When love fails.

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.

What people appreciate the most is the people.  That’s what we learn at the Walk for Hope each year.  Sure the quotes are great.  This year they were even hand made and literally took over three months to create.  The activity stations are great too, they give the walkers a chance to pause, interact and reflect.  But year after year, people always say that the best part of the walk is interacting with all the people that are there.  What a concept, just your mere presence becomes a gift at the walk for hope.  Just by choosing to walk, you are giving a gift to another walker.

The people that come to the Walk are pretty unique I would agree.  They participate in both the moments of silence and the warm-up exercises by the Laker Girls.  They wish to make the world a better place and they know that they can’t do that by judging others.  They give of their lives, of their resources, and of their hearts.

I learned this first hand.

15 minutes into the event, someone who had traveled from Northern California to be at this event walked up to me and handed me an envelope.  They said that some random person had asked them to deliver it to me and that they wished to remain anonymous.  I suspected a few of the usual suspects but this was no ordinary random act of kindness.  The envelope had a quote hand written on the outside: “Nature is full of genius, full of divinity; so that not a snowflake escapes its fashioning hand” – Thoreau.  Through the thin envelope I could tell that it contained some money.  I opened the envelope and found $101.  I was shocked.  Someone had just handed me $101 and I had no idea who. 

All I could think about was how amazing the people at the Walk for Hope are.  Their mere presence was a gift to me, but now that gift also came with $101.  I wasn’t sure what I would do with the money, but I was already thinking of creative ways to give it away.

Lost in my thoughts I continued to mingle with the crowd.  15 minutes pass by and a random person approaches me.  They hand me an envelope.  Same story.  Someone had asked them to deliver the envelope to me and yet they refused to get any recognition.  There is another quote hand-written on the envelope: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious.  It is the source of all true art and science.” -Albert Einstein.  I open the envelope and inside I find $101.

15 minutes later, someone approaches me, hands me an envelope and smiles.  “This is from a random stranger who wishes to remain anonymous”.  They place the envelope in my open hands and walk away.  All I can do is stare in their direction as they leave me speechless.  I don’t know who this delivery person is, or who they had just met, but the interaction that took place between these two strangers is changing my life.  Time becomes more visible.  A few minutes ago a transaction took place.  Two people met, some conversation took place, and a gift was exchanged.  In this present moment, one of the two strangers is handing me an envelope.  Somehow, without knowing, without choosing, my life is tied to the interaction of these two strangers.  “The best way to find yourself, is to lose yourself in the service of others.” – Gandhi, it says on the envelope.  Inside is $101.

Noon rolls around and I now have seven envelopes in my pocket.  I’m scared.  I begin to fear every person who comes up to me to say hello.  I have the great fortune of being able to interact with many people on the day of the Walk, and now this role scares me.  I’ve got $707 dollars in my pocket and I know that each additional penny that I collect will force me to open my heart in ways it has not opened before. 

I sit down and this time it’s a nun.  She greets me with “Om Shanti”, which to me in that moment means: let there be love between us.  She hands me an envelope, walks away, and leaves me in tears.  The Walk for Hope is almost over, I have to make my way to the stage to make a few announcements yet all I can do is sit and cry.  Om Shanti.

I learned to accept.  I learned to bow.  I learned to touch the feet of every person who handed me an envelope.  I learned that there is love between us.  I learned to cry.  I learned that someone somewhere out there has faith in me.  I learned to have faith in myself. 

With ten profound gestures of kindness, I ended up with ten envelopes, ten quotes and $1010 in my pocket.  (Revised: Actually I ended up with 11 envelopes, 11 quotes, 11 profound gestures, and a total of $1111… all one(s) ).

11 random strangers learned the joy of giving.  They became tied to my life.  Dear friend, whoever you may be, thank you for the envelopes, the love you left inside, the quotes, and for the 11 random people you brought into my life. Continue reading →

Movement.  It is the process in which we transition from one place to another.  It symbolizes change.

