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Wasted years.

Spent on being bitter, wondering how things could have been, worring about all the little things.  So much time passed. I used to think that only if you fall can you get up, but the more I fell, the more I just kept falling.

It took a gust of grace to lift me up; to show me that what I was looking for was around all the time.  The trees, the birds, the winds, they were always whispering.

Wasted years, searching for a path. Wondering when the inspiration would come.  Wondering when I would be myself again.

I stumbled into a new home and realized that there was a hand at my back this whole time.

I had forgotten just how many people, how many moments and how much love had gone into making me into the person I am.  I had forgotten, that each moment is a miracle.  I know that all of us have the same story.

Wasted years, thinking about how I could get ahead.  Comparing myself to others. Scheming, plotting, trying to make a name for myself.

It took the poetry of Kabir ringing in my ears during a full moon night to realize that all of us, at the center, we are all the same.  We are all searching for the very same thing.

Wasted years, so many relationships I’ve squandered.  So many people I’ve hurt along the way.  Each person I’ve met came with a gift, holding a flower in their hand. The next time I hope I come with open hands, ready to receive all that you have to offer.

It took a leaf on a tree to show me just how many years we’ve wasted.  Building bombs, weapons, scare tactics, making each other afraid of one another. Competing for just about everything.  As I look at that leaf I realize that I just want to spend the rest of my life feeling grateful, does anything else really matter?

Wasted so many years, on myself.

It took three months to October to show me that I could have given so much more. I could have washed more dishes, made more sandwiches, greeted more guests, made the floor just a little bit cleaner.  When I’m 90 with three months to go, I don’t want to be feeling this way.  So I’ve got to give, more than I’ve ever given before to take advantage of the years that are just wasting away.  To save the rest of myself.

More on all the Award Recipients receiving awards at the ceremony on May 7, 2009:
http://egov.ocgov.com/ocgov/Info%20OC/Departments%20&%20Agencies/OC%20Human%20Relations/Human%20Relations%20Awards/Awards%2038%20Recipients/Awards%2038%20Recipients

Of course its an honor to be selected as a recipient of this award. But, more so than it highlighting the efforts of one person, I believe that the award really highlights the efforts of the entire Be the Cause community. The volunteers that participate in our many projects quietly and at many times without recognition slowly shape the well-being of our community. It is easy to pin my face as the poster child of these efforts because maybe I helped start it all, but in reality, these days, its the silent and yet dedicated force of all the countless volunteers that makes the benefit to the community really happen.

The Orange County Human Relations has been doing amazing work for decades to bring people together. To be recognized as part of their heritage is a true honor.

We went straight to the temple where I was supposed to talk for an hour and a half on the merits of serving others. Somehow the words found their way from this neo-cortex, through the microphone, through gas and dust, onto ears and into hearts. I shared stories about the beginnings of Be the Cause. I told them my own story which somehow was also their story. We were all searching for something deeper in our lives and somehow we were all led to this same moment. I shared with them the stories I had heard, of a universe so vast that it was incredible and yet its magnificence didn’t trump the size of our own tiny little hearts.

In moments I could feel myself tearing up as I remembered the story of a little homeless boy we met one night in India. At times when I looked up, I found that my tears were somehow falling off the face of someone else. At times we all laughed simply because the words that were coming out seemed so ridiculous.

A few aunties took copious notes, but I knew that what I was saying was already known to them, and more importantly was already written in their hearts: That all we need is the courage to give, and in that moment the entire universe opens up for us.

Afterwards they asked questions. About my life. About how certain projects came together. Someone asked about finances, someone always does. Someone asked about happiness, and yes I admitted, it can be cultivated.

She came up to me afterwards stating that for a moment she felt she wasn’t alone. She cried for a moment standing there with me, I felt it too, that kinship, that togetherness, that love in the room. It made me a little strong and a little weak at the same time standing there in that temple. A little honored and also a little unworthy to be receiving such emotion.

A few of my new friends wanted to sit in silence so that we could end the afternoon the same way we started it. Fifteen minutes rolled by and it seemed as if more was shared in those silent moments than in the hours prior.

Later that night, when a few of my new friends decided to drop by after dinner, I would discover that they were serving much more than they had led me to believe. We discussed ongoing projects and brainstormed new ways of getting people engaged. We planned for the next day, where a repeat performance was requested for a younger audience.

