On one day of the retreat, I interviewed two sisters under the warm surround of a banyan tree, the national tree of India. Trupti Pandya, the younger sister, had read of Nipun and Guri’s pilgrimage and decided to set out on her own. Her older sister, Swara Pandya, begrudgingly came along, worried what her younger sister might do. Over five months, Trupti and Swara walked 1,600 miles along the Narmada River, called “mother,” like many rivers in India. Along the way they were fed and housed by strangers. For Trupti, our greatest illusion—the scarcity mindset of modern life—began to decay. Extraordinary experiences distilled each day. The river—its currents, reflections, swirling light, and rushes and hisses—sounded like the voice of God, telling Trupti that life is guided by “a gentle, kind force, every step of the way.” She and Swara created rituals: greeting the river each day, expressing gratitude to families who opened their cupboards to feed them. In visits to temples, Trupti held pebbles that had been touched by the feet of pilgrims. She felt moved, empowered, fearless, and alive. She now works in a shelter for young women who have been battered and abandoned. Decay, distilling, and growth.
On the last day of Gandhi 3.0, we took part in an awe walk that composted beliefs and practices from around the world. We walked around a dark, leaf-covered pool where rainwater was collected. Following Buddhist tradition, we took four steps and then bowed and touched our foreheads to the ground. Many of us touched trees as we passed by. Toward the end of this thirty minutes of silent moving in unison, volunteers invited us to take a handful of salt from a large pile—mimicking Gandhi’s own act of righteous courage. Bowing with forehead on the ground and eyes looking to the side, I made eye contact with Jayesh Patel, who directs the ESI built by his father, who was raised by two women who caught Gandhi in their arms when he was assassinated.
We then moved to a clearing where we all sat in silence. I felt touched by the sun on my right cheek and forehead. In nearby lush plants and trees, growing out of my composted waste, birds sang a web of sound; I could almost hear in their songs
SECTION IV
• • • Living a Life of Awe
TEN
LIFE AND DEATH
• WALT WHITMAN
In our twenty-six-culture study, no matter their religion, politics, culture, level of medical care, or life expectancy, people told stories about being awestruck by the beginning of life and its early unfolding—and about being moved in transcendent ways by watching the end of life.
Life
Our cycle of life, compared to that of other primates, is a defining feature of our evolution. Because of the narrowing of the female pelvis, brought about by our species’ shift to walking upright, and the disproportionate size of the human head to accommodate our large, language-producing brain, our infants are born premature. In fact, wildly premature, taking ten to fifty-two years to reach semifunctioning independence, if there is such a thing. Our hypervulnerable babies require years of intensive face-to-face, skin-to-skin care, networks of caregivers, a safe home, and enculturation just to survive.
Childbirth is the most undervalued act of courage in human history. Our twenty-six-culture study revealed just how extraordinary the appearance of new life is, giving rise to epiphanies of different kinds. People were struck by the raw fact of how a sperm and ovum create life, one emerging from a mother’s womb, as hinted at in this story from Russia:
