MyStory/TrampolineEffect

My Story

“I’m somewhere between nothing and something.”

-Yours truly

I was very excited the morning I arrived in India for the first time. I was coming from the southern islands of Thailand, and was feeling relaxed and ready for some real Indian Palak Paneer (I was sick of Pad Thai…). I was with a group, following an itinerary that covered Thailand, India and Nepal. We had spent a month in Thailand, doing home-stays, tourism, and short service projects. There was no question that my lens into the world was expanding.

Stepping off the plane in the Delhi airport was bizarre. It was shiny clean, with huge statues and paintings and high ceilings. Probably the coolest airport I have ever seen. After getting our bags, we went outside and entered a world defying the very meaning of the word ‘chaos’ and in utter contrast to the quiet temples of Thailand.   If you have not been to India, there is no use in trying to explain it in words…

We were to be staying in a guest-house in Delhi for a few days to settle in, but it only took minutes for me to be swept into the whirlwind of culture shock. People peeing, even pooping, on the street, dodging cows and goats (and cars), vendors selling 5 cent bananas or $1 sunglasses, and plenty more, of course. We made our way through this to reach the up-scale restaurant where I ordered my Paneer. But as I looked out the window, I felt my appetite begin to disintegrate into nausea. All of this felt like a dream

I have felt very “down” at times in my life. Deep despair – self-induced injury, deep existential depression, etc. Tennis matches would put me in a funk for a week, social neuroses, poor grades, etc – they all represented failure on a greater level. It took me a while to realize the trend – what got me down was directly related to what threatened my ego; everything was directly related to my personal suffering and disregarded all else. Looking out this window in that Indian restaurant was, for the first time, an entryway into the reality of suffering.
Walking through the streets, I began to lose it. I gave up. This could not possibly be real in our world at this point in time. I was handing out money to beggars in the most cowardly way – not even making eye contact. I was handing pieces of “unfairness” in the form of paper over to “suffering” in the form of a person. That’s how it felt—simply too painful to look into their eyes and too disorienting to know what else to do.

After handing out probably the equivalent of $2 to a mother and daughter, I caught the eye of a boy, probably 13 years old, with one leg and one arm. He approached me, hobbling over on his walking stick, with his hand out and an expression of deep sorrow in his eyes. Jesus, this can’t be real. How could this be happening to me?! I had heard about the system of adopting foster children and amputating body parts to make them more sympathy-inducing as beggars. In all of the beggars I have encountered since this boy, none match the heart-melting essence that he brought. I looked into his eyes, and despite a strong effort from my heart to protect itself, it just couldn’t do it this time. My mind finally surrendered to itself and I was close to giving this kid everything I had — like everything—the $10,000 I had in the bank. It felt like my departing gift to him before I dissolved into the concrete. He kept his hand out, and I broke down completely. I was overcome with claustrophobia, as there was no door-way out of this. Either I give him money that will obviously wind up in the hands of his “master” or I don’t and allow this inconceivable suffering to continue.

At last, I remembered the recommendation I had been given to offer materials rather than money. There was a small market right across the street and I took the boy over to it. He bought his food and, eager to end this torment, I began to speed away. Immediately, I was confronted with Daniel, the group leader, who definitively expressed the idiocy of what I had just done. He made clear that this boy had completely manipulated me and that he would soon return to the store to return the items and get the money back. This was the dagger, and it sent me into a 3-day downward spiral. It felt like my heart had been broken open and was being burnt by the light the way new skin is burnt by the sun. All that was clear was that, somehow, some part of me had died in this encounter. I just wasn’t sure what.

In the coming weeks, the roller-coaster ride continued. We were thrust between the two
worlds of India. First, a home-stay with a rich family with a servant and a neighboring family of 5 living on the street corner. Then, a home-stay with the poorest family I have ever seen—a rural farming community where the children chewed tobacco to curb their unyielding hunger. Then, the Taj Mahal, a structure exuding the inhumanity that it was built upon. Finally, we arrived in Dharamshala, the Tibetan-settled community in the Himalayan foothills. This was a place echoing with vibration, a refuge from the chaos below. We were to do a 10-day silent meditation retreat here.

The ten days that followed took me on a path of introspection and expansion. They allowed me to connect the dots of all the chaos swimming around in my head. The retreat allowed access to profound clarity I had never felt before; Heights of bliss and connection that soothed the pain in my heart. Realizations that were so strong, so deeply penetrating, that they were only “be-able” and not “know-able”. I was experiencing heights of heaven that just weeks before, beneath a cloud of despair, I could not fathom.

As I have continued this journey, I have undergone many highs and lows, transformations, moments of awe-inspired connection balanced by extreme loneliness and helplessness. But all of this is only possible because of what happened in India. That month-long sequence exposed me to the spectrum of human potential. It dug me deep into the depths of hell and then shot me up into the clouds of heaven. Each was only possible because of the other, and who I am today is only possible because of the sequence as a whole. As I continue to try to make sense of all of this, I can at least take refuge in the potential of my being—in all of our beings—as, simultaneously, embodiments of the depths of hell and heights of heaven.