that book. Had I not met that man. Had I not been asked to shake on it. And had I not agreed to deeply study its contents.

The Mystery of Transmission

Given the sheer number of such experiences along my journey, I have come to believe that sometimes a person arrives in your life not as a friend or teacher, not even as a guide—but as a messenger. Their task is specific, sacred, and time-limited. They may never know the full extent of their influence, and we may never have the chance to repay them. But their role is no less significant for being brief.

That man on Peachtree Street near the Five Points Train Station was one such messenger.

His role in my story may seem small by conventional standards. A ten-minute car ride. A handshake. A single line: “I have changed your life for the rest of your life.” But in the language of the soul, that was a ritual transmission. A spiritual initiation wrapped in plain clothes.

And so it is with many great awakenings. They rarely begin with thunderclaps or fanfare. More often than not, they start in the still, unnoticed spaces of daily life: a quiet conversation, a book retrieved from a dusty shelf, a single sentence that continues to speak years after it was first heard.

A Seed That Became a Tree

Thirty-two years have passed since that verdant Atlanta spring.

I am now a husband, father, teacher, scholar, and initiatic leader. I have earned degrees, traveled inner worlds, developed frameworks, and guided others toward stillness. My life has become a tapestry woven from the thread of that one book, that one handshake, that one spring.

The seed he planted became not just a tree but a grove—a field of ideas, practices, and sacred commitments. Through the Seven Layers framework, I now offer others what was once offered to me: a way to recognize the creative intelligence within themselves. Through the Model for Perpetual Growth and Progress, I now share a philosophical path toward self-mastery and social contribution.

And yet, I remain that same young man in many ways—still marveling, still reverent, still guided by the idea that mind shapes matter, and that we shape the world by shaping the contents of our mind.

The Invitation Continues

I sometimes imagine that man walking through another city now, perhaps near another train station, speaking to another young seeker. Maybe he carries the same knowing glance, the same simple sentence: “There’s a book I want you to find…”

Perhaps he was never meant to remain in my life. Perhaps his role was only ever to ignite the flame. And perhaps that’s enough. Because the flame still burns.

To anyone reading this, wondering whether a single moment can change a life, I offer my story. And I offer the same words he once offered me:

Secure it. Study it. Shake on it.

You might just change your life—for the rest of your life.

Suggested Practice

Journal Reflection:

1. Have you ever received a piece of advice or a book recommendation that shifted the direction of your life? What was it? Who offered it?

2. Reflect on a moment in your life that felt like more than coincidence. What were the circumstances? What stayed with you?

3. Consider your own role as a “messenger.” Is there someone in your life who may be waiting for a word, a suggestion, or a gentle nudge?

Contemplation Prompt:

Sit quietly with the following phrase for 10 minutes, eyes closed:

“Mind is the builder.”

Let the phrase settle. Ask gently: What am I building—knowingly or unknowingly—with my thoughts?

When you’re ready, open your eyes and write what came . . . and then act.

And above all, enjoy the journey of unfoldment into a fullness that is available for everyone.

It is your birthright.

—

Dr. Baruti KMT-Sisouvong, along with his wife, Mina, serves as Director of the Transcendental Meditation Program in Cambridge and the larger area of Metropolitan Boston. They are parents to four beautiful children. To learn more about him, visit his website: https://www.barutikmtsisouvong.com/.