When I was 21, I came within five seconds of drowning in the ocean. As I was going down for the third time, I looked to the shore and realized that this — my last moment — was the most lucid moment of my life. Everything else was a cartoon. Unreal. Fake. In the state I was in, only one thing was certain. I wanted to live.
And in that moment, which felt like my last, something extraordinary took over — way beyond my exhaustion — and got me to the shore. It swam me, until I — completely out of breath — could finally stand. And when I did, I fell to my knees and kissed the ground. I cried. I laughed. I sang whatever children’s songs I could remember. In that moment of pure exaltation, I had no philosophy, no religion, no politics, no family, no friends, no future, no past.
Only the simple joy of being alive.
When I think about Prem Rawat, and the experience he has shown me, it feels very much the same. In such a simple and loving way, he has connected me not only to the will to live, but to the primal force that moves me. As my teacher, he has taught me how to be a student. And as his student, I have learned that it doesn’t matter what I know, but who I am. Or more correctly, what I am. It’s what the poets pray to feel, so finally they’d have something real to write about.
When I feel it — and I do a lot — I am happy for no reason at all. Happy like someone on permanent vacation. Completely alive. Content in a way that requires no action to prove itself whole. Unconditional love it is. No strings attached. First kiss. Second chance. Unexpected snow day. Home for the holidays. More fun than I’ve ever had and absolutely nothing is going on. Just the peace that passes all understanding — even when my hard disk crashes.
Who is “The Ambassador of Peace”…? I cannot say. All I know is this: when I’m with him, I never want to leave. And when I do, it’s like starting over once again — whatever I once was being left behind like some second skin. I am refreshed, renewed, rejoiced, re-awakened once again.