Ben Ralston

3 impossible true stories (and 1 way to feel more like God).

Thinks he’s an otter…

There have been times when I’ve felt so bad I’ve wanted the Earth to swallow me up. Times when, if I’d had one wish, I would not have wished for more money or time or power; I’d have wished to disappear in a puff of smoke.
And there was a time when I very, very nearly killed myself.
We’re all human, which is to say, we all have the capacity to experience tremendous pain. I’m talking about emotional pain here, but the same goes for physical…
I think it was Primo Levi who said something like:
“A human is an animal that can adapt to any circumstances”.
I once watched a documentary called “The Boy Whose Skin Fell Off”. It was about a boy with a rare disease – his skin fell off his body every few days. His skin kept falling off all the time. His parents had to bandage him up, and he lived with that pain day in, day out, his whole life. In the end, he died of skin cancer.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much, or been so moved, as I did and was by that movie. That boy’s courage and dignity will remain with me, always. You can watch it here. You will be moved and shaken and inspired.
I wrote recently about feeling like an Ant. And about feeling like God.
To me, the difference between the two is just all about where we place our attention (and where we place our attention is the greatest sign of our intelligence)…

So I want to share with you a great way to shift your attention from the mundane, painful, ant-like aspects of life, towards God:
It’s called synchronicity.
Some people call it co-incidence, but I like to say that there is no such thing as co-incidence. Others call it luck, and I like to say that we make our own luck, and one of the ways in which I’ve made mine (and I’m one of the luckiest people in the history of luck) is by doing what I’m about to tell you about.
Actually, a better word than synchronicity is perhaps ‘miracle’. Because although mathematicians would be able to work out the odds of some of the things I’m about to tell you about happening; and although they might say that there is a billion to one chance; I’d say that it’s simply impossible. So it’s a miracle.
For example:
In 1999 I was reading a book about synchronicity.
I was living in a shabby little room in a big shabby house in Stoke Newington, London. For those of you that don’t know London, that’s very close to where the recent riots all kicked off.
The room I was in had one thing going for it – it overlooked a small park (I think it was called Stoke Newington Green).
And one morning, as I was making myself breakfast, I was thinking about the head-on car crash I’d had when I was 18 yrs old, when I’d only seconds earlier put on my seat belt (in itself, a kind of synchronicity). I never used to wear my seat belt, but that day, and I don’t know why, I did. It might have saved my life. It certainly prevented any injury, and the other guy wasn’t so lucky…
Anyway, I’m standing there making my breakfast and remembering that car crash, when suddenly I hear an almighty KRUNSCH. I look out the window, and across the other side of the park, two cars have just collided. This blew my mind. But it’s not the punchline.
The very next day, standing there making myself breakfast again, thinking about the previous days synchronicity… KRUNSCH. I look out the window, and in exactly the same spot, two cars have collided.
Impossible.
When I was working as an actor I had no work. I was a terrible actor. So one day I had to go out and get myself a job, and after walking around London literally all day without success, I told myself: “One more”.
I walked into one more bar and asked if they needed a barman. The girl behind the bar (full of piercings and tats, with a shaved head, and a ton of attitude) said ‘no’, at the same time as a guy appeared from the stockroom. As I turned to leave, thoroughly dejected, he called out:
“Wait a minute, we might be looking for someone”.
So I sat down for a coffee with him and had an interview.
While we were talking I noticed a photo of two naked men walking down the beach away from camera, hand in hand. Then I noticed that my interviewer had a handlebar moustache and a leather waistcoat. Then I noticed the girl behind the bar again, and all the other very obvious signs that I was in a gay bar.
The owner – the guy interviewing me – was called Robin. He owned the place with two other guys, Gordon (his boyfriend) and Guy (his best friend).
On the wall, above the photo, was a metal sign:
The Back Bar.
As I clocked the photo on the wall, Robin asked me:
“Is it a problem for you, working in a gay bar?”
I thought about it for a moment. I couldn’t find any reason why it should be a problem.
“No”, I said.
And so I worked there for a year. It was a great year. I loved almost every minute of it. And a tip for any single young straight men out there: working in a gay bar is a great way to meet girls. Trust me.
A few years later, and a few weeks after the double car crash synchronicity, I was in a rehearsal studio with my band (I was the drummer). As we left the studio, we were all talking about what a terrible drummer I was. I was worse at drumming than I was at acting. I’d been thinking for a while about drum lessons, and just as I was thinking about it again, we walked past the door of one of the other studios… and heard the most amazing drum solo. There was someone in there playing the drums like I’d never heard the drums played before. We all stopped. I had to go in there. It couldn’t be a co-incidence.
So I went in there. I slowly opened the door and saw this young guy playing the kit as if it was a part of him. He was amazing. But the most amazing part of it all, and the reason I stood there with my mouth wide open for a while even after he stopped playing – on the wall, above his head, was a metal sign:
The Back Bar.
Impossible.
When I moved to Slovenia, my (now) wife and I talked a lot about getting a dog. We had both always had dogs around us, but right then we were a little afraid of the doggy responsibility. Now we have a dog, two cats, and a baby, and I’m still afraid of responsibility …
So we were thinking of getting a dog for 2 years, and it went like this:
“Let’s get a dog?”
“Yay!”
“Hang on, what about the responsibility…”
“You’re right, forget it.”
One day we were out walking in the hills and the same conversation came up. And this time my wife said:
“Let’s ask the universe what we should do”.
I’d never heard of this ‘ask the universe’ concept (sounded a little too ‘New Age’ for me to be honest), but we did it. We put this question out there to the universe, and simply waited for the answer.
We didn’t have to wait long…
After the walk, we were heading into town. We got into the car, and my wife was fiddling with the radio. Our usual radio station wasn’t available, and she was trying to find another channel.
Suddenly (on Slovene radio) an English voice said:
“And now, from 1966, ‘I Love My Dog’ by Cat Stevens”.
It’s a cool song (“all the pay I need comes shining through his eyes”).
“That’s it, that’s the sign, we’re getting a dog!”
In town we saw a poster. A woman’s dog had had puppies. When we got there, only one puppy was left. His name:
Ben.
Impossible.
We renamed that puppy Jai.
Jai on dry land
I could go on and on giving examples of synchronicities, or miracles, that have happened to me. On and on and on. Because the more open you are to them, the more you see them. They happen all the time. Life is a long succession of miracles. You are a miracle.
So here’s what to do: be open to miracles. Keep an eye out for synchronicities. Because when things like this happen, you stop feeling like a helpless little ant, and you realize that you are part of a much bigger picture. You stop and say ‘wow’.
Just WOW.
That’s impossible.


