Montreal, Quebec
Definition of Hell
I would never make a
good prisoner because if I was ever to become a jailbird, I would be confined
to a small space where moving around is practically impossible. That’s how I’ve felt these last two days when the weather has made getting around super challenging.
Every year, just after
New Year’s,
harsh winter sets in. Normally I’m not
intimidated,
but when rain and snow come down on a sheer ice surface where you drive or
walk, you become very vulnerable.
“Where is there a
walking track—indoors, of course?” I asked Krishna Dulal.
“I don’t know of
any. Will a treadmill do?”
“I was on a treadmill
for a stress test the other day. It was
my second time on one of them. It’s not
my cup of tea. I did well on the stress
test, though.”
Well, the treadmill
concept remained a concept. The weather
didn’t let up either. I also got busy
with people issues. Walking, of any kind,
when straight out the window and not the door.
Jail? Well I do have some experience. Before being a monk, I tried hitching a
ride on a train in Calgary. I didn’t know it was wrong. I was naïve and a teen. Got arrested.
Prayed to God right in jail.
After I became a monk, I was put in prison
in North Carolina and Illinois with other brahmacaris
(monks),
for the
distribution of our literature without a license. It was okay.
We had each other. Solitary
confinement would have been torture. Any
place where you can’t stretch your legs is like hell.
May the Source be with
you!
0 km
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