My Dear United States of America,

We've gotten our wake-up call. A nation obsessed with being the best and made up of rugged individuals striving to win doesn't work forever. There are serious repercussions. There are always losers. And in the end, we all lose. We lose ourselves.

I'm not happy with what is taking place around me. It's difficult to think about anything else. But I do sincerely pray, this is only what's needed to wake us up from our slumber. Our sense of false security. Our illusion that if our own quality of life is not terribly affected, then what happens out in the world is disconnected from us.

When our government is influenced by greedy lobbying powers who are apathetic to our potentially calamitous climate change and cater to corporate agendas that significantly benefit the 1% and violently disenfranchise large masses of the population... When our government regularly engages in mischief-making all over the world to spread democracy that turns into wars we engage in out of self-interest while we proclaim ourselves heroes of the world... When our government fails to see how much people are hurting but instead protects itself rather than the people it vows to protect and for which it exists in the first place... When we hail this sad state of government as by the people and for the people, something is absolutely upside-down. This is the "banality of evil." Right under our noses.

Can we somehow come to our senses? Can we give up our own greed that is systemic in our culture? We now are face-to-face with a leader who appears not to care for us, who has no history of governmental leadership but a rich history of lying, cheating, and stealing, while denouncing diversity. He threatens to put us in grave danger as he proclaims himself our ultimate protector. He inspires those who hate. If this alarm doesn't wake us, I don't know what will.

I didn't think I'd live in this world. I liked my own false sense of security, I guess. But I want to change. I want to see a population that is ready to rise up. I want to be part of not just a protest rally (I’ve done those before), but a deep inner rising. The rising of conscience. The rising of introspection. The rising of responsibility. And the rising of spirit.

I could easily be fueled by my anger about the incidents of harassment that keep popping up across the country. And I know what it is to be harassed for my spiritual tradition. When I was a monk, I distributed sacred literature on the streets and subways of New York. I hated feeling ignored, as I understand now a vast proportion of this country feels. I remember vividly how years ago in front of the Dean and Deluca on Prince and Broadway, I offered a copy of the Bhagavad-Gita to a man. With ice-cold eyes, he turned to me and said, “Are you kidding me? I kill people for less than what you’re doing.” Another time, I was on the platform of the Broadway-Lafayette subway stop and innocently greeted a man. He suddenly screamed obscenities at me with such venom that I feared for my life.

I never forgot the looks of these men. It was the closest I’ve come to being the butt of pure hatred. And it haunted me. In the past, I’d have reacted with rage. A boy once made fun of me when I was on vacation with my parents in New Hampshire. He called me names and insulted my masculinity. I promptly fantasized about pummeling him; instead, I settled on writing a story about our fictional altercation where I would strip him of all self-worth through the wit of my words. I hadn’t been made fun of many times, but any time it happened or I felt something unfair, my mind would go to crushing the other person, either physically or intellectually.

By the time I met these two frighteningly hateful people in New York City, my values had shifted. Being a humble servant of society in monastic garb goes a long way… We were taught to be welfare workers for people who would not see any need, who would ignore us, and make us feel lesser. But we had to feel for them and not worry about our feeling lowly. We even had to embrace feeling lowly to begin to let our egos leave us and become truly selfless. It’s further taught me the essential truth that we can all let go of our vindictiveness. We have this choice. It’s accessible. More so than we think.

The key to this powerful freedom – a freedom where no one can control us – is in identifying our own ego. Our ego? But we’re the victims! To experience freedom, I had to actually not feel that I was better than the person who threatened me on the street or in the subway. It’s the very reason we’re in the stark situation of this nation. We think we’re better than other people. Consciously or unconsciously. And people don’t like that. It’s also not true.

But how to realize this? I genuinely thought throughout my life that I was better than most people I met, and obviously better than those who caused me pain or caused anyone else pain. The truth is, if I introspect, I can see I’ve done a lot to hurt others as well. Moreover, I have incredible potential to do worse... I choose to resist that potential. But I can feel how if not for the fortune of having resources and care all my life, I wouldn’t be fit or even want to resist my darker potential. It’s very clear to me that those who don’t have the fortune, knowledge, or love to resist their baser urges are not worse than we are. They’re worthy of compassion. They're suffering terribly and that's all they have to give to others. Suffering.

Today, instead of feeling anger at the state of our nation, I can see my own humanity and the humanity of my fellow-pain-givers that make up our world. What can I really do to help? Vow to stop giving pain the best I can. Be proactive, not reactive. Don’t indulge in hatred or fear, even if I’m righteously upset or realistically frightened. Let a light shine within me without my thinking how bright a light I am.

As Gabor Mate shares at the end of his poignant TED Talk, “The Power of Addiction and The Addiction of Power,” it's high time we stopped looking for a leader to set things right for our world. To get to the position of influence our leaders wield most often requires exceptional hunger for power and exceptional willingness to compromise on values. It’s up to us to become responsible and not shift the responsibility to someone above. We must set the example…

An external act or policy will come and go. A change from within will never leave. May we act on our best desires and rise up in a way that has immediate and lasting impact.

How will you let go of the brewing pain and anger? How will you think wisely and act compassionately? What will you do for the people who cross your path, friendly or otherwise? And what will you not do to further fuel the divide in our country?

Yours,
Hari Prasada

All of my friends and my parents were ardently watching The World Cup in 2014 while I took a rather conflicted stance. That day and the championship win taught me something invaluable which I reflect upon more and more today.

I used to be a big fan and would go out vivaciously to the New York City bars just to catch the games – even the Parisian bars... Since my monastic era, I’ve been significantly less enthusiastic, especially about the bars.

Though no one attempted to persuade me otherwise, seeing the enthusiasm of those close to me, including former monks, effectively caused me to feel a little out of the loop… And the inundation of work these days made it all the more difficult to get back into the fervor, even if I could indeed be inadvertently peer-pressured to do so.

Though I was by no means proud of this, I managed to make it through to the final day without watching a single game or checking a single score. Then things changed.

I got my Chinatown massage and searched for a pot that could be used to cook for a substantial gathering at an upcoming event.
I was winding up to our little 7th St. studio with large pot in hand and suddenly stopped at Sarah Roosevelt Park on Houston Street.

There, I observed two street games of basketball taking place simultaneously on adjacent courts. The first was an official full-court match with jerseys. The second was an informal half-court recreation. All of the players in both games were young black men, save for one.

On the far court where the friendly pastime was underway stood a solitary silver-haired white man playing point-guard. This caught my eye as my mind danced between the two competitions.

The intense full-court match was rather engaging too, especially with all of the high-octane performances and accompanying cursing of both winners and losers. I watched as graceful plays led to great, great ego displays. And mistakes led to arguments and bargaining with referees.

Meanwhile, our lone older Caucasian seemed to be integrated quite well with his team. He had the ball more than anyone else and he passed it more than anyone else. He rarely took a shot himself. This appeared to make his teammates trust him, which is exactly what I remembered being the effect of such an attitude whenever I had played the game.

He played hard and sweated profusely, as did all of the other players surrounding him – though perhaps not as much as this elder man with the odds stacked against him. He was not as skilled and not as energetic, but he gave it his all as he appreciated the skill in the others, and so, in turn, he was appreciated.