The next day, I sat in front of kids and adults alike. The stories and the accompanying jokes seemed to work a second time around. Even the QnA felt similar, except this time the questions were more personal. I realized that every family is the same, they are all concerned about my marital status. Being single has allowed me some freedom, sure, but sharing stories of my married couple friends that do more together than separate quickly brought the point home: wherever you are, however you are, you can serve.

The drive home was rejuvenating. I felt as if I was leaving home to return home. Thank you San Diego. If anyone is interested in connecting with the Jain Community of San Diego please send me an email.

She was young. About 20 years old. A face so beautiful it could make you cry, it made me cry. But it was more than her looks, it was the way she carried herself, the way she smiled, the way she walked and the way she carried the cigarette on her lips. Everything about her said that ‘everything was okay’, that even as threatening men loomed over her, still ‘life was good’.

She was sitting there, outside the outtake building of the Santa Ana jail. How could something so beautiful come from such an un-beautiful place. Just seeing her brought out happiness in me, I had to know her story. I asked her how long she had been inside, she said ‘one week’. I asked her why she had been inside, without hesitation she said ‘prostitution’.

That feeling, when you know you haven’t been punched in the stomach, but almost wished you had, slips over me. The brief moment of extrovertedness falls off of me. I stood there speechless, and all of a sudden she became my sister. Hiding my emotion I slowly re-engage in conversation. She tells me of hotel rooms and craigs list web postings. In that moment I could give her anything she asks for, all she needs is my cell phone to make a call.

She needs cigarettes and wants to avoid the mix of “do-gooders” and “evil-doers” by the ‘Lights On‘ RV. I boyishly ask if its okay to walk with her towards the 7-11. She lets me.

She walks fast, too fast. I have so much to say but time isn’t on my side. Eventually the 7-11 will meet us, it will get in our way. Eventually this night will end. Eventually she will go back to where she came from, and I too will return.

I ask how it all began. I fell in love, she says. Proud of the sacrifices she has made for love, as if the sacrifice makes her in some way pure. The sadness in her eyes isn’t from the life she’s lived, but from the fact that she won’t see her lover for the next 3 months. It is a look of longing.

For the next 3 months he’ll be in jail. Society calls him by other names, but right now he is only “love”. She’s sad, that when the police found her in the hotel room, she wasn’t able to convince them that the man lurking outside wasn’t her ‘manager’. She’s sad, that he has to spend 3 months in jail, and that she has to spend 3 months without him. Love.

She says that people don’t understand. That love can make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. People on countless occasions have interjected that he doesn’t love her because he asks her to sleep with other men. Yet, she continues to have faith.

I also try to interject as much as I can in the short time I have. Speedily we walk, speedily I talk. Usually I talk about Love, this time Love has failed me. I speak about life and about journeys… and about failure. In life there is no training manual. None of us really know what we are supposed to be doing here. But we can somehow make the journey at least worthwhile. And maybe the one thing that can get in our way of living life to the fullest, is our own selves. Maybe sometimes we need to determine which of our emotions lead us to a path of greater good and which lead us to greater harm. … and just maybe we actually need to leave some emotions behind.

Sometimes its not about love, I tell her. Sometimes, it is about what is ‘right’. I recollect stories of when I have failed Love and when Love has failed me. When I have done wrong to those I have loved and when those that have loved me, have done me wrong.

She asks me if I have ever cheated on someone I loved. I say ‘yes’. She asks if I have ever hit someone I loved. I say ’sort-of’. She tells me that her ‘love’ was the first guy who had ever hit her.

I tell her that maybe he does love her and that maybe she loves him, but that sometimes you have to put all that aside and still do what is best. That maybe sacrificing Love is a greater sacrifice. (Maybe it would be good for him too.) I try to convince her that she has a great life and a greater one ahead if she can navigate through the swamp of thoughts and emotions that we all live in.

I vow not to walk her all the way to the 7-11, as a way of sacrificing my own love. I stop short seconds before the 7-11 and turn towards her. I wrap my arms around her and then let go. Walking back, emotions of sadness and anger grip me. I cry and scream at the same time. Hold my head and grip my fists at the same time.

“Love fails only when we fail to love” - J. Franklin.

They had all spent the last 4 months preparing for this moment. Pouring as much time, energy and love into the Walk for Hope as was humanly possible. They made phone calls, sent emails, made quotes, cooked food, meditated, processed payments, designed t-shirts, drew maps and planned activities. They did this during weekends, after work, during lunch hours and yes sometimes even during work. Today, they woke up at 4 in the morning, only to be greeted with nature’s decision to replenish the earth instead. Yet, there were only smiles to be seen. No-one looked disappointed that their hard work would have gone to waste. Instead, they took the rain as an opportunity to laugh, to dance and to be young again. Whether the walk went on or not, they seemed determined to put the best part of themselves into the day.

