Olive Garvey “Dropped In”

February 1983

At my next meeting with Dr. Sinha, we are alone. Our conversation includes many topics and continues for more than four hours when, suddenly, I feel that I have slipped into a stage of emptiness. Up to this time, our meeting has been rather energetic and vibrant. Suddenly, I am in a different dimension.

This is not the first time I am experiencing a blankness of mind. I have experienced such episodes in the presence of spiritually-advanced people half-a-dozen times. During those periods, I felt I had vigorous discussions with those Masters but could not recall the content, except for a feeling of satisfaction. This is one of those occasions.

It is that familiar sensation—a feeling of my mind going blank—like being in a void. Then, gradually, a face emerges. I recognize this person, but for the life of me, I cannot think of her name. I barely know her. I try to remember but to no avail. The presence of the image is not under my control. My mind is not in charge; yet, curiously enough, I am totally aware of myself and my circumstances.

Then, out of the blue, I feel as if someone drops a name into my lap. Immediately, I know who the person is. A feeling of ecstasy envelopes me.

Up to this time, I have been intellectually aware that all of our thoughts really are not our own but now, for the first time and in slow motion, I experience how thoughts are dropped into our minds. It is a phenomenon, a feeling that is hard to relate. Perhaps it is like the feeling a child might have upon taking his or her first step.

I have no idea how long it lasts—perhaps just a moment—but it is a beautiful feeling.

When I am once again back in this reality, Dr. Sinha is lying flat on his back on the cement platform with his head resting comfortably on his saffron tote bag. His hands are crossed behind his head, left leg pulled up, with the right leg crossed over it.

Dr. Sinha looks at me kindly. Neither of us feel any urgency to speak. I do not want to break the calm; it is too good.

Eventually, I say, “Tell me something about Olive Garvey.” 

This is the name that has been dropped in.

“How do you spell the name?”

“O-L-I-V-E  G-A-R-V-E-Y.” I slowly spell each letter.

“Oh, you mean Oleevee,” he says in his thick Indian accent.

“No, I mean Olive,” I repeat.

“Never mind the pronunciation,” he says and continues without a break. 

“Four years ago, she received some disturbing or shocking news. It was as if the husband of her daughter died or the relationship with one of her children or grandchildren was shattered. It was a great sadness to her.”

It is rather interesting because I have not told him if Olive Garvey was male or female and Sinha, living in Allahabad and not being familiar with American names, would have no way of knowing. Yet, he continues with complete confidence, as if he knows that the name belongs to a woman.

“She has pain in the leg and waist at times, like arthritis or sciatic pain. She has to use a cane to walk. She is connected with a business; she is in fact the owner of that business. It is a large business. She has her own empire.” He was laughing. “There is a reservoir of water near her house or place of business. I see someone extracting fruit juice near where she is.”

My mind skips to Wichita. It must be about 3 p.m. in Wichita, and I have no idea where Mrs. Garvey might be or whether someone near her would be extracting juice from a fruit. It seems like a useless tidbit of information.

“She lives toward the southeast of where you live.” I have not told him that Mrs. Garvey even lives in Wichita. “Is her eldest child a girl?” he inquires.

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” I tell him.

“It is so,” he continues with confidence.

“During winter she goes to her house in the South where it is warmer—like Florida. Is this correct?” he inquires.  

Again, I profess my ignorance as I reply, “She is rich enough to afford a house anyplace she wants.” This is the first bit of information regarding Mrs. Garvey that I blurt out.

“She is not only rich, she is very social-minded,” Sinha adds. “She is an ancient soul who is spiritually advanced.” His voice becomes hushed in reverence. “She understands that money is energy, and she gives a considerable amount to charity. She supports a hospital, a church, educational institutions, and cultural activities.”

Mrs. Garvey’s charities are legendary, and I am very familiar with those activities from the newspaper and with my sympathetic association with her Center for the Improvement of Human Functioning. I nod my head in agreement. This is the first information that I positively confirm.

However, Dr. Sinha does not need my confirmation and he continues, “This lady is a very dynamic person. She is not very tall. She is not only full of energy, but she also has profound insights. She understands that one has a mission on this earth, and she is quick in action.

