frankly, i druther walk.

frankly, i'd rather walk.

louis c.k. does a brilliant routine regarding people who complain about flying. he jokes about how folks bemoan their fate, relish the narrating of their horrible flying experiences: having to wait on the tarmac for a while, the seats being uncomfortable and having to pay for a sandwich. then he points out, in his typically graphic way, how spoiled we have become, what a miracle it is to be able to cross nations in a matter of hours instead of years while braving death along the way.

well, here i sit in a very lovely hotel in fort lauderdale, florida, having flown yesterday from ottawa and i absolutely hated the trip. it was awful, nightmarish. we had to sit on the tarmac in toronto for nearly an hour, my seat didn't recline at all and i certainly wasn't going to pay for the insipid, unhealthy sandwich they offered. sorry, louis, but i really think i'd prefer the years of plodding across the country, braving death along the way. in fact, in that case and with all due respect and affection for my nephew and his lovely fiancé, i would've had a valid excuse for not coming at all.

the day began quite nicely, actually. i drove to the ottawa airport, which is a relaxed and almost charming place, if you can really ever call an airport that. then, i immediately met up with some wakefield folks who i joined for a coffee while waiting for our respective check-in times. my flight to toronto was fine. i'm someone who doesn't like flying. rather, i'm someone who really, really doesn't like flying. however, within that context, i can say it was a decent, relatively comfortable flight that was only around an hour. that's fine. that's doable. but, that was that. it all went south after that, literally and figuratively. i know, that was a lot of 'thats,' but that's not all.

the toronto airport is a fine reflection of the city: very crowded, noisy, hard to figure out, kind of edgy, a little,scary for anyone not used to it. my bag did not come off the conveyor belt and when i finally enquired, the attendant scolded me for not listening to the announcement she had allegedly made earlier regarding people flying on to u.s. destinations. i told her i'm seventy-years-old, mentally challenged and recently lost my hearing aid. she said i look good for my age and pointed to where my bag could be found and what to do with it. i wanted to tell her what she could do with it, but i had a plane to catch.

going through immigration and security, of course, is horrible at the best of time. if you're not up on the newest procedures, it can be worse. so it was worse. nevertheless, that done, it was just a matter of languishing in an over-crowded gate area, a delayed boarding call and an extended wait on the tarmac. louis said people compare the experience to the cattle-cars of the holocaust. actually, those people have a valid point. as well, i easily agreed to trade with a lady so she could sit together with her friend. both were isle seats so it was no skin off my legs. soon, however, i learned that i was in a row, in front of the emergency exit, where the seats do not recline at all.

anyway, anyway, here i sit this morning, after less than a day, miraculously ensconced in a very lovely hotel in fort lauderdale, florida, wearing shorts and about to eat some granola and fruit. i can't complain. whoops, too late.

a room with a view.

as a young lad living on a beach in mexico, when i would body-surf and the force of a wave would throw me under and whip me around, i had a system. i would find a little room at the bottom of the ocean. i wouldn't struggle. i'd wait for the big bad wave to pass over as it always did. then, once the coast was clear, i'd resurface, ready for the next. while i was in that little room i'd just be with me. in fact, i would just be. in fact, under there in my little room, words would not reach, in that place or space.

i've had so many periods in my life like that. i alone was, and am, as before, before the first wave. being in my little room at the bottom of the ocean of life came easily to me then as it does now. i can't say where the first wave comes from or where it goes. i can't say where the thoughts come from or where they go, where i come from before the body and where i'll go after. what i know is that there is a room at the bottom of the ocean of life where i alone am and it's perfect. in that room, there is no past, present or future. there is only I, pure, free and forever.

“When you are no longer totally identified with forms, consciousness — who you are — becomes freed from its imprisonment in form. This freedom is the arising of inner space. It comes as a stillness, a subtle peace deep within you, even in the face of something seemingly bad. This, too, will pass. Suddenly, there is space around the event. There is also space around the emotional highs and lows, even around pain. And above all, there is space between your thoughts. And from that space emanates a peace that is not ‘of this world,’ because this world is form, and the peace is space. This is the peace of God.

“Now you can enjoy and honor the things of this world without giving them an importance and significance they don’t have. You can participate in the dance of creation and be active without attachment to outcome and without placing unreasonable demands upon the world: Fulfill me, make me happy, make me feel safe, tell me who I am. The world cannot give you those things, and when you no longer have such expectations, all self-created suffering comes to an end. All such suffering is due to an overvaluation of form and an unawareness of the dimension of inner space. When that dimension is present in your life, you can enjoy things, experiences, without losing yourself in them, without inner attachment to them, that is to say, without becoming addicted to the world.” Ekhart Tolle and Egoless Love.

it behooves us to discover that little room we all have at the bottom of the ocean of life. then, when the big waves hit, which they will, we'll know of a safe place to retreat to until they pass, which they will, a place, a space to be, perfect, free and forever.

Back Cover.

This is the new back cover blurb to: The Bridge Between. It is being re-edited, photos added and then e-published, very soon.

