Once I stepped off the bus, where I traveled for a few hours from Delhi to Varanasi, there was this aura permeating the city, one I had never felt before and one I struggled not only at that moment to comprehend, but one in which I still find myself being significantly challenged to explain to you. I had already known Varanasi was one of the oldest cities and considered the holiest in India. Still, to be there, to feel this strange energy that instantly became palpable, and to inhale the air which was infused with its peculiar stench, it was entirely beyond anything I could have expected.
Since I had not yet booked any room, I hailed a tuk-tuk and asked the driver to take me to Mother Ganga (India's Holy river) and decided I would just find one in the area. After departing from the vehicle, I had to walk possibly a quarter of a mile to get to the river since no cars were allowed within the immediate circumference. It was still early morning, probably around 7:00 a.m., so shops were just opening, the roads were not insanely packed, nor the sidewalk overwhelmed with people. However, there was still enough going on that caught my attention: homeless people with their head covered by blankets, others sitting on the side of the road asking for money; the infrastructure of the buildings displayed an antique city in need of some slight construction work; and then, I beheld these older men who were drenched in bright colors, with protruding beards, and whose presence was felt distances away.
I would later discover these men, who were dispersed throughout the city, were called Sadhu's, or an individual who has abandoned worldly desires for a path of spiritual knowledge and liberation. These ascetic wanderers are revered deeply for their renunciation, and others feared for their abilities to curse you (or to bless you for that matter). In any case, I just continued observing my new surroundings and made my way towards the Ganga.
When I arrived, there were folks of all ages in the river: a few playing in the water, some on small boats sailing, and others taking what I observed to be a "spiritual bath," as they would cover their nose and completely submerge themselves into the water, going up and down approximately three to four times, cleansing themselves for both inner and outer reasons. From the beginning of my trip to India, where I started in Rishikesh, I learned how sacred and spiritually pure the Mother Ganga is to all those who believe in its purity. In Northern India, the river derives from the Gangotri Glacier and travels more than 1,600 miles across Asia. Although the river is one of the most polluted rivers in the world (due to sewage dumping and human feces), it is still a primary source of water for drinking, bathing, and the cultivation of crops, for more than 400 million people. Lastly, as I observed those taking their spiritual baths, Mother Ganga serves as a "sin" cleanser.
As I was walking along the Ganga, I asked a native, somewhere in his 50s, for directions to a nearby hostel. I ended up befriending the gentleman and found out his name was Raju. A slim fellow with ears that resemble an elf, Raju walked me to a local hostel where I dropped my belongings and eventually took a nap. Raju and I decided we would meet the following day so he could give me a short tour of the city and fill me in on some of its essential history.
The next evening I met with Raju, and he told me he wanted to take me somewhere special. I wasn't sure where he was going to take me, but I decided to trust him and followed his lead. As we were heading towards the river, I noticed the air had thickened, the smell had resembled the stench of burning paper, and then, as we moved closer, I beheld a multitude of people standing around a pillar of smoke. "Here is where close to 200 people are cremated a day, and their ashes are released into Mother Ganga," he told me. As we moved closer, there was a man possibly in his 30s, dressed in all white, with his head and face shaved entirely, circulating the burned body. "He is most likely the son or brother of whoever died, and they shave all their hair as a sign of mourning," he said, answering the question in my mind.
The people closest to where the body was burning were the relatives of whoever died. Still, as I looked at their faces, there wasn't the slight sign of grief, despair, or anger, but rather, there was a collective expression of acceptance in their eyes as if they all welcomed their relative's death without sadness. I am sure in their hearts, there resided some sorrow, but their demeanor was one of embracement as if they invited death with a peaceful spirit.
I couldn't help but ask Raju about my observations since, in the West, death is not only profoundly feared, but when the inevitable happens, there is always an outpouring of mourning from the family and friends. "No, no, no — death is celebrated here, my friend," he answered. "The people who die here have achieved moksha! They are no longer bound by their karma and forced into the cycle of rebirth, but instead, they have reach salvation, or you can say, like the Buddhist, nirvana!" He then pointed to a hotel with the name "Kashi Labh Mukti Bhavan" or, in simpler terms, the place where people, who are expected to die in the next 15 days, reside — yes, in short, a hotel to die.
