Tuesday, November 4/08 - Deseronto, Ontario, Canada
There are certain words that cannot be repeated here- words that were volleyed towards me expressing that I was not welcome.
While on return to Toronto from Montreal, a distance of 600kms, Yajna Gauranga, another monk from Toronto acting as my driver wanted to take a nap due to driver’s fatigue. I decided to walk ahead, catch some fresh air and a gaze at that intense red sun in front of me. Just west of the town Desronto is Mohawk territory. It is clearly marked along highway 2. While 3 kilometers into the trek a male voice shouted from the side “freak”, Foreigner” and other colorful expressions. I stopped for a moment and took-up the challenge. I could see no one beyond the trees and a clump of three houses tightly built together.
“Would you like a conversation? We can talk!” The voice continued but from his distance, no body appeared. It was mild out and easily he could have spoken through a window from inside. Command to leave kept asserting itself and I again challenged a friendly conversation. But to no avail.
I would have defended myself expressing That I’m not a foreigner (I guess my robes didn’t fit into his form of reality) and that I was born in Chatham, Ontario close to the famed Uncle Tom’s cabin where black slaves were given refuge during America’s revolution. I’m a monk and not a freak. And besides we are not these bodies. We are spirit souls. Using bodily designation is somewhat unhealthy. We can share the earth together. If you check out history even indigenous people came from somewhere, the common belief being that they migrated from Asia through the Bering Strait. Which community wasn’t nomadic by will or by force looking for a promised land or put into exile on an island or desert? We are all essentially brothers sharing the common father, the Creator.
Unfortunately there was no receptivity or a will to meet and converse. The non-hospitable remarks persisted and I was left to bear an ounce of humility, which isn’t bad.