Daniel Goleman writes in his increasingly relevant 1998 article “What Makes a Leader” for the Harvard Business Review:

“When I compared star performers with average ones in senior leadership positions, nearly 90% of the difference in their profiles was attributable to emotional intelligence factors rather than cognitive abilities [as well as technical skills].”

He goes on to say:

“When I calculated the ratio of technical skills, IQ, and emotional intelligence as ingredients of excellent performance, emotional intelligence proved to be twice as important as the others for jobs at all levels.”

By contrast to the impressive show and depressive bickering at the full-court level, everyone on the less dazzling half-court looked happy as they high-fived and prepared to part ways.

I reluctantly prepared to part ways myself as I smiled at being spontaneously captured by sports that didn’t offer me any physiological benefit. I continued again on my way to our flat, when I was greeted by a flat-screen television strategically positioned in the window of a bar to attract passersby.

The place was overflowing with energy as the television marked the 111th minute of the soccer game. Announcers counted down towards what looked like an inevitable shoot-out between Germany and Argentina.

Just about to get back on my track, I caught the German team passing the ball up the field to Andre Schurrle, who dribbled forward aggressively.

My eyes were transfixed.
Then the pass to Gotze.
Gotze received it with his chest.
He fluidly brought it under control in one fell swoop and knocked it in the Argentine net!

The 22-year-old substitute, Mario Gotze, who came in 2 minutes before regulation play ended, and the 23-year-old substitute, Andre Schurrle, who likely may not have come it at all if not for the injuries of Sami Khedira and Christoph Kramer, suddenly became the unlikely duo to win the cup for the country after 24 years...

I stood gaping for a few moments as I marveled at the timing and tried to ignore the shouts by hyped up announcers of “SUPER MARIO!” “SUPER MARIO!”

Just three days earlier, David Brooks wrote about soccer as a metaphor for life in his New York Times article entitled, “Baseball or Soccer?”

He argues that baseball is a sport predicated on individual talents shining forth in the pursuit of a common goal. Sounds noble. But he quickly distinguished what becomes apparent in Brooks’ eyes to be the nobler of the two sports (at least as metaphor for life)...

In soccer, the interdependence of players and subsequent necessity of social attunement provides for a most elegant experience that more accurately mirrors the necessity of our lives.

Reflecting on my day’s experiences and the arrangements of the universe to make my consciousness a little more sportive alongside the rest of the world, I became consumed by a single question:

Would you rather be a team player or play God?

We have to honestly assess what excites us most. It was clear between the two basketball games. And it was clear by how the Germans won in Brooks-ian terms.

For me, I can honestly say, what’s most exciting? It's playing God.

But being a team player is far more fulfilling…

To play God is a cheap thrill. It’s wired in us from birth and difficult to wean ourselves off of.

I was simultaneously charmed and saddened to see a little baby girl give a gaping smile every time she could make a door swing open with her teeny tiny hand!

We’re addicted to that feeling of being able to make things happen. To be bigger than we are. To bask in the glory of our wishfully limitless capacity.

But to be part of a team is actually to be bigger than we are and to tap into a much less limited capacity. It is to realize our connection with others and our place in the world, rather than controlling others and feeling we earned our position of superiority. It is a humble, grounded, and heart-opening way of being, where we inspire one another rather than compete with one another.

In sports, there’s always some competition, just as in life, but when we can take it as play, we’re much better off than when our lives are dependent on the outcome.

This has been eye-opening for me to remember in all that I do. And my life to this point can be summed up as an effort to convert my instinctive excitement to play God into the sustainable fulfillment of being a team player.

To succeed, it takes honesty and self-awareness about my very real love for control.

Wandering around Central Park, as I tend to, I came upon a boy racing through a quiet tunnel. He was small, perhaps six years of age, and had a resounding voice.

“Look at me! I won! I’m just too fast…” he shouted at a huffing and puffing little compatriot.

He was gleeful in his oozing pride. It was a sight to see.

I smiled. And I couldn’t help but wonder who’d taught him to say that. Or was it even taught verbally? Maybe he intrepidly took up the stance of his own accord.

Is it really so hard to imagine any child expressing his triumph boldly without fear of judgment at such an age? Yet, I confess that it plagued me to think this could be so natural for us as a species. It must have implications…

Why would it not be just as easy to proclaim a loss, or more positively, the win of the other? Are we such a self-obsessed lot from birth?

Experience tells me that the insecurities run deep. We have to prove our existence almost from the moment of existence. And this is learned merely by breathing in what’s already in the ether.

My mom once told me of her own upbringing:

“Being the child of Holocaust survivors, I had to prove I was worthy to have been given a life…”

That chilled me to the core. No one had to teach it to her. No one had to tell her that. She picked it up. Breathed it in.

And she still struggles with it courageously to this day. We all do, in our own ways, to varying degrees of intensity.

I felt pained for that gleeful boy and for the people he represents. True that he may not have outright learned to rub in the spoils of victory. But it’s never too late, or too early, to learn something more significant.

If we can learn selfishness so easily, why can we not learn selflessness? We have to be so conscious of the subtle selfish messages being sent in order to reverse them.

A tiny incident for a sportive little boy, happy to share his passion for living and strength of being, we can surely understand and accommodate. As a joke, we may ourselves tend to tease, and compete for fun. No harm done. But may we always do so with awareness of the implication if we are not aware…

When we relax our awareness, insecurity roams free and poses as a march of victory. We broadcast victory out of insecurity. Else, in the most cases, we’d be content with the winning itself.

It’s when we don’t feel the worth of our existence, we need others to tell us we’re worth it.

And I know that feeling all too well, especially as a writer!
My prayer is always to find worth from the impact of what I write and not from the insecurity that makes me need appreciation.

Where might we be blithely posting our exploits of insecurity for others to see? What if we reflect another way of being to ourselves and our future generations…?

It is never too late, or too early, to offer something more significant into the ether.

If we were all standing ready to do this with our full hearts, what world would our children breathe in or inherit?

Have you ever thought of what it means to be “spiritually cool”? Whether or not you’ve personally embarked on this path, you’ve probably encountered someone who has.

That’s the guy who shows up to yoga teacher training and models pristine peacefulness as a means to get accolades. It’s the girl who rattles off sage advice as if each word were a medal she’d won and is now awarding to you out of sheer magnanimity in spite of her sterling greatness… And it’s the guy who shapes a Facebook profile by striking a pose that says, “I’m spiritual, man…”

Of the latter breed, I’ve seen a lot on the World Wide Web in recent times. And there seems to be an audience:

“All your pictures are so cool!!! love it.”
“So gorgeous!”
“spiritual gangster”
“that's a hot pic!!!”
“Hotness gangster”
“70 others like this”…

That’s all real! And if you’ve been on Facebook, I know I don’t need to convince you…

Time and again, we dress up our egos in fine cloth aimed at the oldest goal in history – to impress… Nothing bars from doing so, not even the purported opposite – spirituality. Rather, that holy opposite is the cleverest of hiding places for our old egos to graze freely.

Better to be an oxymoron than to be naked! we unconsciously proclaim. And so we hide behind ego masks of all flavors, including the spiritually scented.

When I was a young monk, new to my practices, I was most impressed by those who tried very sincerely to impress. Indeed, there is an audience for the spiritually cool… I was front and center!

