(Though I hope to have many more just like it.)
It’s something I never thought I’d say. A few years ago, when Long Covid turned my world upside down, I truly had a death wish. I couldn’t imagine feeling this alive again—let alone blessed.
But today… today was remarkable.
Somehow, I managed to finish recording all my reels for May. And once I’d packed my bag and eaten something, I headed to Delft to meet my daughter, Zoey.
On the way, I posted a photo and a short poem on Facebook to capture a beautiful moment I’d just experienced. I’ll share the picture here too, but first, the words:
I didn’t know what time he’d leave.
I didn’t know if he would come.
And still… there I was, walking.
And wondrously, he came into view.
Sometimes, tuning in is enough.
No planning. No rush.
Just showing up—
and trusting
that life also runs
without a timetable.
Later, I found myself sipping cinnamon orange tea at a quiet little coffee corner in the back of a clothing store, waiting for Zoey. Once again—no internet. Thankfully, I’d brought a book. It’s usually peaceful there, often empty, but today it was much louder. I put on some music—by the same man who wrote the book I was reading. (I’ll share a picture of that too.)
As I read about the mantra Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya—Sanskrit for I offer my homage to the Supreme, the indwelling soul in all things—that very mantra began playing through my headphones.
Coincidence?
Just as I reached for my phone to capture the moment, Zoey called. She’d finished work early and was ready for ice cream. On the way to our favorite ice cream spot in Delft, we passed a woman begging. Zoey noticed my sadness.
“Mom,” she said, “when you’re in London, you always carry bananas to give away.”
Later, as we sat by the train station, we realized her train would arrive in just six minutes. I had longer to wait. As soon as Zoey left, an American man began speaking to me. We exchanged cards—his business card, and one of my “Create happiness cards”.
He asked what I do, and I shared a bit about my Long Covid journey, the book I’m writing, and how that journey awakened my spirituality.
He told me about minerals that could help with recovery and shared stories of people who healed from cancer outside conventional medicine. I’ve heard similar stories before—and I’ve already begun integrating those insights into my own healing.
Then he told me he’d written a book too—a ten-year project.
I decided to let another bus pass when he shared the extraordinary story of his brother-in-law: a former member of the mafia who had murdered another human being, served 18 years in prison, and turned to God before he passed away.
After he left and boarded his bus, I called Zoey.
“Mom, why do men always show up in your life like this?” she laughed.
We talked about spirituality, synchronicity, and those magical, soul-affirming moments. Our conversations always lift me. Before we hung up, she asked if I’d still make it to the store in time.
Instead of waiting for the next bus, I walked to the supermarket and picked up fruits and vegetables for the Easter weekend, even knowing I wouldn’t be able to cook tonight—the fifth night in a row.
As I left the supermarket, I saw a homeless man and felt grateful I’d bought bananas.
Back at the bus stop—another small surprise: the next bus would arrive in just two minutes. Again, life seemed to be flowing without a timetable.
On the bus, I accidentally bumped the man in front of me with my groceries as the woman beside me stepped out. He smiled kindly, so I offered him a “Create Happiness card”. He chose one that read:
“Set your worries aside, just for one day.”
He looked at me and said, “Funny how we often focus so much on the negatives.”
“That’s normal,” I replied. “Our brains are wired that way.”
A moment later, he asked, “Is the card only good for one day? Can I use it for two?”
“Use it for as many days as you need,” I smiled.
He got off one stop before me, accompanied by two women in long black dresses and matching headscarves.
Watching them walk away together, I had the quiet sense that this man really needed that card—maybe more than he let on.
Walking home, I realized I’d been smiling all afternoon. The ecstatic rhythm of kirtan pulsed through my headphones, making me feel like dancing right there in the street.
At home, I lit a candle and some incense. I prayed—to Krishna, to Allah, to Lord Nrsimhadeva—to guide and protect the people who I had met on the bus. And as I prayed, tears of gratitude streamed down my cheeks.
I feel so blessed and humble for days like this.
Days when I get to serve.
Days that remind me that I am alive.
And that I would wish for no better day.
(Editing of the text and picture with the tulsi mala are done with AI)