Every single person on this planet is engaged in some form of movement.  Some people move their lives in a direction towards fear, greed, or suffering.  That movement then becomes visible in the form of wars, corporate scandals, and outright unhappiness.

Our lives are temporary here.  We are like wind, arising only to pass away.  The only question that matters is which direction are our lives moving in? Are we moving towards love?

Love is not something that is taught to us.  We don’t learn it in our schools, at our jobs, at the shopping malls, or in our TV shows.  Love, which is indisputably the most important thing in life, is the one thing that we forget to cultivate in our daily routines.

We hope that the Walk for Hope serves as a reminder of the things that matter most in life; as a metaphor for the movement that we are all engaged in.

We cannot say that we know what Love is; we too have come here to learn.  We hope that we have not come here to get anything from you, but rather to offer you a piece of our own hearts… thereby teaching ourselves how to love.

By laying one foot on the ground the other follows.  Only by beginning can we move forward.

– Sukh

Brain Surgery!  Doctor, Doctor, can you help me?  There is a hole in my mind.  I once knew how to function logically, now I seem to have lost all perspective, in short, I’ve lost a grip on my reality.  As if my existence has turned to rose pedals and they float and extend in every direction.  What was once up, now I find beneath my feet.  What was once inside, now travels outside. 

My assumptions on life, my judgments of others don’t help me anymore.  In fact, they only get in the way.  They once dictated my behaviors, now they paralyze me.  They keep me from moving, from reaching, from flying.  Rose pedals grow wings, become birds, and reach the sky.

I wake up on Saturday mornings with a smile, knowing that I will have to work harder today than any other day of the week.  … and I smile.  Doctor, Doctor, there is something wrong with me.

I look forward to expanding the ever growing hole in my mind.  I look forward to slipping into it, to falling down in it, to losing all sense of direction in it.  In it, there is only movement.  No conscious choice of direction, just random movements.  Yet, it seems orchestrated.  I feel as if something is dictating my motions, I seem to have lost control, and it feels so very beautiful.  To give in, to let go, to let loose, to submit, to bow, to fall into, this is what dreams must be made of.  I keep falling, yet it feels as if I am actually floating upward. 

Four Saturday’s together.  It started then.  Maybe it was the rendition of a loud Led Zeppelin song, but something tore into me that night.  I haven’t felt quite myself since, Doctor, Doctor, can you help me, I think there is something right with me. 

2 weeks ago, a friend of mine washed dishes for five hours straight.  The plumbing pipes were clogged so he even had to manually transport filthy water from one room to another.  After five hours of this laborious work, he said he would be back every Saturday for more.  Then it hits me again!  Every dish we wash, every sandwich we make, is an opportunity for us to grow in our hearts.  Every guest gives us an opportunity to reach down inside, and to pull a piece of ourselves outside.  To bring our hearts out in the open.  Even hearts can grow wings.

The best thing I can do with my life is to put my heart in my hands and offer it to you as a genuine gift. 

Four weeks ago.  The hole started.  I began to serve.  The room went black and white.  Only a single envelope was in vivid color.  All of my senses, awareness and focus was directed to this colorful object.  I turned to my guest but he blended into the black and whiteness of the room.  I knew then, that I wasn’t fit for love.  Every restaurant that I had ever walked into was built as a function of profit.  Concerned with how much revenue they would earn, I was a financial transaction.  Although we are humans, we are also numbers.  I see this aspect of society in my own brain.  I need a hole.  If my mind is concerned with how much money will be left in the envelope after my guest’s meal, then I cannot serve with love.  Greed and Love cannot co-exist.  So the envelope must become a periphery aspect of my relationship with my guest.  At the core, is my heart, connected with his heart.  Even envelopes can grow wings.

At the end of the night, I find an envelope with $250.  The guest had ordered one sandwich, one soup, and one drink. 

The money comes in.  Now I’m concerned.  Now I know there is something wrong in my brain.  Now, all of a sudden, I don’t want the success of this project to be measured by how much money it pulls in.  Maybe the more money it pulls in, maybe the easier it gets to forget that true success is measured in the intangibles.  The fact that we came together, that love existed in our actions.  Now I hope that the money doesn’t overshadow what this is really about.  Are we learning to see love in every dish, in every sandwich, in every guest, and in every envelope?  Are we learning to serve with genuine love in our hearts… now that is success.

