Finding Sarah

by Sarah Ferguson

  Andre also did a technique called moxibustion. It is a traditional Chinese medicine technique that involves the burning of mugwort (moxa), a small, spongy herb, to facilitate healing. The purpose of moxibustion, as with most forms of traditional Chinese medicine, is to strengthen the blood and stimulate the flow of qi (energy). Andre’s therapies calmed me down, healed me, and motivated me to come back for more.

  Another friend was Khun Pla, a Thai native with a megawatt smile. He came to see me every day and escort me to breakfast, where I sat at a table overlooking the sea, at eye level with swaying palm trees and birds flying about, and I felt as though I were sitting in a tree house. I sipped a special brain tonic smoothie and watched two male lizards trying to attract a female. Their courting rituals were wonderfully bizarre. Whichever lizard could inflate his throat the furthest was the winner. Well, there was a clear winner. His wings appeared, and he flew off with his new lady love.

  Khun Pla said he would be back. I said, “Khob khun ka” (which means “thank you” in Thai), and he put his hand together and said the same. Khun Pla was full of jaidee, meaning kindness.

  Later on in the day, I’d sit on the terrace, sip a protein drink, and watch nature bustle by like on Fifth Avenue the day before Thanksgiving. Nature really is its own Disneyland, and I stand and stare as described in the poem “Leisure” by William Davies:

  What is this life if, full of care,

  We have no time to stand and stare.

  No time to stand beneath the boughs

  And stare as long as sheep or cows.

  No time to see, when woods we pass,

  Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

  No time to see, in broad daylight,

  Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

  No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,

  And watch her feet, how they can dance.

  No time to wait till her mouth can

  Enrich that smile her eyes began.

  A poor life this is if, full of care,

  We have no time to stand and stare.

  The emphasis at Kamalaya is not only on physical health but also on emotional and spiritual well-being. There are shrines dotting the entrance, and prayer flags are strung between the trees. A candlelit statue of Buddha graces the reception area where you are greeted by the sound of running water and ponds full of lotus flowers. The atmosphere was so peaceful, it was as if the world could begin and end there. What wonderful, spiritual escapism. This spiritual isolation is part of Kamalaya’s mystique.

  Kamalaya is a cluster of different types of buildings, from hillside suites to beachfront villas, all sitting on a hilltop with spectacular views of the beach, sea, outlying islands, and the lush jungle of palm trees, leafy ferns, and every type of tropical foliage imaginable.

  The windows in our room were enormous and the views of the landscape were heart-melting, perched as we were on a hilltop looking across to the long stretch of beach. The terrain was graced by blossoms of a thousand vibrant colors—bougainvillea, hibiscus, and lotus flowers floating delicately on ponds, lovingly placed everywhere by Mother Nature herself. All around me I could hear the cacophony of nature: humming crickets, serenading frogs and lizards and enough chirping songbirds for a chorus. This outdoor playground filled an empty space inside me, the spot that always longs for a connection to nature. Filled with a sense of wonder, appreciation, and humility, I felt a world away from the usual chaotic start to my day—meetings, email, and the other hurdles of life.

  Kamalaya was founded by John and Karina Stewart. Karina is a fit, serene brunette and a doctor of traditional Chinese medicine. She has designed and directed medical detoxification programs and conducted “Awakening” retreats in several cities. Her training and study of Asian healing traditions are evident in Kamalaya’s integral wellness approach, which aims to access the inner healing power within each person.

  John is a tall, handsome, strongly built man in his fifties from Canada. He spent sixteen years devoted to a life of service and spiritual studies in a Himalayan community. He embraced a traditional yogi lifestyle and developed qualities of patience and discipline. John is one of the calmest, most holy people I have ever come across.

  Recovering from a bout of ill health in 2000, John was drawn by the healing nature of Koh Samui. He stayed four months to rest and regain his health with the help of local herbs and his, by then, wife Karina. Between them they conceived the idea of a wellness sanctuary combining his spirituality and her interest in health and diet. Both fell under the island’s spell—and, in 2003, a spa was born.

