don't try this at home.

Dear Hansraj;

The procedure went surprisingly well. The anesthesiologist was asking me a lot of questions before the surgery because I begged her not to give me a general anesthetic. At first she insisted, even though I promised her I'd be able to go into a meditative state and I promised not to move. It took a while, but she agreed. Only she added that she'd be watching on her monitor and if there was the slightest hint of a problem she'd have to step in.

Well, I lay on that operating table for two-and-a-half hours, repeating mantra, fully awake, aware of the procedure, feeling the stuff they were doing in my heart, and I didn’t move a muscle. I just kept repeating mantra. I so hate anesthetic. Following the surgery the anesthesiologist told Baal Krishn and Liz that she was extremely impressed that she didn’t have to give me anything other than the prescribed anti-inflammatory and mild anti-trauma medication. She said the machines showed that I had gone into a deep meditative state. I don’t know how they can know that with machines, but glory to modern medicine.

It was actually kind of neat. I felt and heard everything going on but was also detached from it all. I was myself kind of blown away by the whole affair! The doctor said my recovery will be much speedier because I didn’t have to be put under or heavily sedated. As well, they let me go home at 8:00 pm. I didn’t even have to stay overnight, which I was thrilled about.

Anyway, twenty-four hours later and, although I'm pretty sore and bruised at the entry point, I feel quite well. I'm not allowed to move much today, but apparently I'll be able to do more tomorrow. I've actually promised myself that the very first thing I'm going to do is get one heck of a strong cup of coffee! The doctor laughed when I told him that. I haven't been able to drink coffee in years. I'm relieved to think that I don't have to worry about palpitations anymore. What a blessing!

With love and affection, sincerely; Chaytna.

editor's note: Chaytna, Deborah Feinstein, has been meditating for over forty years, has lived in Kullu, H.P., India, at the IMI ashram since the 70s and is a Hindi and Sanskrit scholar. Her book 'Let's Learn Hindi' is used at Cambridge University and other colleges. Chaytna and her partner now spend a couple of months each year in Vancouver where she wrote to me from.

calling 911.

having met at a coffee shop in ottawa, my old buddy mike and i went out onto the patio. he looked better, healthier than last time. he had some sort of heart-related issue, clearly resolved, for now. we sat on those cheap chrome chairs popular outside coffee shops, maybe because they remain shiny in any weather and forever, maybe because they are, in fact, cheap. but they're also damned uncomfortable. my ass began aching before i was half-way through my latte.

in the middle of describing his new girlfriend, a lady i'll almost certainly never meet, all of a sudden mike winced. an elderly lady had missed her step behind me, fell, hit her head on the sidewalk. mike and others rushed to help while i called 911. the dispatcher put me through to the ambulance and i repeated where we were and what had happened. but, the lady on the line clearly wanted more information. of course i tried my best to answer her steady stream of questions, though i felt i'd done my job and i found myself actually getting irritated.

"is she conscious?" "yes." "are you applying pressure to the wound?" "no, i'm on the phone. somebody else is applying pressure." "is there blood?" "yes, of course, it's not pretty." "is she confused?" "well, i don't know, but i am. just a minute. mike. mike, is she confused? apparently a little." "how many metres did she fall?" "what does that even mean? she's a little over five feet tall, i guess, so she fell a little over five feet. i'm not good with metres." "does she know her name?" "mike, ask her name? yeah, apparently it's joyce, only how do we know for sure(?) i mean, if she's confused..." "ok, never mind. we're almost there."

at some point early in the 90s the local hospital in the village of kullu, india, got an ambulance. it was a major newsworthy event up there. in reality, the new ambulance was just a small tinny 'maruti' van with 'ambulance' lettered on the side. there was no life-saving equipment installed and no normal horizontal carcass could even actually fit in all the way. as well, ironically, 'maruti' vans were commonly called death traps, both because they were terribly flimsy and because in hindi 'maru' means 'death.' the hospital itself was to be avoided at all costs, but that's another story.

in the middle of a dark winter monsoon night someone pounded on the door of my hut. apparently, a girl had fallen asleep with her kerosene heater on and would've died from carbon-monoxide poisoning had her neighbour not smelled too much kerosene. the girl was still virtually unconscious when i got down to her room. someone had called for the ambulance, a first for us certainly at the ashram, but i began performing cpr. by the time the van got there, honking its horn incessantly to announce its arrival, the girl was somewhat responsive. nevertheless, we put her in, tucking her legs up so she fit, but then the ambulance wouldn't start. the driver had cut the engine to save petrol and for whatever reason he couldn't get it going again. eventually we ended up pushing the stupid thing all the way down the road to the hospital.

meanwhile, back to the future in ottawa, the big yellow ambulance pulled up in front of the coffee shop, the loud siren and flashing lights announcing its arrival. the medics went about their business quickly, professionally, but the lady paramedic kept shooting glances over at me. i don't know how she knew it had been me on the phone, but she knew.

