Written by Eddie LeShure – While on a spiritual pilgrimage in Asia years back, Eddie found himself in Calcutta and decided to go for a walk. What happened that day was beyond his imagining, as you can see.
Calcutta, India: March 7, 1992 – Saturday Afternoon
As I rode in the taxi from the airport to my hotel, I could tell it was different here. For six weeks I’d been traveling in Asia, through cities like Bangkok and Kathmandu, in mountain villages in Nepal and Bhutan, trekking along the Himalayas and exploring India. I had experienced a gamut of emotions, my senses being barraged again and again. I had walked past burning bodies by the street in Hindu funeral pyres, and been hit on for money and food constantly by raggedly dressed children, or lepers with stubby hands outstretched. Frequently, I had witnessed inhabitants living on the streets. Previously, the poverty and filth had seemed balanced or perhaps even outweighed by the expression of life I had felt from people, a kind of equanimity. Yet here was a tangible heaviness. If there was a dark side, I felt I was in the center of it here, in Calcutta.
March 7 – Saturday Evening
This is the last place on earth where human beings still pull rickshaws. He was a Bengali, barefoot, maybe 100 pounds, often straining to pull both Karen and myself, dodging taxis, cows, and potholes. Was I supporting him or exploiting him? Probably both. Later, a woman holding a baby desperately beseeched us for canned milk for her child. Was it a scam or a genuine plea for help? There was no way we could refuse – we bought the milk for them
March 8 – Sunday Morning
Day pack slung over my shoulder, I set off for my walk. Was I crazy? I was venturing back out into what had been depressing me since I’d arrived here! Yet, I felt compelled to walk, as I had everywhere I’d been on my trip. I kept my camera stuffed away in my pack, disguising my cultural voyeurism. Marxist slogans adorned the walls, proclaiming salvation for the masses. Gaudy movie posters celebrated the adventure and romance of Indian cinema. I strolled past the street residents, many of them refugees from past floods and famines. They were eating, bathing, shaving, and sleeping. For about an hour I continued on, occasionally stepping over blood and feces – and then I was there.
The building was whitewashed, squeaky clean – kind of a reverse eyesore in the midst of squalor. I pulled the long chain which rang the bell. The door opened and a voice said, “Come in.” She stood there in a white cotton robe, sleeves trimmed with blue stripes. “Would you like to look around?” So, this was Mother House. I had spotted it on the map I’d carefully tucked into my safari pants that morning. My “tour guide” was a Sister of Mercy. Her face was cheerful, her English passable and her purpose unmistakable: committing her life to serving the poor!
She led me to the courtyard. There was the van used to pick up the sick, the dead, the dying – to heal them, bury them, or to let them die with dignity. Upstairs, she showed me the large chapel, purposefully austere like everything else – concrete floors to kneel and pray on, a painting of Christ on the wall. Yet as plain and utilitarian as it was here, it was also warm and bright. And then she asked, “Would you like to meet her?”
“Huh? You mean…HER?”
“Before she goes into prayer with us today at 11:45, she’ll receive visitors.” She saw me glance at my watch – it was only 9:30 am. She then added, “If you’d like, you can stop at our orphanage down the street now, and then return to see her.”
After ten minutes of walking, I arrived at the orphanage and was once again cordially welcomed. Here, it was also spotless and cheerful, filled with about 300 kids – eating, sleeping, playing, and being bathed. In their midst, I could see many nuns and volunteers, busy with their daily routines. Children approached me with their hands out, not to beg as I had found so often in Asia, but to greet me, to be picked up and held. In their eyes, I could see joy and gratitude and hope…and LOVE! So much love was everywhere and it was clearly unconditional. I could see it and deeply feel it – the warmth, the glow. It more than touched me, it profoundly penetrated me. As I stood there, I felt my chest swell with emotion, about to burst. It was as if two hands were reaching into me, grabbing my heart and ripping it open. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I was absolutely overwhelmed by what I was experiencing – powerless to resist!
At that moment, what was unmistakably clear was absolute passion towards an unequivocal goal: to provide service to others. And what I knew here was but a tiny part of the overall picture! This purpose, fired by the vision and commitment of one tiny woman, has spread to impact countless lives throughout the world. Over the last 30 years, Mother Teresa’s compassion and indomitable will has made a tremendous difference…and today I could feel it, deep within myself.
I returned to Mother House. I sat for a while in the chapel on the lone wooden bench, journaling and meditating. I was then ushered into a hallway to join a handful of other guests. Soon she stepped through a doorway, clad in a robe identical to what all the other Sisters of Mercy wore. Standing barefoot before me, she was remarkably tiny. Gently taking my hands in hers, she thanked me for coming. As we conversed, I was acutely impacted by her graciousness, her humility, and how she was completely present with me. Diminutive as she was, there was nothing fragile about her however – in fact there existed a strength and vitality I’ve seldom experienced, certainly not in an 80-year-old recovering heart patient. After I photographed her and told her I would pray for her health, she thanked me again and presented me with a small card:
The fruit of silence is prayer.
The fruit of prayer is faith.
The fruit of faith is love.
The fruit of love is service.
The fruit of service is peace.
– Mother Teresa –
I know that what happened that day has changed my life – forever! What I’d felt had been so intense, so powerful, it’d pierced my soul. It bathed me, broke me, and resounded within me to the cellular level. Could my heart open any more? Could I feel greater joy? Even when I’d seen deformed children that morning, there was such a sense of peace – knowing how much love and care each child was receiving. What a difference it had already made in their lives.
Earlier, I’d walked in shock through indescribable deprivation and suffering, feeling my guts wrench again and again by what I’d seen and heard and smelled. But here was an oasis, an oasis of love and hope that exists for one reason only: one human being has the kindness, will and courage to persevere with single-minded dedication.
As I left Mother House, I passed a chalkboard. On it, Mother Teresa’s daily message read, “Don’t ask for what you can get. Ask for what you can give!”
Think of the ripples………….
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Eddie LeShure is an insight meditation teacher and substance abuse counselor whose primary passion is bringing mindfulness practice into the realms of addiction recovery, trauma relief, and self-care. He teaches and leads groups in various treatment and recovery settings, as well as in series classes, workshops, retreats, conferences and conventions. Eddie began meditating in the early ‘80s, regularly teaches at Asheville Insight Meditation, is a NAMI Family Support Group Facilitator, and is co-founder of A Mindful Emergence, LLC amindfulemergence.com
These days, Eddie’s writing centers around his teaching and presentations, but in the past it was quite different. He chronicled and displayed his adventures around the world for several years under the banner, “On the Road With Fast Eddie”, and in more recent times numerous articles on the local jazz scene were published in Rapid River Arts & Culture as “WNC Jazz Profiles”. Eddie is now co-authoring a manual for treatment centers which focuses on integrating mindfulness practices with stages of addiction recovery.
