I have lived in cosmopolitan areas for more than
fifty years on three continents. During this period, I have traveled to most of
the large cities in the world, along with villages and dusty towns of emerging
countries. Yet, when a year ago decided to open a new chapter of my life, it
was the High Desert (about 6000 feet above sea level) of Arizona that won the
first choice.
And I have not looked back. The vast open spaces of
the high desert are made of 7000 feet tall mountains, covered in snow for at least two
months, stubborn vegetation and trees, and of that silence that I have not
listened to anywhere else. Except of course when the coyotes howl and bark at
sunrise and at night, especially at full moon.
At least twice a week I fill my coffee canister with
Irish Cream and leave for the desert an hour before sunrise. By now I have my
favorite spots to watch the first rays. During the winter months the
temperatures are below freezing and there will be snow on the ground. But as
soon as the sun turns the rocks from gray to yellow, my coffee delightfully awakens
all my senses. I sip slowly, almost at the rhythm of breathing during
meditation: one, two, three, four – and inhale the warmth of the morning brew.
I have also learned much from Native American
friends I now have. The only teacher in
this vast openness is nature. The only lesson is the one we already know but do
not want to admit. It is the lesson of passing through the desert without
leaving a trace. But somehow to let nature know how much we learned during that
visit and journey.
… I was reading a 2007 book by Sage Bennet titled “Wisdom Walk”. It is about creating
peace and balance while learning from the world’s spiritual traditions. I was interested in learning more about the Native American spirituality, but did read most of the other
sections. And it was on page 87, that a
line resonated unexpectedly. The author says:
“Those who are
afraid to step down the corridors of our hearts are the ones to put on our list
to forgive.”
Hmm.
Somehow it was not the concept of forgiving that
stopped me to think, but the words “corridors of our hearts”. And it was not my
heart that surprised me by this but rather the catacombs of my memory, since I
immediately recalled the cover page of Time Magazine from the 1960s! Yes, there
was an issue when for the first time, micro lenses were used to photograph the
inner structures of a beating human heart. And I remember this because my father
was the editor of a medical journal and brought that issue home. I had spent
countless hours reading and re-reading every word of the magazine.
That was the moment when the heart stopped being the
romantic center of my inner world. It was now a pump, and looking back at it, a
rather simple one.
To the romantic I was, it was a sad day.
… Years later, as a health care professional I visited
Mumbai, India. Again, I discovered the corridor of the heart, but this time in
a very practical way. Indeed, given the gridlock traffic of Mumbai streets,
when there was an accident and a fatality, it was practically impossible to
transport vital organs from the deceased in a timely way to the transplant
hospital so other lives can be saved or ameliorated. So, a “green corridor” was
built in Mumbai where only ambulances can travel from the city to the airport.
That way heart, liver, pancreas, and kidney can reach the transplant center
during the critical and short time window.
In a most eloquent way, I was told that the “green corridor” is more
than a special lane in the city – it was the pathway to the corridors of our
hearts.
Ralph Waldo Emerson proposed that:
“Man is a
bundle of relations, a knot of roots, whose flower and fruitage is the world”
I will think about this more tomorrow, when I have
my first cup of coffee leaning against a sage brush, in the Arizona High Desert,
at sunrise.
February 23, 2016
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2016
PS/ I did check on the exact date of the Time Magazine
issue about the heart. It was January 19, 1968 and was titled “The Corridors of
the Heart”.