As Raju is explaining their perception of death, I couldn't help but notice another body, wrapped as if a mummy, be set on fire, and the people around look not as if they are witnessing a human body being cremated, but if they're witnessing, with composure, another casual moment in their life. When I squinted my eyes, I could see the foot of the half cremated person, and a chill went down my spine. I went walking alone after deciding I had enough of seeing cremated bodies, and deeply pondered on my own mortality.
This was the first time I found myself contemplating my own transient life, where I reflected on the Bible verse James 4:14 "For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away." It is too convenient when you have good health, riches, and power to forget we all will one day take our very last breath. No matter your wisdom or foolishness, your wealth or poverty, your good or poor name, your knowledge or ignorance, your strength or weakness — our bodies will all return to the dust from whence it came.
In my moment of reflection on death, my soul felt liberated, as if nothing mattered to me anymore: dreams, social media, fame, power, money, fears, love, envy — not a thing concerned me other than my very breath, the reminder I am alive which itself is worth more than anything I just noted. This very moment is truly a blessing and a gift from life; we are both alive. Though death shall one day come to both of us, there is no need to fear the inevitable but to embrace it, and to appreciate each breath we take, so when the hour comes to depart this world, we can reflect on our lives and be proud in not only how we have lived, but more importantly, in the trail, we're leaving for others to follow.
The day before New Year's, I decided it was finally time to burn the remainder of the approximately 3,000 documents I retrieved from my foster care agency to help write my memoir. The past several months, while in Asia, I have been reading over each record, taking notes, and slowly destroying each: either by burning, throwing into the ocean, or placing them in the trash can. I will be honest, there have been many nights where I have spent in tears as memories I tried to forget returned and brought with it inner sorrow. One evening, after reading about the confusion which resonated in my youth from my sexual abuse, as I was meditating, tears came streaming down my cheeks. In that particular moment, I deeply hated the individual who first sexually abused me when I was five, opening the door for not only years of inner conflict, but for me to feel defensiveness when I would be repetitively abused by other men and women years later in separate foster homes.
I never receive an apology from the first person who sexually abused me, so as I was meditating, I felt my muscles tense, my thoughts of retaliation surfaced, and, for a brief moment, hatred penetrated my heart and was strong enough that if the person was in front of me, I might have killed him. I know I am expressing strong sentiments right now, but nobody truly understands the many nights of questioning myself and my sexuality or the blame I placed on myself for everything that happened to me in my youth. It all started when I was five, after being severely sexually abused.
One of the most important things I have learned on my travels about self-love is indeed forgiveness. I could not have gotten to the point of loving myself wholeheartedly as I am now without having to forgive that individual and the other adults who took advantage of a child who was already deeply damaged. So, in that same hour of meditation, as those feelings surfaced, I accepted and embraced each. I then released those thoughts and emotions with the tears I shed, followed by uttering within my psyche, "I forgive you," and then reflected on how it is better to forgive than to seek revenge as the former shows gentleness, and the other savagery!
As I was walking outside, I found a fire keeping a few people warm, and I asked if I could burn my papers. Without hesitation, one older gentleman said, "sure," and I proceeded to place the last few hundred in the fire. I watched as the flames engulfed my past, with all the lies, abuses, and false diagnoses, and there ceased to be any anger, resentment, or bitterness, just the instant liberation of my soul. I, too, thought about my peers still in the foster care system and said a little prayer wishing they may also get the opportunity to one day put their traumatic past behind them in whichever cathartic way they choose, so we can all heal and operate from a place of love and peace rather than from fear and anger.
Later in the evening, Raju and I had some chai, and he began telling me about this spiritual teacher who could educate me on my past, present, and future for a few rupees. I thought what I do have to lose, so he and I went to the residence of this supposedly famous guru so he could tell me my future. After waiting a few minutes, the fortune-teller descended some stairs with his disheveled appearance, and these eyes, when locked with mine, told a story of vast wisdom and fearlessness. I sat up straight in my chair, preparing my spirit for whatever this man would say to me. He then told me his price to disclose to me my past, present, and future, but since I was only was interested in the future, I paid him to tell me what's ahead.