  For seven years, John was a devout teacher of the works of Haidakhan Babaji, a round-faced, black-haired holy man from the Himalayas who died—or, as his followers say, “left body”—in 1984. Babaji’s spirit, however, lives on as a masculine manifestation of Shiva, who, with Vishnu and Brahma, form the supreme Hindu trinity.

  Although Babaji appeared in India as a Hindu because that was the religion of the people, he didn’t come to espouse any particular religion but to show and teach a way of life. He urged the people to “follow the religion that is in your heart.” He taught that “every religion leads to the same divine goal.”

  I was attracted to these teachings because they are not of a fundamentalist nature. Our spiritual path can be anything. We can go back to our own prophet’s original teachings and be a better follower, or even if we’re not religious, we can be better human beings by cultivating loving-kindness and compassion. It’s the intention in our hearts that matters.

  Babaji also said he had come to revive the Sanatan Dharma, or the eternal religion of humanity, and to teach three basic principles: truth, simplicity, and love. He emphasized constant repetition of the ancient Sanskrit mantra Om namah Shivaya, which roughly translates to “Lord, thy will be done,” and to live in harmony. He taught that all material objects were transient and all emotions fleeting. Happiness, Babaji preached, comes about only when a person rises above attachment. That’s the only state in which one can truly serve others and find contentment and salvation in this life.

  John continued his spiritual searchings under a nine-year tutelage with an Indian saint, Muniraji, who was staying at Kamalaya while I was there. Muniraji was chosen by Babaji to be the leader of the worldwide Haidakhandi community. Wearing a white cotton dhoti kurta, he was a tall, slender man with the constant meditative quality that only a saint could have. He looks like an idol, something not quite from this material world. When I met him, I was instantly drawn to him. There is such a powerful feeling of love in his presence. His eyes exude it. It just poured out.

  Muniraji teaches Vedantic principles. Vedanta is one of the six main schools of philosophy in Hinduism. In the Vedantic view, our goal in life is to realize, through direct personal experience, the divine nature within our own self. We are never actually lost (which was very good news to me). At worst, we are living in ignorance of our true nature.

  I spent a few hours with Muniraji picking up wise words and reflecting on them. One of the first lessons Muniraji taught me is that we are what we project.

  “Think of this like an echo: what we shout out comes back to us. If we put out positive thoughts, positivity comes back to us.

  “Each of us has a way that we have learned to project to the world. We have practiced it so much that it has become almost invisible to ourselves. Then we wonder why certain things happen in our life and usually end up blaming life, the other person, or the circumstance. That way of thinking makes us victims.”

  Muniraji’s teaching is all about shifting that stance from being a victim in your own life to being accountable for your own life. It’s about waking up to see what you are doing and instantly shifting to see that you are powerful, not powerless.

  “What do you do about negative emotions?” I asked. His answer: “Let them go,” and his subsequent elaboration of this approach to difficulties in life had for me the force of a depth charge, not so much because of the idea—it s
ounded simple enough—but because of the spiritual authority and power I felt behind it.

  Muniraji agreed to do a “fire ceremony” with us one Saturday morning. Fire in the Hindu religion represents both positive and negative. The ritual includes placing sacred offerings to a god or goddess in the fires, so they will, in return, send good things your way. Through mantras, the fire is asked to take the prayers and consumed offerings to the intended Divinity. For example, if one wanted to increase luck and general prosperity, the offerings would be directed to Ganesh, the elephant-headed god of wisdom and success.

  We sat cross-legged on mats around the fire, with everyone chanting “Ohm.” Muniraji began to burn the symbolic offerings: a coconut, more firewood, and then a saffron-dusted potato. This ritual symbolized burning all negatives.

  The wind abruptly changed, and all the smoke blew in my eyes. I took it as a sign from the universe that I should close my eyes and stay focused during this solemn ritual.

  Afterward, I pressed him for more. “What really is your message?”