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How your personal views are worthless (and why you should probably re-think everything you think you know)


I once believed that:
If I don’t wear shoes, I’ll hurt my feet.
If I don’t keep warm, I’ll catch a cold.
I only need to practice yoga to stay fit and healthy.
I only need to stay fit and healthy to be happy.
What’s good for me is good for everyone.


When I was at school I had a friend who was, to be honest, an asshole. He once hawked up a big green lump of phlegm out of the depths of his chest and spat it full in my face. Yes, that kind of asshole. But he was nevertheless my friend, and I loved him, and somehow still do (although we’ve long since lost touch).
He once told me this saying, and it’s stuck with me ever since:
The more you study, the more you learn. The more you learn, the more you know. The more you know, the more you forget. The more you forget, the less you know. So why bother?
Of course it’s a bit silly, but when I heard it then it felt very right. Perhaps because at that time the whole adult world seemed to be pitted in a deadly struggle to teach me crap. Parents, teachers, extended family, family friends, and distant relatives were all hell-bent on cramming my head full of algebra, geology, ancient history and chemistry, at a time when all I really wanted to do was climb trees.
Many years later I read the classic book ‘I Am That’, by Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, and the following line changed my life:
“Love says ‘I am everything’. Wisdom says ‘I am nothing’. Between the two, my life flows.”
Socrates said:
“All I know is that I know nothing”.
Such simplicity. Such beauty. Such wisdom.
That’s the kind of ancient history I am interested in… 

Shoes.