He then asked me to close my eyes, as he said a prayer to a Higher power, asking for the authority to tell me my future. As he was praying, it felt as if the energy in the room had shifted, and although the windows were closed and the fan was off, I felt a slight breeze fall upon me, as if there was some spiritual being, naked to my eyes, in the room with us. He then gently took hold of my palms, looked intensively at both as if he was studying them, and then said, "okay - I understand."
I won't tell you everything he said for time shall either prove him right or wrong, but what I will say besides him being accurate about my love life not working out right now, or the fact I have four siblings, was I will find all the answers of my heart through meditation and yoga (keep in mind I didn't tell him anything besides my name and where I live in the States). The seer then told me my work will be intellectual and universal; and that I will become a vegan. He then mentioned when I'd get married and to whom, how long I will live, how many children I'll have, whether or not I'll accomplish my dream and many other things which sent me on a long walk along Mother Ganga in deep contemplation.
Before I left his company, though, he had asked me if I knew where I would travel to next. I told him I didn't know where I was going, so he told me to go to Bodhgaya, about six hours further east, and known as the place where Lord Buddha achieve enlightenment. I said okay, and departed from the seer's presence.
The next morning, when I arrived in Bodygaya, I was much happier since Varanasi was freezing, but my new location was a bit warmer. As I looked around, I noticed two out of possibly five people was dressed as monks, with burgundy raiments covering their entire body, and their heads completely shaved. In the same breath, something else immediately caught my attention: scores of people, of all ages, without limbs. Some had no legs, others had no arms or fingers, a handful didn't have the lower half of their body and navigated the city on skateboards, and then there were the children scattered around the streets asking for food and money from any person who looked as if they could spare something.
My driver took me to my hostel, which was originally a school, but turned into a home for a Muslim family and for travelers looking to rent a bed for a few hundred rupees. When I stepped out of the vehicle, an older gentleman approached me, who I found out was called Islam, and behind him were a few children ranging from five to maybe fifteen. He introduced himself, asked for my passport, and then offered me some chai. A conversation erupted between us, and he mentioned how he and his wife are adoptive parents who have adopted 19 children ranging from five to twenty. Intrigued, for obvious reasons, I listened to Islam's story of taking in some of the children of the village in hopes of giving them a better life.
As we were engaged in our conversation, he asked me did I come to Bodhgaya to hear the 14th Dalai Lama speak. Islam could tell by how shocked I was I ended up in the same place as the Dalai Lama, and made it in time for his four-day speech on compassion, he simply said: "I'm guessing you didn't know the Dalai Lama was in town, eh?" In the same moment, another traveler interrupted and said, "tickets are free! You should go!"
The next morning, after procuring my ticket and leaving my phone in the locker since we couldn't have our phones at the event, I found a seat in what felt like a sea of Buddhist people. The majority of all those around me were entirely wrapped in burgundy clothing, and others dressed casually. There was a prayer being recited in Tibetan, which of course, I couldn't understand, but what resembled a prayer of peace and meditation. Before long, the drummers began beating passionately, the prayers slowly gave way, and everyone stood up beside me, bowing down as the Dalai Lama slowly made his way to the stage. I watched intensively as the followers of Buddhism would place their hands in prayer position by their chest, then just near their nose, and then once more over their head, followed by lying their entire body on the ground, repeating the humble gesture of thanks and servitude several times.
Once the Dalai Lama sat down, his spirit began pervading the hearts of his audience. I looked around and saw so many people in tears, but not crying in pain or sorrow, but shedding their tears in joy, in thanks for being in his presence, and in faith for a man who gives a world plummeting into despair, hope. I grabbed my radio, turned to the English station, put on my headphones, and waited to be enlightened by his holiness.
There were many things in which the Dali Lama spoke of, but I will tell you the few things that stayed with me, and what I meditate on daily to grow with his advice and wisdom he so gracefully bestowed on me. First, he spoke intensively over the four days of compassion. In a world where we are retreating into our ideological cocoons, where tribalism and nationalism have replaced the notion of cosmopolitanism; where we view the "other" — whether that be one who shares different political or religious views, or an immigrant — as alien, there will naturally be a decline in the compassion we show one another, thus leaving us all in some form of suffering.
