Excerpt: 'Why Is God Laughing'

Read an excerpt of Dr. Deepak Chopra's book.

ByABC News via logo
March 17, 2009, 6:31 PM

March 18, 2009 — -- Author Deepak Chopra uses the fictional story of a comedian and his mentor to illustrate the journey to joy and happiness.

In "Why Is God Laughing?" Chopra writes about Mickey Fellows, a successful Los Angeles comic who meets a mysterious stranger following his father's death.

Read an excerpt of the book below.

Grace shines like a sliver of light. It penetrates the universe, undeterred by distance or darkness. You won't see it, but it knows where it is going. At any moment someone may be touched by its mysterious power.

Even Mickey Fellows.

On this particular day Mickey was speeding through the Valley in his black Cadillac Escalade, keeping half an eye out for police. The L.A. sun glared off the freeway, but for Mickey, sitting behind his tinted windows and wraparound shades, it could have been twilight.

"Say that again," he muttered into his cell phone.

"The club owners aren't happy. They say the new material isn't funny. They want the old Mickey back." It was Alicia, his agent.

"Screw 'em. They should kiss my derriere that I even bother to show up."

Mickey Fellows had movie offers from two studios. His last divorce had made the cover of People magazine. The only reason he worked the comedy clubs at all was to keep his feel for the audience.

Alicia didn't back down. "You don't want to play it that way. You may need those clubs some day."

"God forbid." Mickey lit up another menthol Merit.

God has the advantage of witnessing every lifetime at once, erasing all differences. If you could look down on the human race from an infinite distance, you'd seeEveryman was on the freeway that day. Like the rest of us, Mickey gave little thought to his soul. He didn't want to face painful truths, so he managed to distract himself almost every waking hour.

At this moment, Mickey figured it was time for a laugh. "I've got a good one for you," he told his agent.

"My grandfather's eighty years old, and he still has sex almost every day. He almost had it on Monday, he almost had it on Tuesday, he almost had it on Wednesday."

Alicia was silent.

"I think I have another call coming in," said Mickey.

"No, you don't."

"I'm not kidding this time," Mickey said. "Hold on."He pushed a button. "Hello?"

"Is this Michael Fellows?"

"Who wants to know?" Strangers were always gettinghis number.

"I'm calling from Cedars-Sinai Hospital."

Mickey felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. He gripped the wheel tighter.

"Yes?"In the few seconds between an impending disaster and its crash to earth, an amazing number of thoughts can race through your mind. Mickey saw himself at his annual physical the week before. His wife's face flashed before him, as clearly as if they hadn't been divorced for five years. Cancer, AIDS, car accident. Fate's wheel was spinning, and the arrow was about to stop.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Fellows. It's your father."

"Did he fall? Someone's supposed to be watching him," Mickey said. He had hired a full-time housekeeper for his father, a placid Guatemalan lady who knew little English.

"Your father got the best care in the ER. Everything possible was done to revive him, but he couldn't be saved."

Mickey didn't hear those last words. As soon as the voice said "everything possible was done," a roar in Mickey's ears drowned out everything else.

"When did he die?"

The voice on the phone, a woman's and probably a nurse, started to explain, but the roar kept blocking it out.

"Wait a second," said Mickey, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. He breathed deeply, and shook his head, like a swimmer knocking water out of his ears.

"Could you repeat that?"

"He was brought in unconscious by EMS. It was a massive coronary. Your name was in his wallet as next of kin."

Mickey felt faintly nauseous. "Did he suffer?"

The voice tried to sound reassuring. "If it's any comfort, this kind of heart attack is usually quick, less than a minute."

A minute that felt like hours, Mickey thought. "All right, I'll be right there. Will I find him in the ER?"

The woman's voice said yes, and Mickey hung up. He pulled back out into traffic and raced to the next exit. The news had come as a shock, but he didn't cry. Hedidn't know how to feel, really. Larry. The old man. Mickey's mother was a breast cancer survivor, so if anyone died early he figured she'd be the one. His father hadalways been tough as nails. A joke popped uninvited into Mickey's head.

A middle-aged woman drops dead of a heart attack. When she gets to Heaven, God says, "There's been a terrible mistake. You're not due to die for another forty years."

The woman wakes up and goes home. She figures she's got such a long life ahead of her, she might as well look good. So she goes in for plastic surgery face-lift, boob job, tummy tuck, the works. Two months later she's crossing the street and a bus hits her.

She always looks hot, she never looks back.

And when Sally kisses, she kisses so sweet,

She makes a thing stand that never had feet.

As toasts go, it was old-fashioned and a little salty. Larry would have approved."God bless," Mickey mumbled.

He wasn't aware of falling asleep where he sat. Twilight surrendered to night. The whiskey bottle nestled in his lap. No tiny creatures stirred in the woodwork because there was no woodwork. In any case, the management had been very good about spraying.

WAKE UP, KIDDO.

"I am awake."

Prove it. Open your eyes.

It wasn't until that moment that Mickey realized his eyes were closed. A faint glow shone on the other side of his eyelids. When he opened them, he saw that the glow was coming from the TV he had given his father forChristmas. Who had turned it on?

He started to get up, and the whiskey bottle rolled onto the floor with a clunk. Mickey didn't pay attention, though, because the TV was acting strange. The screen was filled with gray snow, but that wasn't strange in itself; he'd canceled the cable service the day before. The strange part was that the fuzzy snow contained faint shapes. Mickey leaned down and took a closer look. He could make out the outline of a head, then two hands.

Don't turn it off.

He couldn't tell if the outline of the head had Larry's face, but this was definitely his father's voice. Which should have made Mickey jump back in alarm. Insteadhe was relieved, because it proved that he was dreaming. "You're in the TV," Mickey said, raising his voice. If he pointed out the dream's absurdity, it would break the spell and he'd wake up.

I'm not in the TV. Don't talk crazy. I'm in limbo. They'reletting me talk to you.

"They?"

God's people.

"You can see them?"

Not exactly. It's complicated. Just listen.

Mickey hesitated. His glance went down to the carpet, where the fallen whiskey bottle was dripping onto the floor. He could smell the sharp alcohol, and that waswrong. One thing Mickey knew for certain: he couldn't smell in his dreams."I'm turning this off," he mumbled.

He punched the power button on the remote, but the gray fuzz didn't disappear, or the shapes vaguely visible inside it. The hands now came into focus as they pressed up against the screen from the inside.

I want to help you.

"I don't need your help," Mickey said. He punched the remote several more times.Forget the TV. The TV is just a way to reach you. You don't believe in psychics.

This was more convenient.

Mickey shook his head. "You can't be my father.

First, this limbo business is crap. Second"

The hands turned to fists and started to bang againstthe screen. Shut up. I didn't mean church limbo. It's more like a halfway house. Neither here nor there. Get it?