Of course, if you don’t wear shoes, you hurt your feet, right? It’s only logical.
There’s another way. Develop faith, and walk down a jungle-covered Indian mountain barefoot.
I also once got high (long time ago), and ran full speed down a narrow, steep, crooked and uneven footpath, (tree roots, rocks, and all) in the pitch dark. The odds of my making it down in one piece were probably about a billion to one. “But” as it says in the bible, “with faith, anything is possible”. (Mathew 19; 26)

Cold.

That’s why they call it ‘a cold’ isn’t it? If you get cold, you get a cold, right? Right!
Except, if you raise your energy, develop a strong immune system, and have faith, you don’t ever get colds (or, very rarely).
When I believed this one, I used to keep warm. I also used to get a lot of colds, flu’s, and throat problems. Now, I rarely dress ‘sensibly’, and I hardly ever get sick.

Fit and Healthy.

Many times in my life I thought I found The Answer. You know, the answer to all our problems – Life, The Universe, and Everything. But the truth is, there is no answer. The question is the answer, because in the asking of the question we find another question, and it’s in the very asking of questions that we find our purpose (isn’t it?). So every time you think you’ve found that answer, think again. The part of us that likes to believe in answers is our Ego. So what would happen is, my Ego would find The Answer, and then a little while later I’d realize that The Answer didn’t actually answer all the questions after all, and I’d set off in search of The Answer all over again. This is the definition of suffering isn’t it? It’s certainly one definition of insanity.
Nowadays, I very much concur with Carlos Castaneda / Don Juan’s secret to staying fit and healthy:
“The secret to having a healthy body is in what you don’t do”.

Happy.

It’s been told a million times by a million people better than myself, but I’ll say it again: happiness is an inside job.
‘There is no path to happiness. Happiness is the path.’
That said, I’ve found something very interesting in my time thus far on Earth: we are innately happy beings. Given a natural, peaceful biological development (from conception to adulthood), and a supportive and loving upbringing / education, we cannot fail to be happy.
How many of us had those two simple things? Very few. Instead we have almost all of us experienced abuse and trauma, and trauma disconnects us from our happy Self.
So, yes, happiness is inside us already, waiting to come out, and yes, in that sense, Self Help or Personal Development is a waste of time, but you know what? Until you’ve healed the trauma, the happiness is hiding. Like the Sun behind the clouds.

Good.

Another cliché: ‘human beings are like snowflakes’.
Yes, cliché but true. No two of us are the same. Even if you take the most identical identical twins, they are deeply different; each unique. And as different as we all are, we are also all on different paths, and at different stages of the path. So no, there is no ‘one size fits all’ in this life.
One of the things that brought this home to me very clearly was a comment that a reader left after my article The 3 Reasons to be a Vegetarian. Calling himself simply ‘Omnivore’, this person said that despite having had been raised a vegetarian; and despite believing completely in everything that my article espoused; and despite having eaten the perfect ‘textbook’ vegetarian diet; he needed meat, and when he started eating meat, his health and sense of well-being improved greatly. He went from ‘surviving to thriving’. His comment helped me to understand that there is no right way to eat. (I thought I’d been writing The Truth, The Answer). It also helped me to find a better way for me to eat. Changing this belief – a strong viewpoint that I’d taught in seminars – wasn’t easy. But it was liberating.
What this world needs like a hole in the head is more beliefs, views, and opinions.
What this world desperately needs is more people who love themselves and each other and the world around them, regardless of views, beliefs, and opinions.
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Thank you!

Yoga teachers training: how I stopped resisting, and started living.

Ben, Vijendra, Sacred mountain

It’s coming towards the end of January, 2001 – and the end of my one month Yoga teacher’s training course in Kerala, India.