To show compassion, which means to care for the suffering of others, is also to show compassion for ourselves, for it is only a matter of time before we will need some form of sympathy shown towards us. To live is to suffer and to suffer is to live, so as long as you and I are alive, we will unequivocally experience suffering in our lives. What makes our suffering bearable is not only the tenderness in which we have towards ourselves, but equally important, is the commiseration our family, friends, and strangers show towards us in our time of need.
Secondly, the Dali Lama spoke about how your enemy is your most excellent teacher. It is easy to be patient, kind, and loving towards those who first extend those sentiments towards us. It takes more patience, greater kindness, and unconditional love to deal with those who despise us, who are rude to us, and whose actions are fueled by malice. He then told us not to reciprocate those negative emotions and actions, but rather, to take the opportunity to be grateful to those who wish you ill-will, to extend your hand in love and patience to those individuals and it is then, you will view them not through the same lens in which they see you, but as your teacher sent to strengthen your character.
Thirdly, he mentioned how imperative it is on the road to enlightenment, to study, reflect, and to meditate. It is simply not enough to study, whether that be knowledge or oneself, but one needs to spend time in solitude reflecting, followed by time alone meditating. Studying is the act of acquiring information on external events and the internal state, while time reflecting is intentional thinking on how the external and internal coexist and meditating is discerning the external from the internal, thus creating inner peace.
Lastly, in the Dalai Lama's last moments of teaching, he spoke about the importance of patience on the road of enlightenment. One has to be "tolerable and forbearing while pursuing the life of understanding" without being impatient. He, too, noted how the process takes years, decades, perhaps one's entire life. I, personally, think the Dalai Lama hasn't necessarily reached the state of this enlightenment he so wisely preached about. Still, instead, he is too on his journey of understanding, attaining wisdom, and cultivating knowledge. I left his holiness encouraged knowing my journey of enlightenment isn't necessarily a destination but rather a continuous and never-ending quest.
As the sun began setting, I started reflecting on a few things. The first being the immense amount of hope I saw in all the Buddhist eyes as they all looked passionately at their spiritual teacher. Here was a man who from the very moment he was born was selected to be the Dalai Lama, and who had to sacrifice a life of pleasure and worldly desires, to live a holy existence so he may lead the world towards enlightenment, or towards knowledge, wisdom, and understanding. I thought about the nights he may have cried too, asking whether God, the universe, or himself, why he had to walk his particular journey, which, in a way, was thrusted upon him.
It was then I thought a life spent in service to humanity is better lived than a life spent only for self. Think about it for a second: Imagine if Jesus, Mohammad, Lord Buddha, the Dalai Lama, or any other prophet you can think of thought not of the collective as they did, but instead considered only their needs and desires. Perhaps then Jesus wouldn't have died on the cross for humanity, Mohammad wouldn't be revered in the way he is now, and Lord Buddha wouldn't have inspired the Dalai Lama to sacrifice his life in hopes of changing others. We are all connected to the liberation of one another. You and I have both been called to sacrifice in whatever way for the good of the collective, even at the expense of our own happiness and perhaps even peace.
My next moment of reflection covered the plethora of people without limbs of every kind and the massive poverty in front of my eyes. What at first confused me was to see these dismembered people, who appeared to be suffering immensely, have this sparkle of hope and joy in their eyes. How could this be? How could people without half of their bodies be joyful? The answer I witnessed was simply acceptance. They have accepted the state of their bodies in this lifetime, so there is no need to wallow in despair, but embrace their condition and live to the best of their ability.
My last moment of reflection was spent reflecting on the compassion in which the Buddhist illustrated: To see the followers of Buddhism live amongst India's most impoverished and to witness the sympathy they collectively demonstrated, taught me it is indeed compassion, and the care for our brethren, which will serve as a reminder no one suffers alone. It was then I reflected on a quote I once read: "Many of the world's ills can be traced back to society's general indifference for their fellow men."