But of course, the walk would go on. A little rain (ahem… a lot of rain) wasn’t about to stop them. So they got ready to venture out into the soaking earth, they joked that they were about to prepare for the first ever “Swim for Hope”.

Just then, a ray of hope peeked from the horizon as the clouds began to peel away from the blue sky. Grown-ups became toddlers again. Jumping, skipping and dancing through the rain, they started to set up.

Hours floated by, the quotes got put up, the activity stations came together, the flooded streets and pathways got pumped out, and people started to arrive.

We’re not sure how the rest happened, it all feels like a blur. Somehow, everyone got a t-shirt, a quote book, everyone walked the route, they participated in the activities, read the hand-made quotes and ultimately found their way back to the beginning for a meal that was prepared at a Temple the night before. As soon as the last band was winding down their set, natures reprieve also drew to a close, the rain started to pound again. It’s amazing, that the rain was gone just long enough for us to put the Walk for Hope on. We’re not sure why it happened that way, we will probably never know nature’s grand plan, but I do have a hypothesis:

At this year’s walk, we had some extremely special folks visit us. We had Nipun and the Charity Focus Posse visit from the Bay Area. Maushmi flew in from Houston and Divya and Mikund came in from Vegas. What’s more is that our friends from Manav Sadhna all the way in Ahmedabad, India decided to dedicate a Walk for Hope in our honor that very morning. The also woke up at 4am in the morning and walked all the way to the airport to send and receive 90 of their kids on an airplane ride of their lives. This would be the first time the kids would step on a plane and was an amazing gift to these kids who typically don’t see any kind of modern day comforts in the slum dwellings where they live. Jayeshbhai himself called from India on the day of the walk to let us know of these plans. With these kinds of well wishes coming in from all corners of the globe, maybe even nature had to pause to take it all in. Maybe even the clouds were inspired that day.

We are grateful, to nature, for giving us the opportunity to exist, to play, to give and to love, in moments of rain and in moments of sunshine.

We are grateful to nature, for giving us friends that define what the word Love means.

See the pictures from the event.

The sun rises only to set. We are born only to depart one day. Fortunes, generations, entire cultures, even life itself comes and goes. Is there anything that stays behind?

33 give their lives to unmask the anger of one boy. The boy becomes a man. His life, arising only to pass. Only to take away. Anger remains.

Tears flow through the country. Making us feel. Something within us comes alive. It gives rise to a new reality, a new compassion takes form. Our hearts race, reach out, and sometimes, tears actually leak from our eyes. In our despair we actually begin to feel what it is to be human.

What kind of a place is this?

Tragedies come and go, lives lost forever, yet the rest of us still find ground beneath our feet. One way or another, life moves on. The sun rises again.

Two teenagers pull guns out of duffel bags and destroy entire livelihoods. That was 1999. Twin Towers explode. A tidal wave consumes entire cities. A hurricane touches down to teach us that we are not invincible. And yet, here we are, invincible. A war destroys an entire country, mothers cry out. Leaders, steadfast in their charge, say that lives are not lost in vain, yet we do it again… and again, and again. That was Vietnam.

What kind of a place is this?

The sun sets. Sends us into darkness, only to beckon us again with the chirping of birds. It gives us rise only to set us down again. A pattern emerges. Light and Dark, joy and pain, exhilaration and disappointment, Love and sacrifice all tied together.

We chastise those who grasp at more than is needed, secretly wishing that our own reach was vaster than theirs. Lovers betray one another. The secrets that we harbor in our minds would betray everyone we know.

We send our children, our own flesh and blood, to teachers whose salaries we would never accept for ourselves.

What kind of people are we?

What kind of a person am I?

Trapped between trying to build a new life and submitting to my past’s patterns. Childhood memories still shape the decisions of my life. Unable to control all of my thoughts I see the direction of my life shaping itself. Was my destiny shaped with my birth?

Seeing suffering everywhere and still I am consumed by my own discomforts. I still find it necessary to smile, to laugh, and to enjoy despite all the chaos that intrudes this planet. I celebrate birthdays, promotions, and even unexpected (and unwarranted) moments of joy, despite not knowing what this entire experience is all about.