“Whenever she gets impatient with people or situations, her face becomes flushed. She is not necessarily angry at that time. She has a great amount of self-control.”

At this point, Dr. Sinha mimics Mrs. Garvey’s expression, and I can almost see her face. Previously, I had seen Dr. Sinha do a similar, precise mimicking of the expressions of my father-in-law and mother-in-law.

“She has some sort of ailment connected with blood, like blood pressure. She is OK now,” he continues.

“She is not very fair in color, being more reddish or wheat-colored. She is not fat. Before her marriage, she had another friend. Her husband died more than seven years ago.”

I interrupt, “He died much longer ago than that.”  

“‘Seven years’ is a phrase of time; it is a manner of speech. ‘Over seven years’ is like saying, ‘quite some time ago,’” Sinha explains.

“She has pain in her stomach. She has some skin disease on her feet. I see maroon, yellow, or green colors where she is. I see half-white colors. I see shining iron or aluminum railings. I see a clock on the wall with a wooden frame and large, shining numbers.

I see a tall man in a pin-striped suit with grayish hair, over age 50. You have met this man twice. He will help you.”

Then he asks if I have any specific questions regarding Mrs. Garvey. I do not, but I ask another question instead.

“I have no reason to bring up Mrs. Garvey’s name. A while ago I felt as if someone totally outside of me planted her face and name before me. I had no reason to think of her. We hardly know each other. Of all the people I know, no other name would come, only her name comes to mind. Why?”

“Why do you feel you do not know each other?” Sinha asks. 

“Because we are mere acquaintances; we really don’t know each other.”

“We are aware of such a small spectrum of our lives,” Dr. Sinha says. “You both have known each other for eons. You are just not aware. You are now becoming aware.”

“Aware of what?”

“Aware of what your soul must do to express itself.”

“How does she come into the picture?”

“Laws of nature are such. Milk needs a little bit of starter to become yogurt or it shall sour; the yogurt needs the milk in order to grow. A bridge needs the two sides of the river.”

“Well, what is it that we are supposed to do together?” I ask.

Dr. Sinha starts to laugh. He is laughing heartily, and his stomach is jumping up and down.

“You both know well what you have to do. I am merely a messenger, a postman. You have to read the message.”

“How do I become aware?”

“Only HE can make you aware. HIS awareness is all awareness, and through HIS awareness you become aware of everything.”

*****

Postscript

A few months later, I saw Olive Garvey on the first floor of the Garvey Building in Wichita. We exchanged greetings and were soon joined by George Trombold, who worked for her son, Willard. George complimented her profusely on the recognition she had received at the University of Kansas. Mrs. Garvey became a little uncomfortable, and her face became red. She had exactly the same expression that Dr. Sinha had mimicked. I had never seen that expression on her face before. The similarity of expressions was unnerving.

Almost 30 years later, in February 2011, Doug and Janet Webb arranged a meeting for the three of us to meet with their friends Jean Garvey, Olive Garvey’s daughter-in-law, and Olive’s granddaughter, Ann Garvey, to help verify some of Dr. Sinha’s statements.

Jean and Ann delighted in talking about the colorful life of Olive Garvey and especially enjoyed discussing her charitable activities. They noted that one of her most passionate endeavors was the Center for the Improvement of Human Functioning, now known as the Riordan Clinic, which is famous for the fruit-juice drinks that Dr. Sinha saw in his vision. The Clinic also is located near water.

Not surprisingly, Dr. Sinha was correct on virtually every count. Jean and Ann confirmed that, in 1980, Olive became estranged from one of her grandchildren and this separation caused her great anguish. 

They also stated that Olive Garvey did suffer from arthritis, did live in the southeast part of town, spent her winters in the southwestern United States, and that her oldest child was a girl—Ruth.

Olive’s daughter and granddaughter also confirmed wall colors and office furnishings that Dr. Sinha had described. 

In addition, they believed that the tall man in a pin-striped suit with grayish hair was Bob Page, a long-time financial advisor who thought of Olive as his mother.