Tariq is a Welshman, a young father who has come to see his three year old son living in Canada. Tariq was in the seat next to me on Flight 141, Etihad Airways. He’s a smoker and a drinker (my assumption is he’s moderate in both cases). He boasted about his love for the pub. I felt I couldn’t go too deep with him in spiritual dialogue but I really appreciated his friendship, warmth and easy-going nature. It certainly beats sitting next to a religious zealot who can be cold and hard and ready to release holy venom. It sounds like a paradox but the world is made up of different types.
I’m back home and for two days I had no opportunity to touch real ground. Now after some rest I'll be able to kick some dry leaves lying about into the air and hear them rustle as I tread over grass in the city parks. It’s a distinct difference from the sands graced over in Israel and Juhu.
My monk assistant, Dhruva, helped me with massage on the legs and noticed scars on the right limb. These were a result of a slip in the mud at the Dead Sea. Salt rocks mixed in the mud scraped along the leg leaving scars. It’s not hard to convince anyone that these feet are not lotus-like, especially given that planter’s warts exist, however, slowly they are vanishing. Thanks to liquid nitrogen for the cure and perhaps some credit goes to the cow’s urine application while in Mumbai. I will not cancel out natural remedies as effective cures just like the last time I contacted poison ivy and the best remedy ever was a concoction – an application of mud better known as tilak. That’s sacred mud, if you will. It did the trick.
Now I rest and will wake up and address the infection within. I will chant as offenselessly as possible and try to placate the heart. One day I hope to be strong enough to be able to feel a compassion for the zealots mentioned above in an effort to be helpful.