  

the luncheon.

an indian lady, introduced by a mutual friend over lunch, was fascinated when she heard i lived so many years in india. but, i deftly sidestepped the inevitable tedious questions, rather turned the conversation around to her. ironically, i asked pretty much the very same questions: when did you come, how, why and from where(?) and i was struck by one answer in particular. since she came from the punjab, it was reasonable for me to wonder if she was sikh or hindu. she not only proclaimed herself to be a hindu, the lady proudly specified that she was a brahman.

i coulda left it there, shoulda left it there. but, me being me, i sardonically added: "so you're in favour of the caste system." it was a silly provocative remark, of course, as my comment apparently offended the lady deeply. she emphatically insisted that she certainly was not in favour of the caste system. i left it there, belatedly of course, did not point out the obvious disconnect, only offered insincere apologies, but our nice luncheon was effectively soured.

what has always amazed me is how the social ills of today actually began thousands of years ago or much longer than that. That the human race, in spite of remarkable advancements in so many fields of endeavour, has actually progressed so little boggles ones mind.

The caste system originated at a time, arguably around 1500 b.c. when the lighter-skinned indo-aryans, travelling from the northern caspian sea-russian steps area, wanted the land occupied by the indigenous people, the dravidians, in the indian deccan. the dravidians, for their part, didn't actually feel like moving on down south and, as well, they became rather enamoured of the cows they were seeing for the very first time, apparently pilfering one or three from time to time. and so, still all these centuries later, you have the caste system, the tamil tigers and a suicide bomber killing rajiv gandhi.

over dessert my lunch companion tried to explain the difference between valuing ones innate brahmanic characteristics and condoning the subjugation of any marginalized groups. not being a total imbecile, i realized it was a weak argument at best, but one i was quite willing to accept in the moment. because, strangely, i was more interested in putting the bumble-berry pie in my mouth rather than any more of my foot. it tasted better.

the undeniable truth, in any event, is that largely the issues we face today around the world originated with a simple basic problem: we see the differences easier than the similarities, and that's as old as dirt.

"i will build a great wall, -and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me,- and i'll build them very inexpensively. i will build a great great wall on our southern border, and i will make those people pay for it. mark my words." donald trump.

They Walk Among Us.

Fifteen and a half million people, mostly Hindu pilgrims, collected on the banks of the Ganges River at Ahallabad. The year was 1977, and it was the Maha Kumbh Mela, a festival that happens only every twelve years.

Once I made my way to the plateau overlooking the mela grounds, I could hardly believe my eyes. Eventually, I walked down and into the crowds, walked for miles taking it all in. The Naga Babas, naked with matted hair, crouched beside the holy river to make sure they’d be the first to take the ceremonial bath each day. I saw a fellow who’d been buried up to his neck for nine days. He said hello in English as I passed. I saw a Baba with a withered arm since he’d held it aloft for many years. There were elephants, horses, cows and of course dogs running all around. There was a spirit or a pervasive vibration, so to speak, of spirituality, of oneness. I watched the people, the animals, the life, and it occurred to me that I’d never see a spectacle to match the Kumbh Mela again in this life.

It had rained hard the night before. So there was no dry place to sit and eventually, exhausted, I sort of plopped myself down right in the middle of a muddy path, leaned against a tent pole to rest, to meditate. If I fell asleep it was not any form of slumber I’d ever had before. But, when I 'awoke' I found myself in the centre of a circle of yogis chanting mantras near a fire that lit up the night.

The peace in the camp of those yogis was palpable and so incredibly welcome. It was truly remarkable. They meditated, chanted, played their dotars, softly drummed and by the dawn a mist created a surreal and otherworldly effect. One of the yogis placed a bowl of curd and sweets in front of me that tasted as rich and wonderful as if it had come from a five-star hotel.

I’ve carried the memory of that night, the deep sense of peace, wellness, oneness, through all these years. Having been embraced so fully by complete strangers was profound. It was as if they were saying: "There’s no such thing as strangers, not really.”