2 weeks later.  A homeless man leaves 93 cents, everything he had on him, to pay for a future guest’s meal.  Maybe he needs a doctor too.

Life is a surprise.  Week 1, five folks from the Bay Area drove down, two of them were a surprise.  Week 4, four folks drove down from the Bay Area, all of them were a surprise.  While they were here they washed dishes, bussed tables, made sandwiches, took orders, and smiled.  The woke up before the sun came up, drove 6 hours, 500 kilometers, to work all day.  The next day, they woke up, drove 6 hours, 500 kilometers, and went to work the next day.  I wonder if there is a conspiracy, and if many others have holes in their brains.  Maybe this degradation of logic and sensibility seems to be spreading across the planet.  Alert the Center for Disease Control, I think we have an epidemic on our hands crazier than the bird flu!  I think it is air born, is transmitted through emails and blog entries.  Through dirty dishes and portabella mushrooms.  Through smile cards, hand shakes and warm hugs.  Through someone opening a door for someone else, through a child, holding the hands of a complete stranger.  I feel infected.  Symptoms include staying up late sending emails, listening to music, crying for no reason, falling in love with everything, with everyone, with every moment.  Bowing for no reason, feeling gratitude for no reason.  Loss of appetite, loss of worry, loss of concern.  An over expansion of the heart.  A desire to do something for someone else.  I wonder if there is a fix to this fix.  I’m jonesing for another hit, and it’s only Wednesday.

Guest is God.  That’s what they say.  To treat every guest as if they are divinity.  But we don’t buy that here.  In constant debate over what God is, we don’t risk treating our guests with our confusion :).  So we find our own way.  Sudi washes dishes for five hours.  Srikanth works non-stop.  Shweta’s ready to give it all.  Raju takes over.  Manuri equilibrates.  Rajeev commands.  Gianna funkdefies.  Marcella smiles.  Elizabeth is in control.  Watch out, here comes Carolina.  Nirali, presence.  Dustin, that’s my boy.  Peter walks through.  Laura, one heart, at a time.  Britanny, all eyes.  Bharti, the anti-mom.  Lisa, Mom.  Alicia and Buddy … enough said.  Who’s left?  You.  Me.

Do it, week in and week out.  Then we realize that to be able to pump in the kitchen, or to serve the guests is an amazing opportunity.  We get to grow in our hearts.  Then we get to see that this opportunity exists only because of the guest that has walked into the room.  Every door opening, is a door opening within us, to somewhere new.  Every door opening, is an opportunity walking through.  Then there is gratitude.  The hole gets bigger.  The envelopes don’t matter anymore.  We are no longer giving anything to the guest, now they are giving us something.  An opportunity.  To grow wings.

Then the hole widens.  Gratitude spills over.  Now its not just the guests anymore.  Even the other volunteers are creating an environment that allows us to serve.  Now its every person in the room.  There is gratitude.  Slowly, Guest becomes God, the person washing the dishes becomes God, the person next to you making sandwiches becomes God, the sandwich becomes God, the Sun-Dried Tomatoes become God.  The air we breath, the music from the speakers, the sandwich toaster.  Everything becomes slow motion.  Niyati wipes down the tables at the end of the night, and I see God in every stroke of her hands.

11:15pm.  Bones are tired.  We are standing outside and Biba’s words start to come true.  The whole world does seem like a Seva Café.

I slip into the hole.  I’m glad.  My life seems to be moving in a direction towards love.  In a day when many brothers and sisters are moving their lives in a direction towards violence, towards hatred, toward anger, towards greed, towards ego.  My life seems to be floating in a different direction.  The hole in my brain seems to be serving me well. 

Doctor, Doctor, I think I’ve got it figured out.  Forget about me, lets worry about you.  I think your mind needs surgery.  Come, wash dishes.  The soap on your hands is strong, it’ll burn through your brain cells.  

What was once up, now I find beneath my feet.  Heaven.  What was once inside, now travels outside.  Heart.

Today was by far the most emotional Seva Cafes that I have experienced. I can’t begin to explain why, all I know that is that every time I engaged in a new activity, a new emotion flooded into my being.

It started with the orientation. After all the volunteers introduced themselves, I for some reason was compelled to share the story of Biba’s Aunt. Biba is one of those people who is always kind and gentle to everyone she meets. Recently her Aunt passed away. Despite not knowing her Aunt, I somehow felt that I need to be a part of the ceremonies. Thoughts of death, bring up many thoughts on life. A realization sets in that this “living” is very temporary, and very short. It is almost as if our entire lives are like wind, arising only to pass away. Somehow, the passing of Biba’s Aunt brought me back to the concept of the Seva Cafe. In the short time that we are here on this planet, the question that urges us, is what direction are we moving in? Even in this moment, some of our brothers and sisters are headed to wage war onto each other, that is the direction they are taking their lives. Some people are acting out their greed, their fears, their hatred, or their egos. … and for some reason, in my own life, I have a small opportunity to move my life into a completely different direction. In this temporary life, I hope that we are not being busy for the sake of being busy, that we are actually taking the time to reflect on what is most important.

Somehow, in that orientation, Biba’s aunt was with us.

The entire day was packed with emotion. I recalled walking outside for a moment, when I returned, I looked around and noticed that every person in the room was wearing a smile. What an amazing place I thought, this is love.

At one point, I recognized a homeless man sitting on one of the tables outside. I remembered him from the launch two weeks ago and recalled how he had left immediately after finishing his meal without waiting for the server to bring him his envelope. For some reason, this time I felt compelled to sit with him. He looked like he was in his late 50s, old enough to be my father. I knew that my own father would want me to treat him with respect, so I sat down, as if I was literally his son. I held his hand for a few moments and asked him how he was doing. He was counting his change hoping to find enough money for a beef sandwich… he had apparantly forgotton that every Saturday evening there are no prices, and more importantly that all the meals are vegetarian 🙂 .

I wanted to give my new friend an opportunity, an opportunity to see the world differently from how he always sees it. I told him that there is a lot of pain and suffering in the world and that the Seva Cafe simply gives us an opportunity to spread some love. That’s all I needed to say. He immediately had tears in his eyes. He told me that he knew about pain and suffering too well. Maybe what he really needed most in that moment was someone to remind him that there is hope in life. I told him that we would bring out a meal for him, and that the food he was about to eat had been paid for by someone he will never meet… and that everyone in the kitchen was preparing that one meal for him with one intention: to serve him with love. I also wanted him to know that he is part of the hope for this world, and that he too would have the opportunity to help pay for a future guest’s meal, as a gift to someone who he will never meet.

When he walked away after his meal, I knew we had nourished something in that man well beyond his stomach. He left 93 cents behind, as a gift, to help pay for someone else’s meal.

Towards the end of the night, my friend Biba and some of her relatives dropped by. They had spent the entire day at the funeral and decided to be with us in the evening. At the end of their meal, I wanted to honor their aunt in a special way. I grabbed our Share the Love Box and placed it right in the center of their dining table. I opened it and showed them the money that sat inside. The Share the Love Box is a profound experiement in Trust. It sits by the door and anyone can take money from it. We leave a note by the box to remind people that they can take money, or leave money, for the purpose of conducting acts of kindness. So far, we have had plenty of people leaving money in the box, but very few folks that are actually willing to take money out. Taking money from that box brings a strong sense of responsibility. You become tied to the intentions of the person who left the money in the first place. I felt that this was an opportunity to do something special for Biba’s Aunt. I asked everyone on the table to reach into the box, to take a few dollars and then within the next week to put those funds to good use. I happened to pull a $5 bill out myself. Maybe I’ll buy a random person a sandwich and tell him that is a gift, from a woman that I’ve never met, whose journey here has come to an end, and who has somehow become a part of the very air we breath.

Sukh