“The mandala – the Buddhist Wheel of Life – revolves through six realms. The inhabitants of the Hungry Ghost Realm are depicted as creatures with scrawny necks, small mouths, emaciated limbs and large, bloated, empty bellies. This is the domain of addiction, where we constantly seek something outside ourselves to curb an insatiable yearning for relief and fulfilment. The aching emptiness is perpetual, because the substances, objects or pursuits we hope will soothe it are not what we really need. We don’t know what we need – and so long as we stay in the hungry ghost mode, we’ll never know. We haunt our lives without being fully present.”
– In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts by Gabor Maté, MD
Waiting for the traffic lights to change on Memorial Drive and Edmonton Trail, I saw a man running along the median towards me. The “man” would have been in his early twenties. By the unsightly, dirty beard, unkempt hair and obsessive stare, he looked fifty. Running? He was limping along, his whole demeanour that of a marathoner desperately trying to complete his faltering run – urging himself on. One hand tightly held the back of his jeans to stop them falling – the jeans several sizes too big for his cadaverous frame. Before I realised his purpose – an upturned baseball cap in his other outstretched hand – the lights had turned green, and I was off to my next appointment.
I drove along 10th Avenue, separated from the main thoroughfare of Calgary by a railway line, and saw a lathy youth sitting on a large rock. I doubled back. His thin body and long, drawn face could have been my son Chris’s, of the same age. My memories took me to a picture of baby Chris with the rest of the family, enjoying the play area in a local McDonald’s.
Meanwhile, the boy had torn off his shirt. In front of the very latest, expertly equipped Addiction Centre, he was injecting himself – for all to see, and for no one to embrace him.
On a blizzardy day in mid-winter, I had reconciled myself to leaving my flat fifteen minutes earlier than usual to brush away the two-inch layer of snow that had accumulated atop my car. I saw Stella, the caretaker, using her snow blower to clear it all away. It was -40°C (-40°F). The wind was howling madly.
When I next had the chance to thank her, I asked, “ Stella, you work phenomenal hours here. You help everyone out. I’ve never seen you anything but happy. I know the job is highly demanding and poorly paid. Couldn’t you find a better gig elsewhere?” I had overstepped the mark.
“I was a drug addict for 14 years. I’ve been clean for the past seven. Each day I longed to have a job, a regular pay cheque, a flat to live in – not the back of a rubbish container. Somewhere I could belong. I’m so grateful someone rescued me and gave me this job.”
