Be the Cause

“Extremely loud and incredibly close”

I started reading this book that my 18 year old cousin recommended to me when she was 17. it’s a book about a nine year old boy who lost his dad in 9/11. There’s a part in the book (one of the many) that really struck my heart because…it’s about ambulances and fire engines. When I was little, we had a house fire and I’ve never been able to hear an ambulance or fire engine drive by..without feeling this dread and fear and unease..and it’s really like nails on chalkboard for me…beyond a pet peeve…almost unbearable. It’s a reminder of loss you could say…not only about the fire but of other losses..and let’s just say…where once it was an annoyance…it has become heartwrenching and impossible for me to hear. And you can’t avoid it…it’s a sound that one could get used to…sirens wailing by…but it stops me in my tracks.

The strangest thing happened a week or so ago…an ambulance went by…on the whole, I send good thoughts, prayers, whatever u may call it…to whoever is in that ambulance or to the person or people waiting for that ambulance. It may seem irreverant to laugh as an ambulance drives by…but the other week…one did and there was this boy about 13 on a skateboard…and the ambulance wails by…and I see this boy put his hands on his ears dramatically and comically while riding on his skateboard…yah, that could cause him to get hurt and summon an ambulance..but something about his dramatasized actions made me giggle..so it was the first time an ambulance/fire engine went by and I didn’t feel clenched up, in fear, dread. I was actually smiling. Something changed my pattern with this. I really feel it turned something around.

But What I wanted to share from the book…this is still what I wish…that people could know as an ambulance drives by…

From the book: “An ambulance drove down the street between us and I imagined who it was carrying, and what had happened to him. Did he break an ankle attempting a hard trick on his skateboard? Or maybe he was dying from third degree burns on ninety percent of his body? Was there any chance that I knew him? Did anyone see the ambulance and wonder if it was me inside?

What about a device that knew everyone you knew? So when an ambulance went down the street, a big sign on the roof could flash:

DON’T WORRY! DON’T WORRY!

If the sick person’s device didn’t detect the device of someone he knew nearby. And if the device did detect the device of someone he knew, the ambulance could flash the name of the person in the ambulance, and either:

IT’S NOTHING MAJOR! IT’S NOTHING MAJOR!

Or if it was something major,

IT’S MAJOR! IT’S MAJOR!

And maybe you could rate the people you knew by how much you loved them, so if the device of the person in the ambulance detected the device of the person he loved the most, or the person who loved him the most, and the person in the ambulance was really badly hurt, and might even die, the ambulance could flash:

GOODBYE! I LOVE YOU! GOODBYE! I LOVE YOU!”

Black Tea and The Sea Inside

For me, there’s something completely unsettling about travel because it totally screws everything up about my life. Just when I feel familiarly cozy in my self-prescribed comfort zone, it’s time to shed the borders around me – take flight into an unknown journey, deep within, far from my known self.

Whether it be climbing into a tut-tut with a total stranger, meditating by candlelight at dusk, sitting next to a beautiful friend you suddenly look at with a whole new set of eyes, or eating manioc like it’s for the first time – the journey mostly imparts a glimpse into my long-forsaken self.

You know, that longing for an unhindered existence – free from the chaotic, noisiness of the mundane, in search of deeper connections with street vendors, bus drivers, hotel clerks, fishermen, village elders, giggling children, and even drunken revelers …

I do not know if it is irony then, that the most profound connection that takes place, is the most disregarded one – somewhere deep within the sea inside me. Each beautiful person, unwittingly, draws me within; to a place unbound by convention or conformity. A glimpse within a vast body of watery-like commotion, which has eluded me back home, time and time again.

Please feel free to scoff at this, but, as an ‘American,’ I leave the entrapments of the West, with such high ideals of changing the world, uplifting a child’s heart, transforming a village’s need, or feeding the hungry. When it is I that am nourished in return. So much so, that I can hardly digest their compassion. Unable to contain it, it oozes out of my every pore, spilling forth like entrails, leaving everyone stained.

And that is the transformation then. It is not I, I am a mere vessel – a cracked, faulty, empty cask – transferring all the love I have the privilege to receive. It is so humbling, really; to realize I am but a simple funnel for their unfettered love. A metamorphosis of the heart as a plastic kitchen funnel you would toss into your junk drawer and use on occasion.

I bow my head at the thought that I should traverse 6,000 miles to marvel at this revelation. So be it.

The plethora of experiences are numerous and boundless: a lush winding trail up to Ella Falls; holding a beautiful little Cherub’s hand as blood mattered his fine hair; tossing candy at unsuspecting children; going around the Mulberry Bush with my sister in hand; dancing in the rain with beautiful souls; sitting in silence at a festive Hindu Kovil; immersing my hands into cement pails; enjoy witnessing friends trying questionable fruits; counting rupees that never seem to add up; sitting alongside Silva as he takes on the crazy Sri Lankan roads; savoring numerous cups of black tea with my loved ones; dipping my feet into the sacred pools of Sigiriya; crying over a dying puppy; attempting to teach English and discovering how little I grasp in the first place….. .

As usual, I was conflicted on my drive to Katunayake airport. As I exited the bus for the last time, I kept glancing behind me, at Silva, with such longing. All I had to do was to jump back in that bus. As I shouldered my backpack, a funny little lump in my already sore throat began to arise. Amidst the chaos and tumble of duffel bags, trolleys, and countless tourists, I suddenly felt as a lone sojourner headed home after an incomplete task. Looking forward to embracing my son yet dreading the cessation of onward movement. Finding joy in my bed at home and knowing it would leave me with the urge to set out again into the greater expanse.

1 10 11 12 13 14 31