I remember when I was often reading Dostoevsky's most famous novel, the Brothers Karamazov. But first a word on how I became acquainted with that legendary tome of nineteenth century Russia. I was a lad of eighteen, just recently resigned from my job as a leather cutter, and now I had a little time to kill. I would wander around the city, despite the chill November weather, and more often than not would find myself seated at the long communal table of the Naam, Vancouver's premier and oldest vegetarian restaurant (I think they are fifty-three years old this year). I used to frequently saunter by there in the afternoon, just after the lunch rush, and I would comfortably set myself up with a cup of herbal tea (they had a huge list of concoctions to choose from on the menu) and pet the friendly cat that lived there or engage an equally friendly stranger in a conversation (though I did take care to not try to pet any of them!)
I first learned of this place, the Naam, from my friend Colleen (or, Big Bird), a radical left survivor from the heady days of Berkeley in the late sixties who became an equally radical Jesus Freak. I was sixteen then, and I used to hang out at her house and made a lot of interesting new friends there. I never went into the Naam, however, until the following summer. I had a new friend, Garry, who lived at Wreck Beach (he was naked when I first met him. He liked my singing and wanted me to stop and chat a bit with him) and we became very close. I was seventeen and he would have been around twenty-three. A very beautiful, gentle artist, but not the sort of person either of my parents would approve of! Garry worked at the Naam, so I soon began to visit him there. I remember when he made me a whole wheat chapati stuffed with tahini and honey. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven!
When I returned to Vancouver, following finishing grade twelve on Vancouver Island, I became a habitué at the Naam, soaking up the peaceful vibes and enjoying random encounters there with some very interesting strangers. One such individual was seated across from me and reading what looked like a very thick paperback novel. I asked him about it and he said it was the Brothers Karamazov by Dostoevsky. We got into a very interesting conversation, I wrote down the title and author and bought myself a copy just days later.
Reading this book took me to a number of interesting places, but I would particularly fixate on the youngest of the three brothers, Alyosha, who was a very devout young Christian, and his mentor, the priest Father Zossima. It was the final discourses of Father Zossima that continually held my attention.
What I particularly and singly remember of his discourses was his teaching about hell and love. he said that hell is the place where one is completely unable to love. Those words have stayed with me all my life, Gentle Reader. Those words are like a burning coal from the alter of heaven that has been slowly working its way into the deepest parts of my being.
When I was in Colombia back in February, that was when, I would say, that those words really began to bear fruit in my life. This absolute consuming fire of love has me in its flame now, and I am love's servant, and now I am love's slave.
This is not a romantic love, but something deeper, stronger and infinitely more powerful, which means that this is the very force of the Creator and this has opened me in new ways to the beauty that surrounds me and to the people and creatures that surround me. I really believe that we are not ever going to be complete as human beings unless we joyously abandon ourselves to that very fire of love which is God, and the very heart and soul of Jesus Christ. And this is my new beginning, my darlings and this is indeed what is next!
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