Untouched

Ever since I obtained my driver's license, I have driven tiny cars (like the sort they deliver pizzas in). They are zippy and cheap to run, but they are vulnerable in an accident. Here are two stories which I am lucky to be alive to tell. It was Sri Chinmoy's birthday in 1996, and I was driving along the freeway in a country area after a lovely morning meditation at the Centre. A huge semi-trailer was travelling beside me in the next lane. Its driver must not have seen me, for without warning he moved across into my lane. His huge front wheel, higher than my car, banged against my window just inches from my right ear. My car lost control and bounced repeatedly against this huge vehicle, which was so high that I was lucky not to be crushed beneath it. Out of control and completely surrendered, I stared at Guru's photograph and said "Supreme" over and over. Somehow, the semi-trailer went on ahead, and my car veered behind it across the right hand lane (which was free of traffic). I came to a halt in the wide grassy median strip where thankfully the ground was flat and there were no trees or posts. The semi-trailer driver and another person stopped to help. My car was a complete write-off, but I emerged, still chanting "Supreme", with only a few minor scratches to my right hand. The other time, I was driving along the Ring Road when for some reason all the traffic slowed down to about 30 km per hour. Suddenly, in my rear view mirror, I saw a car speeding up behind me. It was going so fast that I knew it could not stop in time, and there was nowhere for it to go. There was nothing for me to do but look at Guru's photograph and chant "Supreme". The car slammed on its brakes, skidded past me on the left where there wasn't a lane, crashed into the cement barrier at the side of the road just beside me, spun around 180 degrees and came to a halt, smoking. My car was untouched.

Marion (Melbourne)