Friendship from Strangers

Swimming in the Indian Ocean, I notice a man on a raft paddling out to a fishing boat I eyed when entering the water. We exchange waves. He starts paddling over to me while I bob up and down; in turn I swim over to him.

“That is my boat", he exclaims. “You come out and see it. I am a fishermen, those are my workers.” I haul myself onto the back of the Styrofoam raft and he resumes paddling out to the boat. Never mind the fact that his mother tongue is Malayalam, mine American English. Between us, we each speak a few words in Hindi. Even with 25% or less of the conversation getting across, we are communicating with each other.

It’s a nice boat, as big as the fishing boat from Jaws, perhaps a bit larger. He shows me the hold where fish are on ice, I assert I’m vegetarian before fish are given to me. They offer me food, drinks, smokes – what you do with a new friend and guest: hospitality. I politely refuse each, having just eaten, not drinking and not wanting anything else. However, I am touched by the claim of friendship and the generosity of these four men. Kerala has shown this to me time and again by complete strangers; I’m a guest in their county.

The Ascetic, the Therapist, the Priest and the Possessed

What these people have in common is they’re all healers in a way. I’ve promised to write about the energy work I do, and I’ve been hesitating on either writing about it, or in some cases doing it. Part of my dilemma is I want to take it slow, the other is I’m still trying to make sense out of it. How does one write about such an important and huge topic and still sound genuine, when one doesn’t fully comprehend it oneself?

I’ve been truly blessed in my recent years to make the acquaintance of people who practice the healing arts. Genuine people. They hesitate to call themselves healers directly and I’m beginning to understand why. I agree with their choices for doing so. Their choice in some ways is my own. Why? In some respect, the practices I’ve been doing aren’t solely my own. In other ways, it takes two: a cooperative experience. It’s not something I do to someone, but rather something I do with someone. It’s also highly individualistic, what I do for one person would not work for another, but rather there would be a process of discovery to determine what the correct course of action would be.

I Have a Dream

Happy Martin Luther King Jr. day! I’d like to share some dreams of my own. I hope this isn’t pretentious, but rather in memory of the dreams of a great man. I share my dreams to honor his.

I have a dream.

I have a dream where I understand what White Privilege means, because being a middle class American white man I’m often blind to it. I have a dream where White Privilege isn’t something that we need to concern ourselves with.

I have a dream where politics in America is a dialogue, not a division; where people can take forward ideas without fear and anger from their neighbors or their government.

Pilgrimage

This is always a powerful time of year for me. I often feel like I’ve gone insane with deep revelations that seem to penetrate my head. I can walk around in a daze for days, sometimes weeks.

I also feel my power grow at this time of year. Maybe that’s just me being a December child with my birthday and zodiac coming round, but I think it’s more than that. Living in the country feels like it gives me a tighter bond to nature. There is so much happening at this time of year, trees change color, leaves fall, sunlight and temperatures decrease their abundance – our part of Earth fades into sleep.

I’d like to say I had a plan, but I really didn’t. Our annual trip to New Orleans for Anba Dlo, Halloween and Day of the Dead fell apart. I suddenly was without a destination, not that that’s a bad thing. Without much planning at all, I hopped into the Red Barron and headed north.