Soft Whisper

Sri Chinmoy has helped me become aware of the presence of Someone who is always ready to step in to save us when we find ourselves in great danger. Like that day on the cliff… The cliffs bordered the island of Phuket, in the Indian Ocean, just off the southeast tip of Thailand. I was in a cab, driving to a hotel in the next cove, when the driver suddenly tripled our agreed price. I got furious, told him to stop the cab, and jumped out before the cab even stopped. I strode down to the beach, saying to myself, "I will not let a cab driver treat me like that! I heard there's a trail to that hotel. I'll walk!" So angry was I that I barely noticed that people were heading home from the beach, and that the sun was now low in the sky. Soon I spotted the trail leading up from the beach, and raced toward it eagerly. After all, I am a child of the coast and the ocean, and when I am near, I feel right at home. My childhood in Canada I spent running barefoot along the beaches of the Pacific Ocean, scrambling up the forest trail beside Robert's Creek to the waterfall, where the rock formed a giant pool, wide and deep. How I loved to plunge into the water, icy cold from the glacier, crystal clear. As I hiked along, my strides steady, I marvelled how my childhood training was helping me now. After 40 minutes, I rounded a final curve and saw, ahead of me, the luxury hotel, shining like a pearl, nestled in its own sheltered cove. I smiled, turned and looked out towards the sunset. Miles and miles of ocean. One sailboat anchored in the cove, its sail golden in the light of the setting sun. Something, then, made me turn back and stare at the path directly ahead of me. There, just two steps away—a gap in the rock—a crevice four feet wide—a split running the entire width of the cliff. Too wide to step over. Maybe I could jump, but… I stood very still and looked down. The cliffs knifed straight down into the ocean 30 feet below. Into the crevice the waves pounded, thundering against the sides of the cliffs. As I stood there, watching the waves, I saw my own death. I saw myself trying to jump the gap, slipping, falling, my cries drowned out by the waves. News I was missing. The long search into the night. Then, in the morning, the rescue team finding my body…I shuddered. I wasn't ready to die. Nor was I ready to burden my family and friends for the rest of their lives with my tragic, early departure. I looked down the cliff to my left, searching for a trail. Nothing. Sheer rock. I looked ahead. Too far to jump. Too risky. I looked back. Too far to walk back; too dangerous in the dark. I stood, then, very still, breathed deep—and prayed. Time stopped. The moment hung, clear and shining, like crystal: the hotel, gleaming in its sheltered cove; the lone sailboat with the golden sails, sitting perfectly still in the middle of the bay; the gaping crevice ahead of me; the waves churning 30 feet below; the sun setting, turning the sky pink and gold. No way forward, back or down. I was trapped. What I heard next has stayed with me to this day. I can still hear that whisper—quiet yet firm. It said, "Go up." Up! Of course! I looked up. The cliff above me was more sloping. There were indentations and places I could grab onto. And, best of all—20 feet up—I saw bushes, trees, earth! I got down on my hands and knees and started to crawl. To control my fear I found myself saying over and over, like a mantra, "The rock is my mother…" And I embraced the rock as a child embraces its mother's breast. Every time I slipped, I repeated, "The rock is my mother," and willed myself to think only of Mother Earth's fondness, her love for her children. Like that I inched my way up the cliff, finally getting near enough to grab a branch—it held—and pull myself up the last few steps. Thorns tore into my hand, trickles of blood ran down my arm. I didn't care. I was on solid ground. I was safe. Someone had saved me, with a miracle soft as a whisper.

Nilpushpi (New York)