A Dearth of Hugs

Back in 2002, I found myself between jobs. With free time on my hands, I sought to fill the void as best I could. A colleague of mine had developed a new technology that sounded promising, and he asked me to help develop a business plan for securing venture funding. I was thrilled to have something to do, especially in my field, so I gladly accepted, pro bono of course.

During our business relationship, which included several meetings over cookies courtesy of Rita and a white board in the living room, we formed a close bond. As you can imagine, we called each other often to brainstorm. During one such call, my partner hesitated, and asked if he could ask me a personal favor. Intrigued, I obliged. One of his daughters had recently developed juvenile diabetes, and he and his wife were naturally desperately grasping for ways to help her. My friend explained that he had recently reconnected with an old buddy of his who had dropped out of the business world and was seeking harmony, both musically and spiritually, in New Mexico. When he told his old friend of his daughter's plight, the friend suggested that they travel to Washington, DC to seek a healing hug from Amma, a living saint who travels the world giving hundreds of thousands of special hugs, which had been reported to help the sick. The physical effort of hugging so many would certainly appear to be beyond the ability of most humans, and there is no scientific explanation for how Amma does it, even to this day, with hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions.

My partner, aware of my many health problems, and, concerned for my well-being, asked if I would like to travel to DC with his wife and daughter as they attended one of Amma's darshans, which means "meeting with a holy person". Their hope was for their daughter to receive a hug, and perhaps experience a miraculous recovery. At first I was speechless, and after my mind wrapped around the idea, I agreed. Why not? It couldn't hurt. So, even though my wife thought I had taken leave of my senses, I piled into the van and off we went.

The darshan was held at a hotel in Crystal City, an impressive edifice and a fitting locale for a mystical meeting. We were guided to a large reception area by several beatific beings enrobed in white. After giving a reasonable donation, we were admitted to the main area, where we were encouraged to partake of a very nice Indian buffet lunch. It slowly dawned on me that nearly everyone was wearing a white ensemble, signifying that they were devotees of Amma. Hundreds of smiling souls sat cross-legged as they were entertained by musicians playing traditional melodies. Our little entourage found a space and joined the flock, legs dutifully crossed. A palpable sense of anticipation filled the room as the crowd began to chant and the music intensified to a crescendo, at which point Amma was ushered in by assistants and firmly ensconced on a silk pillow.

More songs and chants followed, which I must say was quite enjoyable once I joined in. Amma's son, who led the band,gave a short introduction in English, and then Amma gave a teaching, which was fascinating and resonated with everyone, myself included. I did not judge, and became a human sponge, absorbing as much of the experience as possible. Soon, we were given numbers which signified our sequence for joining the moving carpet of followers, shuffling along single file, still in a lotus position. When a devotee reached Amma, instructions were given as to how to approach her; place hands to the right and left of her and lean forward. At that point, Amma would reach out and hug, whispering a special message in the ear of the huggee, before a quick release and assistance off the platform. As each one left the stage, he or she had a distant, blissful expression, and had to be escorted, legs having turned to jelly.

Watching this ritual, while shuffling forward on crossed legs, I was filled with anticipation, wondering how the hug would feel, and what message this great woman would have for me. Eventually I took my turn. I will not share the message, which was meant for my ears only, but I can say that, after being released from Amma's arms, I experienced an indescribable feeling, one that I had never felt before or have since, a feeling that there is more to the world than meets the eye.

As the four of us left the darshan, not a word was spoken, smiling all the way home. Still glowing as I stepped out of the van upon my return, I briefly contemplated donning blanched duds and joining the flock to seek a simpler life. Floating back to earth I resumed my real life, yet retained the memory of that transcendent event.

Alas, there were no improvements in our physical condition, but perhaps the changes occurred at a more fundamental level.

I share this anecdote as an illustration of a simple effort that can make such a large impact: the hug. I firmly believe that a major reason for our devotion to one another is the act of hugging, which is practiced with great gusto whenever we are together. Each hug is a physical representation of an emotional bond that re-kindles an ember at each embrace. Family occasions often overflow with full-body contact, again releasing hidden hormones of happiness.

Which brings me to the point of this pontification - what the world needs now, are hugs, sweet hugs. Not the horizontal ones, the kind that money can buy (a la Spitzer), but a firm squeeze that transfers a bit of human kindness from one participant to the other. Society, and the law dictates that it's bad form to grab a stranger. That's why I'm proposing a new public service facility - the hugatorium. Having a bad day? Why not share an innocent intimacy with a like-minded individual at your local hugatorium. Strictly limited to consenting adults who've passed a pre-screening and been deemed hug-worthy, contact is made and an appointment reserved at the nearest hugatorium. This platonic practice might spontaneously spur the formation of hug-clubs. The possibilities are limitless - hug-offs, a new political party called the Hugocrats, founded on the platform of a hug for every home. Who knows where it might lead. World peace, perhaps?