  “My message is that we all come from one cell—this is scientifically proven—and therefore we are all connected to the Divine. No matter what religion, race, creed, color, denomination—any of what divides us—we are all one.”

  The next day, I met with Muniraji privately.

  “Do you realize you have a very important mission?”

  I sat and looked at him and didn’t say a word.

  “You have the voice of the world.”

  Privately, I was thinking, “Yes, I have a voice … I can talk the hind leg off of a donkey.”

  I turned serious. “Yes. I want to be the voice of the silent whisperers, the children who have been abandoned without hope.”

  I was happy at Kamalaya. The experience awakened a place within me that had long been sleeping. Suddenly, I began seeing all the ordinary things of the world in a new light.

  From: Seema

  To: Sarah

  I can’t tell you that I know what you are feeling right now—so I won’t. All I’ll say is this:

  You have a pure glow and spirit. I noticed it right away. You have a gift for making everyone around you feel special. My grandfather, whom I loved blindly, once told me that the great man is the one who makes a king feel like a man and a pauper feel like a king. That is you, my dearest friend. You have that gift of making everyone feel special.

  S

  28 Mr. Carpenter

  Once I’ve achieved something, I am not one to dwell on it. I am ready to move on.

  DURING MY SOJOURN in Thailand, I had an uninvited guest burrowing outside my room. This didn’t really surprise me since Kamalaya is surrounded by lush forests with all sorts of wonderful creatures living within them. My visitor wasn’t of the human kind; it was a mouse. Like all mice, he was active mostly at night. That’s when mice eat, gather food, and do all the things mice do.

  This mouse came to knock on my wall every morning at around four o’clock, when it was still dark. He would make the slightest sounds, a little tap-tap here, or a little critch-critch there.

  My imagination began to run away with me. In my mind I saw this mouse as part of a loving family, living an interesting life in the jungle, and beyond. I imagined he was building a house for his family outside the walls of my room. I’m sure the mouse thought it was the perfect place, warm and protected—the nicest house he’d ever had. This mouse, I named Mr. Carpenter.

  As I lay wide awake, my ear tuned to his work, I’d wonder what kind of house it would be? Maybe a country cottage surrounded by blue hydrangeas … a mansion as gorgeous as a movie star’s … a mighty castle with a large moat to keep out cats … or perhaps his own personal high-rise?

  After his house was finished, I was sure he’d invite other jungle creatures over for tea. Everyone would bring something good to eat. Miss Squirrel would bring a basket overflowing with nuts and berries. Mr. Rabbit would surprise everyone with crunchy orange carrots. Little Chipmunk would arrive with a bag of tasty acorns. Mrs. Carpenter would have violets on the table and fresh water from a stream to brew the tea. It would be a special party, indeed. And let’s not forget Mr. Lizard and his lady love and his cloak of color.

  Lots of people view mice as disgusting little creatures and say “Eek” when they see one. There’s really no reason to squeal. Mice are fuzzy and warm little balls of fun. They have big ears, inquiring eyes, and the cutest little noses you’ve ever seen. They also help save lives, because many medical research departments use mice to help find cures for diseases. I never saw Mr. Carpenter, but I envisioned him to be a very handsome little brown mouse.

  There was only one problem: Mr. Carpenter was making a little too much noise.

  After a while Mr. Carpenter got to be quite irritating—and extraordinarily loud. Early one morning, as he hammered away, I turned on the light and thumped on my bedroom wall.

  “Do you please mind going away?” I asked. “I’d like to get some sleep.”

  Mr. Carpenter became quiet as a mouse for a while. All was going well until he got out his drill and brought in friends to work on his house. They all just showed up, made themselves at home, and helped themselves to Mr. Carpenter’s tools. Some mice put up the walls, others worked on the roof, and a few installed the floors. At first I didn’t mind that I had extra visitors, but they started making such a racket that I had to speak up again.

  “Mr. Carpenter, this is not funny. I need some extra sleep because I am very tired. Can you please stop building your house?”

  For one hour I pleaded with him to stop. He liked to work in the dark, so I kept the light on, hoping the illumination would deter him. Mr. Carpenter and his friends finally got bored and stopped. With the light still on, I put on my eye mask and dozed off.

  The following day, I approached my friend Khun Pla. I calmly asked him to do something about Mr. Carpenter.

  “Mice do not freak me out,” I said, “but Mr. Carpenter is noisy. Please return him to the jungle that is the backyard of my room. But don’t hurt him, because I would be very upset.”

  Khun Pla poked around to investigate. He peeked into small spaces to find signs of Mr. Carpenter. He looked under logs and rocks and in dense shrubs and holes in trees. He finally found the place where Mr. Carpenter lived while building his house—a little ball-shaped nest of twigs and grass among a jungle of weeds. Then he found himself gazing unflinchingly into the eyes of Mr. Carpenter, hiding behind a weed. The mouse moved, finally, showing that it was not a toy.

  Khun Pla placed a net over the construction site outside my room so that Mr. Carpenter could not get into the wall. I’m sure Mr. Carpenter watched from the weeds, thinking, “Oh, no. Someone lives there, too, and they know I was there. I’ll have to move.”

  I guessed that he packed up his tools, scurried off to find another place to build his house, and started over.

  Khun Pla assured me that Mr. Carpenter was not a house mouse. “He is a field mouse.”

  I hoped Mr. Carpenter wasn’t sad, disillusioned, or frustrated. I yearned to tell him this: Sometimes, like it or not, you’re simply better off starting over.

  From: Suki

  To: Sarah

  Dear Sarah,

  I am sending you my prayers and thoughts for your well-being and trust in the Lord that he is giving you much strength and love. You may be feeling that you are passing one of the hardest times of your life at this time, so remember all that you have achieved, which is unique and wonderful.

  Only a handful of people are chosen by the Lord to actually do good. Are you one of them? Just look at the many sages that have undergone ridicule. Christ was one of them. Be assured that God in whatever form you believe in is there for you, guiding and wiping those tears. But remember you also have a mission that you must not let go of.

  Suki

  P.S. On Thursday evening at 9 PM I shall be doing a special prayer for you. It is a sequence of special prayers that will take an hour to finish. The prayers are
done to change one’s luck and fortune. Also, I saw this morning a lovely prayer that Sai Baba wrote which I wanted to share with you:

  Will you, my Lord, let go the hold?

  You will not, you will not,

  You will not let go,

  However bad I be.

  Will you my Lord, let me waste my years?

  You will not, you will not,

  You will not let me waste,

  However dull I be.

  Will you my Lord, let me run to ruin? You will not,

  You will not, you will not let me run,

  However wayward I be.

  Will you Lord let me escape Your eye?

  You will not, you will not,

  You will not let me escape,

  However wanton I be.

  You cannot but rush to rescue Your own.

  You cannot delay for weighing pro and con;

  You cannot stay unconcerned when we weep;

  You cannot but respond to the prayers of the poor.

  29 The Ant and the Buzzing Bee

  Life is like a busy train platform at the station. Stop and pop into the waiting room, have a cup of tea. It will still be just as busy when you come out. That is what meditation is. We stop, become aware of the mind, then carry on with our day.

  WHILE JANE WAS busy charting her intake of wheatgrass drinks and counting out her vitamin capsules, I was scheduled to participate in meditation sessions. Meditation is not some New Age practice reserved for monks sitting atop mountains. On the contrary, meditation is an age-old technique that was developed by some of the world’s wisest people to help you become silent and truly examine yourself. Studies show that people who meditate feel better and live longer.

  There’s nothing mystical or magical about meditation, either. If you’ve ever sat quietly under a beautiful night sky, gazed up peacefully at the moon or stood on top of a hill, looking out at the vista, and felt calm and good, you were meditating. We all do it “accidentally” now and then, but what happens when we do it purposefully? What happens when you really want to meditate?