When someone was a smooth-talker, sharply dressed, or sported a sexy resume, I was all ears. In fact, I recently recounted a rather revealing story at L’Oreal about how I delivered the first “big talk” of my monastic days…

Back in 2007, when Rasanath first asked me to partner up with him, I was freshly graduating from the first informal Bhagavad-Gita class he taught in New York City. The call was to fuse our passions and create a structured, experiential curriculum of Gita classes that would apparently require my creative faculties and Tisch training.

I thought he was crazy… I had just read through the Gita my first time cover to cover with him and was hardly ready to start teaching it. He knew that!

And then I quickly thought I was crazy… I was not about to pass up the opportunity to join forces and learn from the experience! Carpe Diem!

After lots and lots of planning with Rasanath, seeing his presentations, and coaching his presentations, in the summer of 2008, it came time for me to step up to the plate and teach. I was extremely nervous and extremely excited.

We were in Townshend, Vermont on a retreat we’d organized. I’d just led a group of students on a hike up to the summit of a small mountain that overlooked a gorgeous panorama of hills and fields. At that moment, we stopped, and I asked the intimate crowd to take their seats on the rocks that faced the cliff’s edge.

I stood before them for what became deemed by my monk friends – “The Sermon on the Mount.” It was triumphant!

I received such an ovation I would never forget it. I loved giving “big talks”! …Even to small crowds.

And people loved my giving “big talks” too! Such a thrill! What could be better?

Turns out only one thing. But it would take me years to learn it. Spirituality.

Those who make the real thing the goal are the needles in the haystack of the universe. For a substantial stretch, the spiritual knockouts knocked me out, and I tried to become one myself, until I deeply recognized that there’s more to the process than what you project.

Spirituality is an internal project that manifests outwardly by dint of our practices, not our desperation for attention.

In the interim, we don’t get rewarded for internals and so we don’t learn to value them. Thus impatience for the internal to become externally rewarded runs us.

Now, we all need attention. I’m no exception. But if we don’t get this equation right, we’re at risk of losing the very thing we strive to possess. Sadly, we won’t even know it, because we’ll have been fumbling for something we never really tasted in the first place.

Honesty is the only way out of the ego mask that disguises our very self. Honesty is the only way into the spiritual identity we crave at heart.

It takes a long time to arrive at the real summit of spirituality. And I have a long road ahead myself! But our coveted coolness has a nasty habit of getting in the way.

I was in Mumbai at Rasanath and Vrndavana Vinodini’s wedding reception after the official celebration in Chennai. To prep for my special appearance, I needed to look a little dapper…

I’d been in the trenches of India in the little, austere, but beautifully spirited village of Vrndavana, followed by many more such austere but spirited village experiences in South India. In Chennai, I sported traditional dhoti and kurta for the grand occasion – the same plain white robes I wore as a monk and continue to wear on days off from work to conjure the sanctity of a life in service.

From this unique vantage point, Mumbai’s heralded event was a game-changer. I’d carried one solitary outfit of distinctive style for this purpose and carted it with me all over India, waiting for the anomaly when I’d finally be required to wear it. I swear I found it a useless burden up to the very day it was expected on my person! Then a sudden shift…

As I buttoned my impeccably slim-fitting, multi-shade blue, checkered Calvin Klein evening shirt, I started to feel a spontaneous rush. By the time I’d tucked it into my gray, pinstriped, Banana Republic tailor fit pants, I was overcome with a new outlook.

I was going out tonight!

That’s right! I was going out!

Yes!

And the old Ari Weiss (formerly known on Facebook by the moniker “Yo Weiss”) returned…

The only problem was that this occasion was really not about me. Moreover, the occasion of this life, in this larger world, is admittedly, really not about me either… But when I walked out of my dear friend, Balaji’s apartment where I stayed, oh was it about me! And I was mortified…

At least I knew that I wasn’t going to let myself get away unconscious. No. I caught myself red-handed. For a former monk, this meant a sort of cease and desist to my ego.

I searched for reasons why the sophomoric Ari had overtaken our spiritually striving Hari Prasada. And sure enough, there was a girl involved…

A friend of a friend. I knew she was single and I liked her a lot. I had no romantic interest at the time. But somehow, knowing she was (the awful word) “available” and a very lovely girl, what to speak of being a fellow Bhakti practitioner of substantial rigor, implanted in me the impetus to impress.

I walked the streets of Mulund, where Balaji lived and where the reception would be held, unable to think of anything else. Not wanting to ignore the opportunity for personal development, I promptly outed myself to Balaji.

Balaji, it’s in my blood to want to be handsome to the opposite sex the very moment I find opportunity!! It’s crazy! As soon as I don formal attire my mind just goes there. Err… And there always has to be some object to make it more real… Yeah… You know who it is. But I tell you, in this case, I’m not even interested in the girl! I’m serious! Oh Lord…

Balaji looked at me with understanding and concern. I think his prim and proper Indian background and the purity of his heart made this a little less relatable. Frankly, I think he just lacks a lot of that male ego nonsense. All the better to make me feel worse!

He was kind and compassionate to this wild young American in need of attention and that only made me feel sillier. Had not all my monastic years and present practices amounted to more than this? Come on!

I wanted to snap my fingers and snap out of it, but then I’d have to snap out of these royal clothes too, and that came with its own set of complexities that I shall not entertain... Being in my birthday suit was really no solution!

I would have to tolerate myself, yet again... And this, I’ve come to realize, is truly the name of the game. How well can you tolerate yourself?

This will make all the difference in our lives and the lives of those we care about. The less we can tolerate ourselves, the less we’ll have bandwidth to tolerate others. The more we can tolerate ourselves, the more wellspring of compassion for those who need it.

If we see no idiosyncrasies, or even idiocies, to tolerate, then we’re probably not yet sincere in our search... And lest we drown in the shame of our own infantilism while we wade through weakness, let us remember this core quality of tolerance; the most valuable form of which is the ability to graciously tolerate oneself.

I made it through the reception in a magical state of delirium posing in photo after photo next to the bride alongside random Indian men and women. It was exhilarating every time I heard the beautifully accented words of the cameraman:

“Pfoto! Pfoto!”

“Rrrready??”

Which sprang at me in regular three-minute intervals like clockwork.

I put on my game-face and made memories for people who had no idea who I was. And I did it all night long…

Affording myself the same amusement as reaching a stage of sleep deprivation where you actually swallow that tiredness to become a little loopy like someone who’s just drank several shots of liqueur helped lighten my heart of the shame. Without escape and without alcohol and without even sleep deprivation, I managed to pull it off!

I did not forget about my ego. I did not shove it under the rug. I prayed about it. But I did not hold onto it. There was no need for preoccupation. Only prayer. And moving forward.

Towards the end of the eve, I was rewarded with the uncharacteristic breach of traditional etiquette via full-on embrace by an old Indian mother whom I did not know in the least and who did not exchange words with me, but rather, pulled me directly to her bosom with extraordinary affection. I considered this a most stylish victory for the occasion!

...And I did also happen to spend a little time with the wonderful girl without needing to impress. We snapped a photo together and cheerfully went our separate ways...

By the time I made it home aside our humble Balaji, I was a happy camper, capable of living with my own silliness and shame. Why not?