It’s been the longest month of my life – bar none. I’ve been ill for most of that time with bronchitis, tonsillitis, and flu (yes, simultaneously) and I never would have believed that it was possible to feel quite so useless. Having never been seriously ill in my life, and having come here with the idea that I would become God of Asana, it’s been a humbling experience, to say the least…





When I first arrived here a month ago, jetlagged beyond belief, I shared a room with a 52-year-old French guy who, a few days into the course, accused me of stealing his money. I was evicted from the room, and since then the whole French contingent have been giving me the evil eye. Standing in line for morning ‘chai’ and feeling fifteen French faces burning a hole in my guilty until proven innocent back didn’t make me feel better…
Next, I shared a room with a 52-year-old Serbian chap (Rade) who accused me of sitting on his pillow. I may well have done that by the way, as I admitted openly to him – I’ve been feverish to the point of hallucination, and some days didn’t know my own name, let alone my own pillow. However, this upset him so much that he wouldn’t speak to me (until recently)… needless to say the atmosphere in our little room hasn’t been all that amiable. That didn’t make me feel better either… nor did the fact that said Serbian snores frighteningly loudly, and gets up an hour early each morning for an extra hour of meditation. So his alarm goes off at 4.30, and then he does Neti in the tiny toilet joining our room. Most days I am just drifting off to sleep when his alarm goes off, so I have an hour of sleep interspersed with the sounds of his snot hitting the toilet water. Nope, that hasn’t helped much.
One of those mornings, when Rade’s alarm went off, I started crying. I was really at the end of my tether, so to speak. I didn’t think I could handle any more of this relentless hardship. All I wanted was to be home, and get a hug from my girlfriend. The thought of that hug… well, at that moment, I was closer to quitting than I’ve ever been in my life. I cried for a while while Rade cleaned his nose out very thoroughly nearby, and decided to stick at it. I steeled myself for more days and nights of misery, but I wouldn’t quit. I decided. That decision didn’t help me to feel better anytime soon, but I think it might have almost saved my life!
I really haven’t slept much. We work and study each day ‘til late, then have homework, and by the time we get to sleep it’s almost time to get up. Together with the jetlag, the snoring, the early starts, and the mosquitos…
Oh! I didn’t mention the mosquitos. Well, let’s just say that they are big; ubiquitous; and hunt in savage packs, like maniacal rabid dogs.
So, all in all, I haven’t had much sleep lately.
The schedule itself is relentless! We have two asana classes a day (two hours each), meditation and chanting twice a day, endless lectures on the Bhagavad Gita, Kirtan (chanting), anatomy, yoga theory… an hour of Karma yoga, which for me entails filling a large barrel of water with buckets from the lake. That would be fine normally, but since I can barely raise my hand, carrying buckets of water is pretty difficult.
We only get two vegetarian meals a day. I’ve never heard of that before. Where I come from, everyone says that ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day’. Well, here there is no breakfast. They also say that you can’t survive without meat, because you won’t get enough protein. Well, we’ll see won’t we!
Speaking of which, I’ve just remembered a funny conversation I had with my Dad. I called home after about a week, and told him about the food situation. He told me that he’d read an article on cults. Apparently, cults brainwash people by starving them of protein – or so he read. ‘Watch out’, he said. ‘If you start feeling weak and susceptible, come right on home’.
Thanks Dad, very encouraging!
Recently though, I have been slowly feeling better.
I think that the massage helped a bit – the one where I lay naked on the hard stone floor while a fat, hairy Indian man walked up and down my arms, legs, and body, grinding my joints into the ground with his heels – he narrowly avoided breaking me in half by hanging on to a rope that hung from the ceiling. Perhaps when he massaged my genitals with his feet… yes I believe the sheer shock of that moment did me some good after a month of strict routine.
The chanting has definitely helped. When I first arrived, I was surprised to hear a chorus of strange, loud sounds coming from the building in the middle of the Ashram. Unlike any music I’d ever heard before, it was alien and uninviting. When I was sat in the middle of that hall the next day, and for the following weeks, and urged to join in the chanting, I couldn’t get past the fact that I didn’t understand what the words meant (what if Dad was right?!).