To take a quick break from all the deep stuff, my sister had asked me whether or not I've been eating well here in India. Truth is, as I have been connecting with the dogs, cats, mice, cows, bulls, goats, birds, chickens, pigs, and even the insects, I haven't been interested in eating any meats. In America, we're so far removed from the animals, by the time we see the animal, it is wrapped up in plastic and the first thing we notice is the price. We are by then desensitize and don't think twice about the chicken, instead we consider whether it will be fried, boiled, or baked! I won't say I will never eat meat again but right now, being a vegetarian has my body in great shape, my mind sharper, and my conscious clear!
In any case, the next morning, I had agreed to go with Islam to buy some blankets to give to the local school children, who had be forced because of poverty, to sleep in the cold. I couldn't offer much, but I gave what I could so he could buy over 100 blankets. But before we departed to purchase the covers, with watery eyes, Islam vented to me about the increasing tension between the nationalist government and their followers and the Muslim population in the country. "It is getting worse, Demetrius. I fear for my family's life, I fear for my life. I don't know what to do." I continued listening to Islam speak on the anxiety he felt every day due to the government's discrimination against those of his religious belief.
I often pray and ask God to give me the wisdom to know what to say to family, friends, or any person who expresses any fear, anxiety, or concern to me. For the moment, nothing came to mind, so I listened to Islam with an open heart: "What am I to do if someone attacks my family? Or myself? Because I believe differently than them?" I felt his anxiety getting worst, and it was then I said to him, "Brother, in this breath, we are okay. I don't know about tomorrow, or next week, let alone next year. But in this very breath, we are okay."
It is often when fear or anxiety creeps into our minds, we begin to think the worst of all situations, and we slowly start to panic. But in the same instance, when our hearts are perturbed, if you notice, everything is okay in that very breath. I couldn't promise him tomorrow something terrible wouldn't happen, or perhaps later in the night something wouldn't happen, but what I could say with absolutely no doubt is that in that very breath, everything is alright. It was then as if the clouds gave way and the sun began slightly shining, Islam said "you're right, Demetrius. In this breath, we are okay," and he let out a slight smile.
A few hours later, Islam, another traveler, and I went to the school, which was only about 10 minutes away. When we arrived, the students, no more than 12-years-old perhaps, exited the building and all lined up to retrieve their blanket made out of wool. There are moments in life where your service, whether it is sharing your resources or your time, is so appreciated there is no need for a "thank you" because you see the gratitude in the smiles and in the sparkle in the eye of the recipients. As I noted earlier, I couldn't give much, but I was very thankful I was able to contribute to helping some children sleep warm at night. The way the kids held the blankets with their innocent smiles reminded me a life full of service is one worthy of being lived.
I had also committed to giving some rice to a village a few miles away with some native friends I met. So, after leaving Islam and the children, my friend picked me up, we bought a big bag of rice, and we then drove to a village about 30 minutes away. I initially thought I could give more, and we would have made numerous smaller bags of rice and provided to the families of the villages, but since I could only buy one bag of rice, instead we had a few mothers and grandmothers come to us to prevent anyone fighting over food. With the aid of a scooper, I dug into the rice and placed a scoop into either their buckets or shirts, and watched as they thankfully accepted the rice. I went to sleep that night and thanked God for giving me a little extra where I could share some with those less fortunate than myself.
By the time you read this, I would have spent a few days in Goa where I have been strengthening my yoga practices on the beach and, and am now heading to Tamil Nadu to work on deepening my meditation practices before I take my vipassana meditation course in March where I will live in complete silence for ten days.
Final thoughts: As always, thanks for reading to this point. Please remember death doesn't discriminate, there will be a day you and I depart from this world, so why spend it in fear of the inevitable? Instead embrace life to the fullest, for every single breath you and I take is a blessing. Secondly, the world needs more compassion now than I believe perhaps than any point in its history. So, go and help another, be patient with those who are impatient with you, and remember: "You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you."
― John Bunyan
PLEASE donate by clicking the following link. Every dollar helps. No, seriously it really does lol!
Thanks!
With love,
Demetrius Napolitano
https://www.gofundme.com/f/eta2y-healing-through-meditation
To be continued...