It’s like an asthmatic who needs to be aware of her condition and be appropriately prepared. But there’s no need to live in a state of asthma…

So it is with the shame of our own shortcomings. This much, monastic life and spiritual practices, have taught me. Keeping good friends where I can out myself any time strengthens the sterling opportunity to personally develop.

The fact that I would later look at that girl very very differently, to this day strikes me as a profound spiritual irony – my favorite kind of irony. And tolerating oneself continues to prove the most valuable asset in my life, with ever-increasing need to focus on all that goes right.

In the foreign land of India I call motherland, we were in the midst of Rasanath and Vrndavana Vinodini’s Mumbai wedding reception when I suddenly became enchanted by a particular prospect.

I’m meeting all these people and getting invites to their homes; some relative strangers, and some old friends at varying levels of proximity to my life, but all hospitable to think of me as family. And I’m reminded of my old college days at the outset of Facebook itself, seeing how many friends I could collect without doing anything at all…

I actually made a pact with myself that I wouldn’t actively friend a single soul! No, I only take incoming requests… And by God, look at how many people are still super-interested in me! I’m building up a battalion of friends without doing a thing!

So as I was graciously introduced to person after person by dint of an auspicious association with the groom, I started to really like it… And almost as soon as I began liking it, a frustration crept in.

How am I going to do it all?
Then another.
What about that family, do I get an invite there?
And lastly.
Am I just going to be a third wheel, or worse, not invited at all?

By this time, clarity started to seep in and I could catch wind of what I was up to.
Uh oh…

This is not as sweet and selflessly loving as it seems… I think I might be on a subtle little ego trip that not a single soul can see! We were all so happy and exchanging words of appreciation and anticipation. Everyone was joyous to meet everyone else.

It was the truth. Just not the full truth. There’s often more than meets the eye…

It’s up to us whether we want to meet what’s in our true mind’s eye, or rather delight in the mystery of human unconsciousness so we can get away with tiny little murders of humility and authenticity.

Confronting as it can be, I think I’d rather not get off scot-free but be free of egotistical glee. And the more I thought about it, I was actually getting myself stressed about how I could win more and more invites, and then stressed about how in the limited time I had I could not even take them up!

The stress slithers in silently when I think I’m happy. But, that is a good mechanism to catch the ego in the act and sound the alarm on the skilled mastermind behind it. Have you seen this subtle stress too? Have you yet linked it to its supervisor, the ego kingpin?

What if we brought our mind’s eye with us into each exchange, at the risk of being exposed to ourselves, and perhaps even feeling a little criminal? What if we sought the strength of authenticity, at an unprecedented level?

For me, now, clarity reached its fruition. Collecting people for our journey is indeed extremely valuable when we take their hearts with us and don’t make them into collectibles…

I snapped out of my unconscious enchantment to offer genuine, grounded gratitude to each person. Having caught it, I consciously stopped the intention of collection. Organic connection has always served me best...

The game was over. Fun, for a moment, I didn’t quite feel like playing again.

I landed in Mumbai for the last leg of my India adventure. This would be a relatively calm and uneventful portion of the trip as compared with the time in Vrndavana or Sri Rangam, save for a wedding reception of Rasanath and his lovely wife where I would be requested to stand by her side and pose in every photo the couple took with their never-ending swarm of Indian guests.

I was overjoyed to be the token white guy everyone would look back upon and wonder: Who was that guy…?

But at the airport I could not know this was in store. And I wholeheartedly regret that it will not serve us to describe that event further here… Rather I was fixed upon a single point as I awaited my ride.

There was a balding, stocky Indian man who strolled up and down the street awaiting his own taxi. And on his neck was a string of Tulasi beads – sacred bark that indicated one to be a practitioner of Bhakti yoga. He looked to me like a business magnate on his day off where he could delightfully indulge in shorts and a scuzzy T-shirt.

I thought to myself, it would be wonderful to see his home. To join him for a home-cooked meal. This experience of hospitality is not at all uncommon in Bhakti circles. Even amongst relative strangers. Hospitality and relating on the platform of purpose is embedded in the fabric of the culture. Moreover, the food is traditionally blessed with spiritual intentionality and prayer. The meal thus becomes a bonding experience on another level.

I then wondered if he might be able to help our cause with Upbuild to reach souls around the world. And as I was about to go on wondering and wondering, I stopped.

What am I doing?

Besides daydreaming, I’m delightfully indulging in a world where everything revolves around me! I thought I was more interested in giving! But in this conjuring, it was clear…

As innocent as the desires were and as closely as they tie to genuine giving, that was not my first inclination! It was what can I get?!

Wouldn’t it be nice to be on a vacation where I could have such a lovely meal? Wouldn’t it be nice to see a really opulent home and feel at home in the opulence? Wouldn’t it be nice to have another important friend half-way around the world who could look out for me and treat me to a wonderful time?

I was becoming more and more embarrassed.

Wouldn’t it be nice to see if such a man might be invested in helping us try to change the world, one person at a time? Yes! The latter is true. They’re all true.

But where was it coming from?

I could easily hide behind a giving mentality. There was a lot of genuine desire to give. I just knew that was not the primary motivation. It was there. But it wasn’t the driving force!

The driving force was a conditioning I’ve carried with me since my days of gallivanting around Paris, sipping fine wines and feeling high and mighty. I wanted to have cool, memorable, lush experiences for myself and to dovetail material resources of another without even seeing how I could serve him!

At heart, I want to serve every soul. I don’t want to take from others. But the unconscious mind sticks to what it knows. And we live in a culture where taking is a given.

It’s a dog-eat-dog world. You gotta fight to survive and take what’s yours. If you don’t, someone else will.

No one really respects a servant. You’ve got to become someone. You’ve got to show that you’re worth it!

It’s taken me years to shed this conditioning, and as a case in point, the shedding process vigorously continues! It may take a lifetime to lose that first inclination. But if that’s not our hearty goal, then it won’t ever be discarded. We’ll carry it with us and breed cynicism while we proclaim our niceties. Or we’ll scratch the backs of those who scratch ours and live a contented and complacent life.

We’ve got to put a wrench in the system somehow. And it starts with desire.

We have to want to be our best self. And we’ve got to recognize that there is so much more at stake than we think. The happiness we seek is rarely found when the disposition is to get. When we do find it in getting, it has a very short shelf life.

The disposition to get signifies entitlement.

When you get something you feel entitled to, you rarely are happy. You feel relieved of suffering, perhaps, but not often positively happy.

In stark contrast, when you get something you feel you don’t deserve, you’re overwhelmed with gratitude, and the happiness is naturally abundant. These are the treasures of life. And the trick to build up the treasure house is to switch the disposition.

When do you catch yourself trying, first of all, to get from others? What if you were to give something that person felt grateful for instead? What would that do for your happiness quotient?

I decided to leave my fellow yogi alone and catch our cab to the suburbs of Mulund. But I would not forget him and the lesson he taught me which I reflect upon regularly.

We have the power to invest in our disposition. But it requires the vigilance of self-awareness and the vivid vision of our very best self. If we ready ourselves now, we’ve got a lifetime on our side.

We’re accustomed to subtle lies. When an ad depicts a scene out of a storybook that has nothing to do with reality, we don’t even think twice. They’re just doing what they gotta do… Or doing what they will do, anyway.

