Hesitant Man

The accident happened in the middle of the night, so this isn't a picture of the tuk tuk involved; rather, it's just here to show what a "tuk tuk" is. 

The accident happened in the middle of the night, so this isn't a picture of the tuk tuk involved; rather, it's just here to show what a "tuk tuk" is. 

I’m not sure what had brought you to this intersection. Perhaps it was curiosity, perhaps it was an accident— attention doesn’t seem to be a popular thing at 2 a.m. in Iquitos, Peru.

You pulled up slowly. The look you held in your eyes was identical to apathy. I remember your eyes as they slowly scanned the knot of moto taxis, the mangled bodies, the blood pouring from his head. . . I remember how they looked as they connected with mine, which quickly delivered the message that the man in blue was moments from death.

Then, you twisted your wrist and started to drive away.

Desperate, I leaped out in front of your motor bike, grabbing your handle bars and shouting, “Necesitamos te! Ayuda! Por favor, ayuda, por favor!”

We needed you.

You at least had a phone to call for help, I didn’t.

Finally, you stopped and turned off the bike. You took a deep breath and reluctantly walked toward the mess.

I played this scene over in my head the days following. I realized, then, that that deep breath wasn’t one of frustration, it was one of preparation; and the look I mistook for apathy was one of fear.

I know you will never read this, it’s not even written in Spanish. However, I’m writing to say that it’s okay— it’s okay to be afraid of death, especially when it’s thrown so graphically in your face.

We needed you there. We couldn’t save him; perhaps, we weren’t meant to.

We can’t always save others, but we can’t feel helpless, either. Our helplessness blocks our light from shining, and that is all that is really needed from us. For that, we must surrender our own fear and be there to shine light in these last moments— to be a stranger and to hold their hand, to shed a tear, to send some final love, to whisper, “it’s going to be okay,” and assure them that it will be (whether or not they make it) . . . that is all we can do.

So, for all of this and for facing your fear, thank you, hesitant man, for being there.

Passing Over


I was standing on a rooftop in Colombia, watching the sun set behind an enormous city. The city stretched as far as my eyes could see, painting the distant mountains grey.

I thought to myself:

I wonder how many people, right now, are laughing so hard their stomach hurts?

I wonder how many people are having an orgasm? I smiled at this thought; I sensed many.

I wonder how many people are currently experiencing deja vu?

I wonder how many people, at this very moment, are breathing their last breath?

With that last thought, I felt my heart sink into my shoes and float a mile above me simultaneously.

The only thing I could then do was to strongly meditate on sending immense love, comfortability, and feelings of acceptance to those who were currently passing over. I closed my eyes and got so lost in doing this that by the time I opened them again, the only light left in the sky was the reflection the clouds held of the city lights.

Since then, I have been doing this intermittently throughout the day. I know it may seem strange, and perhaps even more so that I don’t find it to be very strange- but so many people find death to be such a dark thing, and perhaps that is why I feel propelled to send love to those who are currently experiencing it. . .

I guess I am sharing this because I am curious to see if anyone else would try and see what kind of experience it is for them. Please let me know your thoughts and if you've tried it ♡.