I went on a traditional Native American vision quest to figure out which way to direct my life while standing at the crossroads of my mid-twenties.
There was much ceremony and preparation led by a Native American elder,
Dear Uncle Fred.
My fellow questers and I followed the traditions as directed.
We prayed to the four directions,
Received an eagle feather,
And made offerings.
We built a sweat lodge,
Sat in circles,
Sat in tensions,
And shared a pipe.
The quest took place on a mountain in northern California.
There was rain,
Thunder,
Lightning,
And wind.
My shelter was my sleeping bag on the ground and my stubbornness to complete the quest.
I set up for the quest near a huge tree with a charred core,
Yet the tree stood sturdily on the two legs of its trunk that had withstood the fire despite its scorched inner thighs.
During the three days of fasting from food and water,
The tree helped heal my relationship with my mother,
Which,
Albeit deeply scarred,
Still stood strong and has grown to thrive over the subsequent years.
While I was on my vision quest,
A woman around my age had volunteered to stay at base camp with the sole job of staying warm,
Dry,
Comfortable,
Well-fed,
And hydrated for me.
The purpose of this was to ease my own experience while fasting out in the elements to increase the likelihood of my success in the quest.
The night before the vision quest ended,
I craved watermelon so intensely that if I had known watermelon was present at base camp,
I would have ended my quest early despite my resolve to see it through.
To my great surprise and delight,
Watermelon was indeed present at breakfast the next morning,
When the few of us who had endured the full three days on the mountain despite the storm returned to camp.
Watermelon,
Oh yes,
Said the young woman who had taken on the task of staying comfortable for me during the quest.
Last night I wanted watermelon so much that I left camp to buy lots of watermelons and we had a watermelon feast.
The answer of what to do with my life at that juncture was clear to me at the end of the quest.
Of course I would accept the scholarship I'd been granted to go to medical school with the end goal of serving patients like myself who were uninsured and medically underserved.
I realized that the answer had been within me all along.
In medical school,
I studied alongside people representing more than 100 nationalities,
Including Palestine.
The Palestinian struggle became my struggle when I listened to their experience of losing their homes,
Land,
Livelihoods,
And opportunities for a dignified life to their occupiers,
Enduring inhumane and oppressive conditions without an end in sight.
All this to say,
I think about the people in Gaza every day knowing that I cannot imagine what they are going through with terror and tragedy bombarding them for months on end.
I think about the hundreds of thousands of our dear fellow humans in Gaza without shelter,
Food,
Water,
Or other basic necessities,
Not knowing if they will survive another day.
I want to tell them that I will stay comfortable for them,
Drink water,
Eat food,
Bathe,
And rest,
Wishing the same for them as I do all beings.
I call and write to U.
S.
Politicians.
I donate so that they may evacuate and encourage others to do the same.
The residents of Gaza want and deserve peace,
Safety,
And autonomy,
And they probably wouldn't mind some watermelon.