But does it ever cross our minds what we’re actually allowing ourselves to buy into? And what the consequences of this buying into subtle lying may be?

Here’s a prime example: Driving next to a big FreshDirect truck, I noticed the billboard-sized ad spanning across its side. On it were a herd of cows peacefully grazing on brilliant green pastures. In the background was a big red romanticized barn. Now, what’s wrong with this picture?

We know that such landscapes simply don’t exist in today’s factory farming landscape. There’s mechanization and brutality behind nearly every dairy product that comes our way en masse, what to speak of the more obvious and flagrant servings of meat on our plates.

To display an idyllic scene from a fairy tale as if that’s what you’re offering is not only a gross distortion of reality but one that warps the very moral compass within us. The more we become desensitized by the deluge of such images, the more abstracted we become from the suffering of other living beings and the suffering we reap for ourselves when we fail to care about consequence.

On the part of FreshDirect or the ad agency, it’s deliberate. We’re meant to be abstracted. There’s not going to be a factory display, much less a brutality display.

And we, in turn, allow ourselves to be susceptible via ignorance or via apathy. This is an alarming reality that is leading to the greatest environmental crisis scientists have ever seen.

The New York Times published the warning,

“Recent reports show that there may be no way to prevent the planet’s temperature from rising, given the current level of greenhouse gases already in the atmosphere and the projected rate of emissions expected to continue before any new deal is carried out…Even with a deal to stop the current rate of greenhouse gas emissions, scientists warn, the world will become increasingly unpleasant. Without a deal, they say, the world could eventually become uninhabitable for humans.”

What is the number one cause behind this rapidly impending global crisis? The meat industry. The statistics are staggering. There’s much more to say than what can be presented in a small reflection here, but in summation, according to The Scientific American quoted here (as well as a number of other reputable sources), the toll the meat industry takes on the planet is holistically horrible in all of the following ways:

“The production, processing and distribution of meat requires huge outlays of pesticides, fertilizer, fuel, feed and water while releasing greenhouse gases, manure and a range of toxic chemicals into our air and water.”

In addition, the detriments come through mass deforestation, sewage overloads, and antibiotic-resistant strains of bacteria getting into our systems, as well as indirectly fueling world hunger rather than quelling it.

The Scientific American says further in this vein:

“If all the grain currently fed to livestock in the United States were consumed directly by people, the number of people who could be fed would be nearly 800 million.”

To feed a person on an all-plant-based vegan diet for a year requires 1/6 of an acre of land. To feed the average US citizen requires 18 times as much land. You can produce 37,000 lbs. of vegetables on 1½ acres of land, while only 375 lbs. of meat.

A vegan diet produces half the amount of CO2 as the American omnivore, requires 1/11 the amount of fossil fuels, 1/13 the amount of water, and 1/18 the amount of land.

91% of the loss of Amazon rainforest is due to raising livestock. It consumes 1/3 of the planet’s fresh water and occupies up to 45% of the earth’s land. It is the leading cause of species extinction, ocean dead zones, and habitat destruction.

Imagine: 116,000 lbs. of farm animal excrement is produced every second in the US alone… Enough waste per year to cover every square inch of San Francisco, New York City, Tokyo, Paris, New Delhi, Berlin, Hong Kong, London, Rio de Janeiro, all of the state of Delaware, the country of Bali, Costa Rica, and Denmark, combined! Scary!

The World Bank determined 51% of greenhouse gas emissions are from animal agriculture, and many scientists feel this is a highly conservative estimate! All the world’s cars, planes, and trains, add up to less than 18% of total greenhouse gas emissions. CO2 is often the worry about greenhouse gases, while ironically, Methane, Ozone, and deadliest of all, Nitrogen Dioxide, affect climatic temperature far more than CO2, and livestock farming produces all four noxious emissions at the most alarming scale.

Demosthenes Maratos, Communications Director at Molloy College’s Sustainability Institute says very simply:

“The leading cause of environmental destruction is animal agriculture. No other lifestyle choice has a farther reaching and more profoundly positive impact on the planet and all life on earth than choosing to stop consuming animals and live a vegan lifestyle.”

We have the choice every single day to save over 1100 gallons of water, 45 lbs. of grain, 35 sq. feet of forested area, 20 lbs. of CO2, and one animal’s life…

But at the rate we’re going, we will have to try to fancily cover up the problem altogether by spending a minimum of 18 trillion dollars and 20 years of time building solar wind generators all over the world. Besides the ludicrous amount of money, or worse the implications of covering up a problem rather than resolving what caused it, scientists estimate that we have 3-4 years before climate change will be irreversibly underway…

Meanwhile, we can stop eating animals today.

According to UN Framework Planet Status Update:

“If we reduce livestock farming now, and we could do it very quickly, especially by cutting subsidies to livestock farming, then we would see an immediate effect of mitigation on climate change.”

I’m not quite a full vegan and I do sometimes order from FreshDirect (in spite of their idyllic imagery which is everywhere anyway)! The point is not to be perfect. The point is to care. To care enough to do our part. Whatever we can. And to want to do more. Always! That is the key. It’s subtle but it’s the key. Not to justify. Not to rationalize… Not to become jaded by “reality” that is not in touch with reality.

Abstracted from truth and desensitized by the deluge of subtle lies, we miss all the things that are unprecedented and corruptive. Artificial ingredients become natural to us, chemicals commonplace, the pace of life the norm, the divorce rate “realism”, and so much more…

Photos of food and agriculture are but one avenue that affects us unfathomably. What about photos of women or the effects of pornography? Research shows men have unreasonable expectations of the female anatomy and women have unreasonable expectations of the female anatomy!

There is nothing healthy about a culture of abstraction. We can give up the craving for personal gratification and wake up to the planet that needs saving or we can remain passive passengers on a ship heading towards disaster.

When we give in to the deliberate fudging of reality, we create the world of subtle lies and airbrushed lives…

Special Note: Many thanks to Broxstar Films for their UN Framework Planet Status Update that provided much of the education behind this piece and the spirit to help change the world…and actually save it!

https://vimeo.com/135720123

Three days later, I received the following email:

You can come and collect your documents in person from our New York application center from 3.00pm to 5.00pm from Monday to Friday.

Thanks & Regards,
John K

And an accompanying email came from Mom when she got the news:

YES!!! Krishna is on your side...

With a lot of dear souls rooting for me, and apparently the Supreme Being, speaker of the Bhagavad-Gita on my side, I picked up my visa from Melissa on Monday afternoon.

I was approved for ten years… I’d not have to do this again until I was 40! I hope that’s not my own lost opportunity…

I suddenly wanted to embrace each person at Cox and Kings!
I offered my humble gratitude to Melissa.
“I’m really happy you got this... Have a great trip.”

I then strolled to the desk across the room where the Einsteinien-Gandhian, whose name I wish I caught, had poured something positive into my dreary day of applying. I waited for her but she was so busy, frantically handling customers that I hesitated before interrupting shyly.

I just wanted to thank you again for your inspiration on Wednesday.
It made a big difference to me.
I received my visa today.
She beamed.
“My pleasure.”
All the best to you!

I felt myself to swim in the current of grace.