The moral of this story is: if you are feeling out of sorts, and like the world has passed you buy, you need a hug.

Ask the person next to you. They might need one, too.

We Must Overcome

My brother had two heroes: Martin Luther King Jr and Pete Seeger. Both were instrumental in promoting social change through non-violent resistance and protest. It was Pete who first caught our attention, because music was the message. I was a big folk music fan - Theodore Bikel, Peter, Paul and Mary, the Kingston Trio, etc. Nearly all of these acts entertained on one level, and informed at a deeper one. Woody Guthrie and Bob Dylan weren't on my radar screen until a few years after folk had been replaced by the British invasion.

Pete Seeger is a folk-singer of a wholly different order. He did a stint with the Weavers, a pioneering group in traditional music, and then set out on his own. He is a contemporary of Woody Guthrie, Ledbelly, Joan Baez, and so many more. His songs are timeless, his voice unique. Our Dad bought his first album for us and we listened to it over and over again. Written on his banjo head were the words "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender", a motto that grabbed Wes more than me. In fact, it was part of what formed his humanistic value system, and opened his eyes to the injustices in this world. I was too self-involved to care, and it wasn't until the Vietnam war and my fear of the draft that I participated in the anti-war movement. Wes took a stance early on as a conscientious objector, which led him to Friends World College and eventually to Cesar Chavez and the United Farm Workers where he organized for worker's rights. Through it all, he continuously wrote songs, many of them inspired by Pete Seeger. "He Had A Dream", one of Wes' best works, is an homage to MLK Jr as well as a reflection of his own aspirations.

Recently, while searching for a CD, I came across a collection of some of Pete's best. I popped it in my player, considering it no more than background music. My attention soon turned to the tunes and I starting resonating with his banjo and his homey, yet powerful voice. The songs are as relevant today as they were forty years ago. The words emanating from the speakers brought back vivid memories of those turbulent times, messages for the common man from a very uncommon one.

One track in particular took me by surprise; Pete's version of "We Shall Overcome". Perhaps because it had become so familiar an anthem that inspired generations, including my own, and that I had not heard it in decades, I listened with one ear. The more I listened, the more it commanded, no demanded my attention. Here are the opening lyrics just to jog your memories:

"We shall overcome,
We shall overcome,
We shall overcome, some day.

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day".

And the following verses begin with similar declarations of inter-dependence:

"We'll walk hand in hand", and

"We shall live in peace"

But what really stopped me in my tracks was Pete's introduction to the final verse. He'd obviously picked this verse in particular to give extra emphasis to it's meaning. I hadn't noticed it before, most likely because the song had been sung so many times in support of so many causes, "kumbaya moments" around the campfire, that I had relegated it to the dusty shelf of musical history, seldom opened for serious consideration.

Yet on his seminal version, Mr. Seeger had chosen to break the cadence to re-enforce the gravitas of the subject matter. He said, and I quote:

"The most important verse is the one they wrote down in Montgomery, Alabama. They said "we are not afraid", and the young people taught everybody else a lesson, all we older people who had learned how to compromise and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they were.The young people taught us all a lesson:

We are not afraid,
We are not afraid,
We are not afraid, TODAY

Oh, deep in my heart,
I do believe
We shall overcome, some day"

When I look deep down in my heart, I AM afraid. Afraid to even give voice to my own fears and misgivings. Not because they are so numerous, but because they are so potentially dangerous and damaging to my status quo. Big Brother is watching me, at least I'm convinced of it, and I'd better not rock the boat or I could be disappeared, renditioned or worse. Afraid that my every word can and will be used against me in a court of martial law. Afraid of the boogie man du jour. In times past, Jews were made the villains by those seeking to control their populace, and now, many years after our "liberation", those former tormentors are part of a European Union whose currency and standing in the world are far exceeding our own. Then it was the Communists. Better dead than Red. Hatred fed by fear of the bomb. Now we are completely dependent on them for commercial goods and capital support. Turnabout is unfair play. No longer a threat but a debt holder of unimaginable proportions, they had to be replaced with a new devil, and conveniently we were re-focused on one of the largest religious and ethnic groups on earth. A war not against terrorists but terror. Nothing to fear but fear itself.

On this infamous day in American history, let us hope that there are younger people and, perhaps, even some older ones who are brave enough to pick up the torch from those of us who've compromised and learned how to take it easy, be polite and get along and leave things as they are.

Pete would be proud, and the memories of Martin Luther King, Jr and his followers would be honored.