Nathan Vanek's life has cast him in many amazing and compelling roles. The son of a prominent Judge, Vanek was born and raised in Toronto where he attended York University. He wrote for various publications, including Canadian Press, before becoming fascinated by eastern philosophies and specifically the ancient technique of Dhyaan Yoga, Meditation.

Vanek travelled widely, became a Vipassana Buddhist monk, a Bramachari Yogi and lived twenty-five years in India. The Vishwa Unnyanyan Samsad, World Development Congress, awarded him an honorary Ph. D. in 1987 for Meditation and Eastern Studies. It was an honor, he likes to say, not really worth much except that it impressed his father.

Vanek, known to many as Bramachari Hansraj, has taught Meditation and eastern philosophies in various places around the world. He continues to build a bridge with his words between India and Canada, the Himalayan Mountains and the Gatineau Hills, east and west, the transitory and the eternal. He now lives and teaches in Wakefield, Quebec.  

Last Will And Testosterone.

advancing age is a well-charted voyage. everyone knows what to expect, has heard all the platitudes. everyone knows you'll still think of yourself as young, that you'll be perplexed to see the old person in the mirror, surprised that you can't do things you used to, disappointed by a failing memory. everyone knows you'll start to repeat yourself and everyone knows you'll still think of yourself as young, that you'll be perplexed to see the old person in the mirror, surprised that you can't, well, you get the point. i wrote out something to go along with what i call 'my last will and testosterone.'

"i am writing this now simply because i can. i imagine it gets harder the closer you get to the end. you may not remember, your hands may hurt too much, your eyes may be too dim. one thing is for sure: it'd be impossible to write out any last instructions once you're dead.  so, although my life was hugely influenced by ram dass' iconic phrase, 'be here now,' sometimes it's appropriate to plan ahead.

"i hope you'll make sure i really am dead before disposing of my carcass. otherwise, it would upset me terribly and probably hurt my feelings too. i don't care if i'm cremated, buried or strapped to scaffolding as long as i am actually deceased. i lean toward cremation without knowing exactly why. it just seems the easiest, cheapest and cleanest, but i'm open to suggestion. in the case of cremation, however, please dump the ashes either in the himalayan mountains or the gatineau hills. i don't care which, just that it be all in one place. otherwise, i might end up feeling, well, scattered throughout all of eternity.

"tears, sobs or general gnashing of the teeth, while greatly appreciated, are not necessary. nobody should really feel sorry for me. i've done pretty well, had a good run. whatever i have yet to learn will need to wait, whatever that means. the fact is i really have no last instructions or dictates. i just wanted to say bye, so long, be well, have fun and, for heaven's sake, be nice to each other."

when i returned from india, after twenty-three years, i stayed first with my aged parents in their north toronto condominium. on the third day, my uncle morris decided to visit. my dad and i went down to meet his taxi, to help him. as i lifted old uncle morris out of the car, he handed me a dollar. he was giving me a tip. he thought i was the driver. when i finally made him understand that i was not the driver, that i was his nephew, he demanded his dollar back. up in the apartment morris kept looking over at me as though he couldn't understand why the taxi driver was still there.

there are so many similar stories, countless anecdotes we laugh about while also afraid of becoming one ourselves. yogis allegedly age somewhat differently and their deaths are called 'mahasamadhis', ultimate meditations. sri yukteswar, (1836-1955,) was the guru of paramahansa yogananda, the first swami to bring the science of meditation to the west. sri yukteswar had been a bramachari (celibate) yogi his whole life, a formidable teacher and jnanavatar, (said to have attained the level of 'incarnation of wisdom.') right before his death, he gathered his disciples, took his seat at the front of the hall and said: "you watch now. this is what it's all about." then he proceeded to meditate, eventually slipping into mahasamadhi.

"master's body remained unimaginably lifelike," wrote yogananda in his book, 'autobiography of a yogi.' "he was sitting in lotus posture, a picture of health and loveliness. a short time before his death he had been ill. but, the day of his ascension into the infinite, he had become completely well. no matter how often i looked at his form i could not realize that its life had departed. his skin was smooth and soft. in his face was a beatific expression of tranquility. he had consciously relinquished his body at the hour of mystic summoning."

while that example may remain a hard-to-imagine ideal, i have personally witnessed several, even many deaths. suffice it to say that it is my observation that bramachari yogis, monks, long-time meditators tend to 'die well.' i visited my friend shankar, for example, the day before he passed away. when i asked him how he was, he smiled: "well, hansraj," he said, "i'm fine, but this body is finished." i sat down beside shakti kumar, who was lying peacefully on his bed in a coma. i took his hand and whispered: "shakti, it's hansraj. i've come to say goodbye." he didn't say anything, but he squeezed my hand. he died a few hours later.

the point is, being a yogi is in fact a science, a life. it is not just a series of postures, breathing exercises or giving lip-service to the idea of meditation. and the science is actually even more than the eight limbs of yoga: yam, niyam, asan, pranayam, pratyahar, dharana, dhyaan and samadhi. what could be more than that? i will tell you.