As I boarded the plane on Wednesday morning, a week from my application filing, I felt reverberations of appreciation I’m not used to experiencing from having a passport in hand. That would set the tone for my entire trip. Why not beyond?

I strolled over to Melissa with the new application and waited for her to stop arguing with the present anxious applicant. Eventually, the exchange wound down and I walked up.

Hi Melissa, here’s my corrected application.

I was still panicked at the thought that there’s no guarantee any of this will work. In fact, the odds are severely stacked against me. But I’d made it to this point and defied so much adversity to have this exchange with our Melissa, I was not going to lose hope now...

She carefully examined the printed document.
How do you do it? I suddenly asked her.
You must get impatient, fearful, angry customers regularly who take out their frustration on you.
She sighed, nodding her head.
And I can see you’re doing what you can to genuinely help them. “Well, thanks, although sometimes I’m tempted not to…”
I understand.
I appreciate your intention to be of service to us.
It shows.
And I know it’s not easy.
I empathize with your situation.

Some lightness appeared on her stern face and she, too, smiled.
“Thanks for saying that.”
No problem, I mean it.
“Well, your application’s good to go.”
“Look out for an email from us and track the status.”
“No guarantees, but I really hope you make it…”
Thank you!
I walked away, completely humbled by the day.

It dawned on me that I, myself, didn’t even feel like a human being in that place… It was hard to treat others as human. And with my objective so pressing and intense, my agenda pushes whatever prospect of humanity could be present to only the most distant realms. But that’s where I felt I’d returned from when I walked back into our apartment to work again. Like I’d gone to another country, much farther than earthen India.

My mind was ill at ease about the unavoidable situation and all its uncertainty. But my heart was full. I distinctly felt it. And I was tired. Emotionally more than physically, as if after a good workout for the insides.

I thought about my life and how it would look from above. Would these seemingly insignificant moments count?

It was clear: Not the pressures. But the way I conducted myself in spite of them and because of them. That counts! Even when it looks like no one’s watching...

But the Cox and Kings employees are not no one… That is the greatest mistake. That is the violation of the ages. It’s why our world is so vicious to the underprivileged and cold to the privileged. We don’t realize the responsibility that’s in our hands. Every day. We’ve got a chance to embody these aphorisms:

“Strive not to be a success. But rather to be of value.”
-Albert Einstein

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
-Mahatma Gandhi

A little visa crisis ingrained it in me.

Everything’s an opportunity, even the very petty… the mundane… the banal… How will we seize it?

As I waltzed under pressure to the tune of my mind’s Allman Brothers rendition: “my sweet Melissa!” I found an empty spot at one of two computers.

I pulled up the application and began painstakingly filling it out. Then, I faced the errors…

I could not believe it. The same nonsense I’d encountered at my home-station was hitting me on their turf.

I made some desperate conversation with the woman next to me to see if she had any insights. She said that her daughter was going to get tech support from someone and that I could wait for the same person to arrive. I felt slightly relieved.

But as I waited, a crowd formed behind me and I became increasingly uneasy, staring at the blank application screen in front of me. I could not tell time. I started to break a sweat.

I was not allowed to speak on my cell phone but Rasanath texted me to find out what was going on. I told him that frankly nothing was working and I’m stuck in limbo. He asked if he should come over there to help. I told him they wouldn’t let him in if he did.

He was surprised. They don’t let anyone in who is not expressly applying for a visa. He asked what I would do. I didn’t know.

After two or five or ten minutes I thought:
I can’t keep these people waiting like this.
I had to get up and do something…

I tried to keep my spot reserved but didn’t have the heart to say not to use the computer in my absence. I took my chances and darted towards the Cox and Kings woman who first gave me my entry number into the system…

I waited for several people to speak with her, as I watched my place by the computer eagerly filled by a bystander, and viewed yet another applicant speaking with my Melissa. I was starting to not even feel like a number in the system!

After some time, I was given a moment to convey my dilemma to the lady in-demand, and she took my Melissa-rejected forms along with my passport and photo.
“I’ll do it,” she said. I was floored.

Before celebrating, I wanted to make sure the application would actually get filled. Under the gun, with more people behind me, our Cox and Kings lady patiently but tensely went through the retyping of my application. As she did so, I gazed at the bulletin board before her desk.

“Strive not to be a success. But rather to be of value.”
-Albert Einstein

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
-Mahatma Gandhi

I opened up my bag and retrieved my planner. I began to jot down the phrases I’d found on the board. As I pondered them, suddenly her head rose from being buried in the computer program.

She was a tall, young, slender, elegantly dressed, light-skinned African-American lady who looked like she’d been preparing each day for a prizefight. I could see why the aphorisms could come in handy…

“Are you writing down the quotes?”
It’s very inspiring…
For the first time that day, I saw a smile in the room.
…that you take the time to find some sanity and purpose amidst the madness…
Silence.
That’s uplifting just to observe…
She looked me in the eyes, and with a vulnerability I’d never have imagined being awarded the sight of, she told me she tries her best.
I wanted to congratulate her.

She finished typing my application, un-pasted my only goofy photo that I was afraid I might have to throw away from having pasted it to the impermissible form, and re-pasted it to the newly printed application. She refused to accept any payment for the ‘standard operating procedure’ of the printing cost.

My eyes welled with gratitude. I was careful not to show it to my new friend, for fear she’d be embarrassed. I told her I didn’t know what was going to happen with my visa that I had to obtain in six days tops! I spoke candidly:

I really needed this inspiration right now to manage the anxiety myself.

I thanked her and she smiled brightly once more before returning to her barrage of customers.

On the website, I came across the info that you need an appointment to be sure you can get your visa together. In fact, I’d not even technically submitted the application yet… I just submitted some paperwork for an application to be created! You have to print the form and bring it in person at your appointment time.

I dashed through the website to find out how to get an appointment with Cox and Kings. The next appointment was available in two and a half weeks… I was about to lay my head in my hands.

Can I just go there unannounced and bum-rush them? I was tinkering with the appointment function mindlessly as I pondered pillaging, keeping some relic of hope alive in my heart, and a constant stream of shameless prayers.

Alongside an automated email confirming my paperwork reception, I punched the appointment button for the tenth time, and got on the schedule for tomorrow morning! It was surreal.

The next day, everything was put aside, and I arrived first thing. I waited in line for three and a half hours, well past my slated time. In fact, I got the sense that appointments were more a show of professionalism than an actual systematic part of the procedure.

In tremendous suspense, running through my pitch to the Cox and Kings representative in my mind, I leafed through documents I’d compiled to try to strengthen my case and get them to rush a little more than their so-called “urgent” processing competitors.

It was now my turn to face off against the appointed heavy-set Australian rep. who’d just been vigorously fighting with her last appointee’s pressure to expedite a visa. I felt an ominous air as I cracked a nervous smile and greeted our fated Melissa.

I expressed my need to get this visa in no more than six days very candidly and pulled out my paperwork.
She gave me a wry glance in return.
“As it says on our website, that’s why we recommend purchasing your flight tickets after obtaining your visa.” I wanted to tip my hat off to her for the kind suggestion, but kept my cool.

Look, it’s actually an emergency! I told her.
My guru has been terribly ill with shingles and I need to see him immediately!

That was true…
I’m not capable of lying.
But I didn’t think revealing the real factor here was my silly forgetfulness and not a sudden call from Guru could possibly help me to get to him sooner.

She told me that I’d need a doctor’s note from him expressly asking for my presence.

That was absolutely out of the question. I was not about to burden him for my blunder. It would stretch the story too far and use the very person I’m here to learn from.

My emails that he’d written to all his disciples updating us on his medical condition evidently wouldn’t cut it…

Is there anything else I can do??
Her eyes widened and lips straightened.
I surrendered to the blank expression.
Okay, let’s just submit this application…

Then we got into business mode while she examined my printed application form that I’d worked on finalizing and pasted a goofy photo I somehow found of myself at the last minute.

Silence, as I waited for her to approve my work.

“Uhh… Sir, your stated address does not match your proof of identification.”
Hmm?
“Your driver’s license lists you at 179 Maytime Drive. You wrote on your application 159 West 53rd St.”
Yeah, my driver’s license is my permanent address on Long Island and the address I wrote on my application is where I receive mail directly at my place in the city.
“I understand sir, but it doesn’t match.”
They serve different functions. Why do they have to match?
“Because that’s standard operating procedure.”
Then she showed me some fine print somewhere to substantiate her point.
Again, I surrendered to the sternly blank expression.
Can I just change that then?
“I’m sorry, you’re going to have to fill out the form again.”

I took a deep, much needed, breath, and exhaled slowly.

I have to fill out the entire application again, from beginning to end? “That’s right, sir.”
Another breath.
I nodded my head and smiled.
“The computers are over there,” she said pointing to the back of the room, as a hundred desperate applicants waited to pounce on my position with Melissa.
I exerted my strongest efforts to thank her and proceeded towards the back area.

While I paced to my corner, it occurred to me: I don’t want to make this woman’s life any more difficult than it already is… I’m not here to drag her down with me. I bet she’s got tons of applicants daily who fail to face her as a human being. Moreover, they probably blame her for their problems, which she may not even be able to help, hence what could amount to constant quibbling. Bureaucracy is not the fault of the bureaucrat but the autocrat (or otherwise) who set it up…

And a wave of compassion washed over me.

I was glad I’ve not rebelled or troubled her yet, in spite of my internal frustrations…

I was eagerly awaiting my second chance at an India sojourn to uplift and recharge my spirits for another year in the hustle and bustle of New York City. On the maiden voyage in 2007, circumstances were such that I could not be fully present. I was too new to my path, too attached to material comforts, entrusted to a motley crew of travelers with disparate interests, signed up for a whirlwind of eight remote cities in 21 days, on the verge of a life’s decision to become a monk that scared the daylights out of me, and sick most of the duration…

I’d been dying for that second chance…

My spiritual roots resided in that country and I felt called to claim their legacy this year. Now there was so much to do there – from the first time with my guru on retreat at holy places, to my planned personal pilgrimages, to the wedding of my dear partner in crime, Mr. Rasanath, this all felt quite epic after seven years away from the motherland.

Tuesday night, we were supposed to be in Rhode Island with dear friends, but Rasanath was not well, so we stayed the course in New York leading up to my departure in eight days. I walked out the door after a full day cooped up in our office on my emails. I should probably get at least a breath of fresh air, I thought…

I was embarrassingly behind on my meditation practice and going a little stir-crazy. I thought: I’ll dress warmly and take a walk to Bryant Park to chant my mantras until the cap of the night. I stepped out of the room for the first time that day, locked the door, and placed the key back in my bag. As I did so, I brushed against my passport, which was reserved for the same compartment.

How nice, said my mind, I have my passport on me.
That means I know where my passport is. That’s good.
I’ll be needing a passport soon.
Hmm… Will I be needing anything else passport-like soon?
Let me see…
Visas go in passports.
I don’t need a…wait a minute…
DO I NEED A VISA TO GO TO INDIA?!

I was crossing 53rd St. just in front of the apartment on my way to 6th ave., when I promptly pushed the “Rasanath” button on my speed-dial.

Do I need a visa to go to India?!
“Yes!!”
Oh my god!!
“Get on the internet and get on the phone right now…”
I hung up and re-crossed 53rd.

I researched emergency visas and found startlingly that I don’t qualify. My situation of forgetting I needed a visa apparently did not constitute an emergency. I must say, that really depends on your vantage point, O Visa People! It was certainly an emergency for me!

I called several places, waited on hold for several hours, ran through several websites, and ultimately came to find out that the “expedited” and “rushed” visas are available within the short span of three weeks, just one week and six days shy of the need of the hour! Good Lord, why is no one in as much of a rush to expedite this process as I am?

Yes, I was a little self-absorbed, but I really could not figure this out for the life of me. I had my list of things to pack and was well on my way to completion but that was starting to feel pretty useless now.

From 6 p.m. to 11 p.m. I wrestled with my inner demons and the outer voice recordings of visa processing companies. I had but one hope left. Cox and Kings. I was ready to pray to them as my savior, but kept my prayers directed above.

An online application was available and as I began to fill it out, I realized I needed to list addresses in India that I didn’t have. I reached out to Rasanath but couldn’t get him. I tried other options.

Nothing.

On the edge of my seat and unable to proceed, finally, Rasanath called back. I got an address of his family’s home in Mumbai to list. Then as I kept trying to submit my application, I encountered error upon error. Several times I had to start the application again from scratch, which took about 15 minutes each time. Nothing would work. I was pulling my hairs out about a trip that was supposed to be devoted to calm surrender… T’was humbling, to say the least!

My mind was swimming with thoughts at a higher velocity than I could manage. My birth name, which I listed on the application, is Ariel. I used to go by “Ari”, after being traumatized by the movie, The Little Mermaid. That Disney horror came out at exactly the wrong time: Just when I was entering into kindergarten. My life got better after “Ari”, but my parents always found it funny that in Israel they received comments of how bold and even audacious a name they’d chosen for me.
Ariel means Lion of God.

I was thinking about the lion incarnation of God worshiped in India – my unbeknownst namesake – called Narasimha, and I put out a specially pleading prayer.

Narasimha is supposed to protect the devotees in grave danger, and though I technically could have paid a premium to postpone my flight, even more than the money, the thought of missing part of a retreat with my guru made me feel like I was in some grave danger.

Just as I was thinking like this, suddenly the application went through! I was speechless. It was as if time stood still.

At 11:30 at night, being the only one in emergency mode standing for my case over the course of what felt like a lifetime, the application was spontaneously accepted! But to get a visa in my hands before my flight in eight days was another matter.

Cox and Kings refused to answer the phone and nothing on the website assured me it could be done in time. It was a shot in the dark.

Before beginning our workday, I walked over to 8th Avenue to pick up groceries so that Rasanath and I could cook our lunch for the week. The street vendor was in and Gristedes covered what he didn’t have for cheap. I walked back to our 53rd and 7th office with several weighty bags, when I saw on 53rd, between Broadway and 7th, an older woman lying on the ground.

It couldn’t have been more than a few moments that she’d been there. One gentleman tended to her as a neighboring security guard rushed onto the scene. I joined in, bags in hand.

A small crowd quickly began to form.

Someone had phoned 911. I was charged to hold her legs up and keep rubbing them to sustain the circulation flowing. I dropped my bags to the concrete.

I was stunned. She was heavyset and convulsing. I felt a visceral fear in the pit of my stomach.