A soldier asks why 3000 lives weren’t honored like the 33. An Iraqi woman asks the same about 100,000. And me, I’m just trapped thinking about why someone lied to me.

But it does all arise to pass. And in doing so, hopefully there is hope, that it teaches us something. That it refines us somehow, makes us better at who we are, and at what we are supposed to be doing in this diminishing existence. Time passes by, we get older, nearer to the days when we can no longer remember. The moment is now. To rise up, embrace the sun, the warmth, the birds, and the calling for a new day. The sun sets, only to call for us again the next morning.

I was setting up for our regular Seva Cafe location when Rajeev finally handed the package over to me.  It had already been opened.  I looked on the Priority Mail package and noticed that instead of putting their name and address, the sender had only left the word: “Smile!”.  I immediately recognized that this was something special in my hands and consequently a desire to share this gift with others arose.  I took the package over to the where five new volunteers were sitting and I showed them the package.  Ever since they arrived the new volunteers were asking me questions of what the Seva Cafe was.  Here, I thought, was an opportunity to show them in action.  Before I opened the package, I told them that these are the kinds of things that happen here.

We opened the Priority Mail package and inside we discovered a book, a note, and a self-addressed envelope.  I first proceeded to read the note out loud:

Sukh bhai,
I read this book from start to finish in one sitting.  I have never done this before.  I hope this book finds you well and has the same profound effect on you that it had on me.  I know this breaks the rules, but I would like you to read my secret before mailing it.  Thank you for helping me,
SMILE!

I contemplated the latter part of the letter for a moment.  Not quite understanding what rules were being broken and what this person’s secret was, I proceeded to look at the book for some clues.  The book was entitled: “The Secret Lives of Men and Women“.  It was a compilation of selected secrets submitted to www.postsecret.com.  Individuals anywhere could send in their secrets by depicting them on a postcard.  It allows them to share their common humanity with others, and relieves them of a burden that they may have been carrying for a long time.  I opened the book to a random page and the ‘realness’ of the human experience hit me immediately.  A postcard with a woman confessing that she is more afraid of aging than of dying, and another photograph of a priest with ”Some Days, it feels more like a noose!!” written on his clerical collar.

Then it hit me.  The self-addressed envelope contained the secret of this anonymous sender, and they actually wanted me to read their secret before it made its way to postsecret.com.  I looked inside the envelope unsure of what secrets were awaiting me.  I pulled out, with little surprise, a Smile Card.  One the smile card was hand written the anonymous senders secret: “I can’t give gifts or do community service without expecting something in return.”  … and at the bottom in big bold letters: “Not Anymore!“ 

In that moment, we all wondered if we do service without expectation.  Maybe that was a secret that all of us were harboring and was unleashed through the courage of this anonymous sender.  I also thought about all the secrets that I keep locked up in myself.  How the things that actually make me human are the things that I try so hard to hide from others.  I keep my own pain and anger locked away so that others won’t think poorly of me.  That’s my secret.

I wish more peace and happiness for you this year.  Time is a concept that none of us really understand.  How one moment actually changes to the next.  Why space exists, why movement exists, why all of this has created all of us?  What is it all supposed to be about, what are we supposed to be doing?  At best, we are experimenting with our time here, either to create a legacy that will last beyond us, or to experience more happiness than the moments that have already past.  At best, we are always stepping into the unknown.

Life, a movement from one unknown to another.

You may be too young to understand some things, but I know that you already understand the one thing that matters most in life: Love.  Your grandfather, grandmother, father, mother and ¨chachu¨ love you very much.

The world belongs to you, and you to the world.  Everything is a circle and we are all points along this circle.  Anything you do to one part of the circle eventually touches every other part of the circle.  It is never ending.  What more is that everything that is inside the circle is the same as what is outside the circle.  Emptiness inside, emptiness outside.  Infinity inside, infinity outside.  Only a thin line separates what is inside from what is outside.  That is a circle.

I´m in Quito, Ecuador right now.  I went with 15 other friends who wanted to make the world a better place.  I think of you often.  How the part of the world that is somehow brighter because of our actions will somehow directly ripple brightness into your life.  If everything is truly a circle that I have faith that what we do here will be good for you there.  What is good for others, is good for me, is good for you.

I love you.  You are in my thoughts, in my dreams, and in my convictions.

In this part of the world they say ¨Feliz Ano Nuevo¨ (Happy New Year).  Maybe one day we will have a conversation without words.