But slowly, the words of one of the teachers here began to sink in: “stop resisting”.
And one day, I found myself chanting with the best of them, lungs pumping like pistons, and tears streaming down my face as I somehow felt myself yearning for something that I didn’t understand. That yearning, that yearning… yes, that made me feel better.
I’m sure all the asana practice has helped too. When I arrived, I thought I was pretty damn good at the old asana. I figured I’d be one of the best here, and they’d probably be asking me to demonstrate stuff, and might even want to photograph me.
However, I was shocked to see that some of the people here can do things that I’ve never heard of and probably won’t ever be able to do. At first, I was pretty peeved about that. But soon I was too ill to think about it, and after a while the asana practice just started becoming, well, less competitive really. I stopped thinking about what I looked like, and what they looked like, and I just started breathing deeper. Deeper than I’d ever thought possible. It was like my whole body was one big lung! And each cell was breathing in harmony with every other cell, and the inhalation and exhalation were flowing into each other, and well, even though I could barely do much at all, what I did do felt great.
I’ve decided that I may not ever be able to do those asanas where you get your legs behind your head and then walk around on your fingertips, but I’m going to work hard at doing what I can do, and I’m going to master it. Setting myself that kind of goal without being ‘attached’ to the result, felt good.
I know the meditation helped. Sitting still for 30mins, observing my breath, repeating the mantra until my mind becomes so focused that all other thoughts dissipate and there is only this vibration happening, which is my life, my breath, my self, now… doing that twice a day has definitely helped. I’m going to keep on doing that, because when I do, I feel great.
And now here I am, up a mountain. It’s 6am, and the Sun has just risen. We all walked up this mountain together this morning, in silence, in the dark, and meditated while the sun came up and warmed our faces. Then we chanted to the sky, to the jungle, to the universe.
They say this mountain is a holy place. I believe. There’s certainly a sacred feeling in the air now. I feel as if I can do anything here. I feel no animosity towards anyone, for the first time in my life. If the devil himself were stood in front of me I’d wish him well. I certainly don’t have any ill feeling towards Rade: I went to him and apologized yesterday, and guess what? He apologized right on back. We didn’t say much, but there was such a feeling between us that it didn’t matter.
I don’t hate the French guy either. I guess he was having a hard time too in those early days of the course. I reckon he really did believe that I’d stolen from him, and he’s entitled to believe what he wants. Anyway, I’m too busy feeling great to worry about what he thinks now.
I stand here at the top of this mountain, and want to sum up how I feel in one word: it’s a word that I would never have used before I came here to India.
It’s a word that I used to associate with religion, and religion was one of the things that I used to think I hated.
But the word that comes to mind is Faith. I am full of faith. I stand here, full of faith. Not faith in God, or faith in a religion, or an institution like the church, or another person… but faith in myself.
I’ve been to the darkest of places in my self. I’ve wanted to quit, and I’ve had to find out what I’m made of. I found out that I may not be who I have always thought I was. Actually, I know I’m not. I’ve realized that nothing is what I thought it was. Nothing is for certain anymore, but I think I can handle that: I’ve finally stopped resisting.
I take off my sandals. I’m so full of faith that I know I can walk down this jungle mountain barefoot. Something in me tells me to do that, and I don’t question it. It just feels like a good thing to do, so I do it, because I don’t need any other reason. As I walk, I feel the rocks and soil and tree roots beneath my feet and between my toes, and somehow there is no pain. Somehow, it’s as if the earth moulds itself to my feet, and my feet find their way. I don’t even need to look down at where I put them – my feet just find their way. That’s faith, and that’s what I’ve found this last month.
I wonder where it’ll take me next.