A lady found a cell phone in the collapsed woman’s purse and tried calling numbers. She began naming her Joyce.

A man rushed from a Halal stand across the street and placed an herbal scent beneath her nose. Soon, an EMT arrived. He treated her but was waiting for paramedics with more training. Another helper found an ID in the purse and noted the woman’s name was “Miriam Joyce Foss”.

An intimate crew of younger and older men and women of all nationalities now strove to serve Miriam Joyce Foss, whom they’d met on the pavement of Manhattan moments earlier. I was shocked to be a part of the crew, as I clung to her legs and whispered her prayers from the core of my heart.

It’s a scene you don’t imagine yourself transplanted in at the outset of the day. It’s not something that can aptly be comprehended at all.

As the specialists crashed our circle, they did everything they could to resuscitate her. The violence of CPR hit me harder than when I first learned the technique as a child and thought I was special – some kind of savior – a savior who never strove to save…

Now it was impossible to feel like a hero. I had to give up even the legs I’d been given to rub and pray over. There was nothing I could do. They pumped air into her and put a mask on her to help her breath.

I watched for a half hour as nothing changed. Sometimes it looked like she was out. Sometimes, you’d see her breath or the awkwardness of her body reacting to the slamming of her chest.

As a kid, I remember they had warned me, you could break the sternum and effectively kill the patient you’re trying to revive. I should have known it wouldn’t be pretty to see… I cried inside for Miriam yet I had no tears. No connection but the connection of synchronicity.

I felt for her. And felt I didn’t feel enough!

Did she know what was happening?
Did she fall because of a condition?
Was it sudden?
Had it happened before?
Was it the fall that caused the whole misfortune?
Would her family be terrified?
Heartbroken?
Was she in pain now?
Was she terrified herself?

It was horrible to think anything in those moments. I simply prayed and prayed to drown out the questions.

I remained in suspense. She was carried off the sidewalk on a gurney and into the back of an ambulance. I waited until the ambulance, sirens blazing, sped off into the distance.

I watched out of respect, the same respect we’d traditionally show a guest who was leaving by waiting at the door or watching the car drive off. I picked up my groceries, shook myself off, and thanked the people who served Miriam. She would never know who they were. And I would never know who she was…

As I finally moved to cross 7th Ave., a woman approached me.
“Is she going to be all right?”

I wanted the tears to well but I had none.
I don’t know, I said. I don’t know…

I got home and had a difficult time cooking. My mind was elsewhere.

I Googled Miriam Joyce Foss. I found so many hits and nothing conclusively her. I searched for an hour.

Who is Miriam Joyce Foss? And where is she now?

I ask these questions again and again. I was so frustrated that there is no answer for me. It’s worse that there’s an answer out there, and I just don’t get to know!

I had invested in her life. I wanted closure.

Was she the 66-year-old daughter of a rabbi in Maryland who passed on in 2015?
Or is she living in Manhattan amongst us today?

Without certainty, we feel our insignificance. When we don’t get to know, we feel ungodly. We feel angry at a God who would make us lesser, if He’s even out there. This anger and frustration follows us throughout our lives in myriad incarnations.

To accept is the only mature healing that can be done. Our position is not one of knowing. For that, we must let go.

It’s so painful, but then knowing doesn’t give us control over the outcome, in any case. We’d still stew. Acceptance stops the stewing. It grounds us in who we are, where we are. It equips us with greater resources of heart to give. It’s the one crucial remedy to that which is out of control. Acceptance is the very bandwidth we give ourselves to give.

I pray for Miriam Joyce Foss and I strive to accept my humble position – no savior at all – just a more seasoned well-wisher, ready to help in any way I can if given the opportunity.

I found myself in trampoline-land! I was with my fiancée, Radha Bhakti, taking our little nephews (from her side) to the one-of-a-kind, only existing “Air Riderz”, in Mississauga, Ontario, on the newfangled Canadian holiday of “Family Day”. They “get any party jumpin’…” So they say.

Now, I’m kid enough to jump around with the other kiddies and have myself a blast, but I found myself face-to-face with one tiny guy I, frankly, did not expect to encounter…

I estimate he must have been about 7-years old, of Indian origin, and possessing a killer-cute smile.

As I stood before a wild pit of blue and green foam blocks that amounted to a veritable ocean, my approximately 24-year-junior competitor stood beside me. We glanced at each other from one trampoline to the other. Then at the sea of blocks. Then each other.

At once, he shot up his hand in a John Travolta-reminiscent maneuver of Saturday Night Fever era. BOOM! He leapt off the trampoline theatrically!

I followed suit, minus the Travolta, and landed in the mess of foaminess. I got myself up again to the trampoline with some effort and readied for round two. So did he…

Why did I feel such a strange energy from this stranger who was probably four heads shorter than me? Suddenly, it came to me. This little critter’s showing off!

He saw that I saw him and his crazy jumps. And then I realized something else. He wanted to shine in my eyes… I think much more than outshine me! He just wanted to shine. And I was the only captive audience who gave my attention.

Then I felt endeared and my heart went soft. It takes a moment to realize the subtleties in life and recalibrate.

Here was a pre-pubescent Enneagram Type 3 Achiever after a sliver of glory that I could somehow provide by looking at him. Just then another selfish wave came over me…

Why should I enable him by looking? He shouldn’t be showing off. I don’t want to encourage that.

And I genuinely thought I was doing him a service. So I smiled and let him do his thing without paying much attention to him, ever again.

That was it. Gone from my consciousness. Until, I hit the trampoline basketball court…

There were hoops of various heights and I went for the highest. I jumped and shot the ball, sometimes missing embarrassingly, sometimes getting a swish – without the satisfaction of a net to make the pretty sound.

Every time I was about to shoot, I found myself looking over my right shoulder to where Radha Bhakti was seated on a bench, watching our boys. Hmm… I couldn’t stop that pattern. I just kept looking and hoping she was looking. And then feeling the shame of a terrible miss or the pleasure of an unlikely in. The worst of the worst was when I did something wonderful and she was smiling at our nephews… Hmm…

Okay, Hari Prasada. Something’s cooking here. Does karma really work that fast??

I would dunk the ball on the smallest hoop and look for approval. Then I went to the mid-sized hoop and I failed and failed before I managed to dunk it there! I was amazed at myself! But that wasn’t enough… Yes, I needed to shine too. Ooh that hurt to see! Even me! And I don’t have quite the innocence or excuse of being a 7-year-old!

I made absolutely sure not to speak a word to Radha Bhakti about my rival, who I hoped to teach a valuable lesson to, much less about the lesson I soon realized he was instead teaching me! Oh, the shame…

What’s that Bible passage about first taking the log out of your own eye before attempting to remove the speck from your brother? Yeah… That hit hard.

And I couldn’t be more grateful to my 7-year-old friend who was no rival at all and never was, except in my own silly mind.

I don’t expect myself to not want to shine, but let me at least laugh at myself and be humbled by the silly dependence of my ego on the eyes of another. Let me call myself out and be real, rather than push to get something petty on autopilot. And let me look up to those who are more advanced than me, following in their footsteps.

Ultimately, there’s nothing wrong with deciding not to enable someone, but always with wise compassion, and an eye toward what may be amiss within me.