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august/september 2015yogajournal.com.auFROM TOP: MONIQUE FEIL; PHOTO COURTESY OF BHAVA RAM
brakes. My cameraman grabs the video
gear. The dust clears, revealing thousands
of makeshift tents littering the tortured
landscape of rocks and baked earth.
We encounter a fl ood of dazed people
as we wade into the largest refugee crisis
in world history: fi ve million Afghans—
nearly one third of the country’s
population—are displaced. This is among
the largest camps, and disease is rampant
among young and old. I witness missing
arms and legs. I see shrapnel wounds
in tiny faces. A mother’s wailing lament
for her child who has just died pierces
my skin. I gently approach with my
microphone as my cameraman fi lms. We
invite refugees to share their stories with
the help of my translator. Soon, before
we become overwhelmed by hundreds
of people who want to share their
heartbreaking circumstances, the three
of us politely push on, forging our way
toward the refugee hospital.
It’s close to 40 degrees Celcuis under
the scorching sun, and even hotter inside
the hospital. Sweat drips down my
cheeks as I scan the scene. The fl oors are
stained with blood. The war-wounded
fi ll metal cots. Yet silence underlies the
pervasive urgency. I kneel down beside
one cot to interview a child, Mahmoud.
He is wrapped in gauze. Most of his body
is covered in third-degree burns from
napalm. Yet, somehow, he seems at peace
with the destruction of his village. The loss
of his family. His searing pain.
We fi nd the hospital head, who agrees
to a quick interview. Dr. Shahwani, a
Pakistani, reveals his amazement that
so many of the Afghan patients manage
to survive when it seems medically
impossible. The Pakistani fi ghters, mostly
mercenaries, don’t fare as well. This, he
says, is his “medical mystery.”2OO1. CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
It has been two years since Morgan
pleaded, “Get up, Daddy.” My only
answer for my son then was to check
into a hospital in order to detox off
the painkillers, muscle relaxants, and
antidepressants I’d been prescribed, get off
alcohol, and die with some dignity. After
endless days of writhing on the fl oor in
withdrawal—uncontrollable vomiting,
diarrhoea, hot fl ashes, cold fl ashes,
tremors, and hallucinations—I came out
the other side dazed and confused. I had
no idea what to do next. The detox ward
needed my room for the next patient. My
wife was not ready for my return home. (Itwas a marriage in deep
trouble and that would
eventually end.)
At that moment,
one of the ward doctors
walked into my room
and invited me to join
a small, experimental
program at the hospital
called The Pain Centre.
He explained that the
treatments combined
ancient Eastern healing
practices with modern Western holistic
techniques. “We can’t help you with
cancer,” he said. “But maybe we can
mitigate the pain, and you can stay off
medications and alcohol.” I heard myself
almost scream, “I’m in!”
A few days later, electrodes were being
placed on my skull, my chest, my back, my
arms. They were hooked up to computer
monitors to track my brain waves, heart
rate, skin temperature, breath fl ow. The
technician helped me settle into a plush
recliner, put headphones over my ears, and
covered my eyes with a soft, padded cloth.
Gentle music began. A deep, soothing
male voice invited me to relax, and guided
me through natural imagery. Waterfalls
and rainbows. Twenty minutes later, I was
relaxed beyond belief. Slowly bringing
me upright, the technician told me all the
baselines had improved, indicating less
agitation, more inner harmony.
Six weeks into the program, my nurse
at the centre announced it was time for
yoga. I had never done yoga, and I couldn’t
imagine trying to practice with so much
pain and with a broken back. Yoga was
challenging. I couldn’t even get my legs up
the wall in a restorative posture without
the yoga teacher lifting them for me. Deep
breathing felt unnatural. Yet, after class
ended, I was hungry for more.
I studied and practiced yoga until,
abruptly, The Pain Clinic shut down.
Insurance companies refused to support
the treatments. At fi rst, I despaired. Then
I heard a whisper from my soul telling
me to go home and build a yoga room.
I converted an offi ce into a yoga space,
where I practiced for hours every day. Yoga
postures brought me fl exibility, balance,
and strength. I did twists to tone my
organs. I studied the ancient texts,
especially the Yoga Sutras of Patanjali
and the Hatha Yoga Pradipika. I shifted
my meat-and-potato es diet to organic
vegetarianism. Breathwork slowly purifi ed
and enhanced my energy. Affi rmationsshifted my mental darkness toward the
light. Meditation created calmness and
inner awareness. Every time I wanted to
quit, I chanted, “Get up, Daddy.”
Two years later, my body was 37
kilograms lighter. I’d lost 1,ooo kilos of
emotional darkness. The back pain was
all but gone. I couldn’t believe how such
a stiff and broken body could become
so fl exible. I hadn’t died from cancer. I
couldn’t prove that yoga had healed me,
but I was still alive.2O15. CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
In meditation this morning, I drift back
to the Afghan refugee camps, the squalid
refugee hospital, Mahmoud on his rusty
bed. I can see the entire ward now. An
Afghan side. A Pakistani side. At every
bed of the wounded Afghans is a loved
one, holding vigil, fi ngering prayer
beads, whispering mantras in Pashtu
dialect. No one is with the Pakistanis.
They are mercenaries. Detached from
their families. Suddenly it dawns on me,
the answer to Dr. Shahwani’s medical
mystery: it’s the power of love.
Love is the essence of our spirit, and
the inner light to which yoga beckons
us. Love transforms us—and those
around us—in body, mind, and soul. My
2-year-old son touched me so deeply with
his love that I found an inner power I did
not know existed. Morgan is 17 now, and
we remain incredibly close. I offer
gratitude in my daily yoga practice that I
am alive to be his father, to affi rm and
support him, and to give him my love
every day.Bhava Ram in Astavakrasana
(Eight-Angle Pose), 2013.Bhava Ram is the author
of Warrior Pose: How Yoga
(Literally) Saved My Life.
His foundation, Warriors
for Healing, is dedicated to
bringing yoga science to
veterans facing PTSD.