Chapter 1 – Crash vs Accident
The Old French gave us an interesting word, which combined two Latin verbs, 'ad' and 'cadere.'
Latin 'ad' stands for toward, and 'cadere' means 'to fall.'
The Old French combined these verbs and produced the word 'accidere,' which means 'toward falling.'
Middle English took this word and gave us the popular term 'accident,' defined as an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, often resulting in damage or injury.
However, 'accident' suggests something unintentional and beyond control. It is a description with an excuse embedded within it. The phrase "it was just an accident" serves as both a claim of innocence and as exoneration.
Instead of implying innocence or exoneration, Friday, June 23, two weeks ago, marked the first 'crash' that significantly impacted my immediate lifestyle, reminding me of a different kind of 'crash' I experienced when I was 23, surfing the 3-meter swell caused by Hurricane Danny on the East Coast of the USA.
As I prepared to stand on my board, looking down a 3-meter drop, I caught a glimpse of the wave's white wash about to close on both sides, leaving no room to ride.
I pushed off the board, aiming to jump over the closing waves, when I felt something brush against my inner right thigh.
I managed to clear the closing wave, but when I reached down to touch my thigh, my fingers came back red.
I belly rode the next wave in and noticed a deep clean cut. It was deep enough to reveal the cellular layer beneath the skin but clean, with the skin neatly closing it.
Walking caused more bleeding, so I sat on the long stretch of Cape Hatteras North Beach, with no one else in sight.
After about 10 minutes, I spotted a female figure walking towards me. I was simply sitting on the shore, realizing that any movement would make more blood gush out. However, if I stayed still, the skin would cover the cut, making me think I just needed a gauze and wrap.
When she arrived, she said she had seen me from the cliff and that she was a nurse.
What luck!
I showed her the cut and its depth, hoping my assessment was correct and that she could bring a first aid kit so I could get back in the water.
Her look of shock brought me back to reality, though she said, "I think it is deep. You stay here, and I'll go get a first aid kit and call a clinic."
By the time she returned, my friends had come ashore to see what had happened to me, and any movement was accompanied by sharp pain.
Luckily, she bandaged me up, but when I tried to stand, I couldn't put weight on my leg. The attempt was met with sharp pain shooting all the way to my brain.
My friends carried me to the car, and the clinic was only five minutes away. They had been waiting for me. I was blinded by pain, which cleared as soon as they gave me an IV infusion. To this day, I wonder what drug was included in the infusion. I received stitches, got bandaged up, and was sent home.
The cost? $100.
"How long should I keep the stitches?" I asked the doctor.
"Two weeks," came the answer.
We made the five-hour drive back to Wilmington that night (the swell was dying anyway), and two weeks later, when I called around to find a clinic to remove the stitches, the cheapest option was $150.
As a surfer who didn't come from wealthy parents, I worked just enough to cover rent and meals. Paying more to have the stitches removed than it cost to put them in was frustrating, to say the least.
Sitting on the couch with the cost in mind, I toyed with a pair of nail scissors and removed my own stitches. Today, I have a freaky scar, and I know I took them out too early, despite the timeframe given to me by the doctor who stitched me up.
I never thought of that as an accident. Nor do I use the word today.
It was a fin cut.
Jump forward 25 years, and I had just dropped my son off at Phuket airport after ten days of surfing together. During our time in the water, I got a fin cut on the bottom of my foot, which provided my son with a valuable lesson on how to treat minor surf cuts and respect the sharpness of the fin.
While the fin cut was unexpected, unintentional, and beyond my control, it was the third fin cut in my life and the first one that could be addressed without going to the hospital.
You can watch a video on how to treat minor fin cuts on Instagram @gabe_yoga.
Due to the traffic in Phuket, we sometimes used my 125cc Honda Speedy motorcycle, and other times we rented a car. With the car, we could bring our boards, but the traffic after a sunset surf session would add an extra hour before we could return to the house I rented and change before having dinner. Using the motorcycle and my knowledge of the back beach roads, as well as my skill at maneuvering through traffic, allowed us to get home in just 20-25 minutes. Plus, when we used the motorbike, we supported the income of local lifeguards by renting boards at the beach. It's always good to do things for other people.
My son can vouch for both my skills and speed, which he has witnessed since he was six months old. I have the utmost respect for driving in the open air. It is an act of serious meditation with a slight adrenaline boost. One thing is for sure, if you drive a motorcycle, you will fall. It can be a minor fall or a major crash, but it will happen. You can call it an accident, but you would be better off using the term 'crash.' 'Crash' does not presume innocence or guilt, while 'accident' often implies "It wasn't my fault." 'Accident' suggests something unintentional and beyond control.
When you fall, chances are you will develop a sense of trepidation, fear, or even complete avoidance of motorcycles.
I have a cousin who has been involved in various crashes, including one that required a year of hospital recovery from a terrible crash. However, his ability to "love" riding has not been shaken.
The word 'love' suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.
Love is the ability to appreciate things as they are, rather than as we want them to be. When applied to human relations, it achieves the spiritual sense that it was designed to have.
Rather than using the word because we "want" something from the other person, love is about "giving" to the beloved.
You might suggest to yourself that when you love, you give until I point out your latest argument or fight. Or share the statistic that over 50% of married couples (in the USA, at least) end up divorcing within five years, often because one partner feels they are not "getting" what they want.
To get back on a motorbike after a crash requires a deep love for riding. There are no expectations from the motorbike itself. Yet, the driver's heart has to be open, relaxed, and loving towards the bike. If you can't find that sense, you will never truly ride again (and just going to the store down the street doesn't count).
The same principle applies to interpersonal relationships. If you can learn to give love to your beloved, despite the momentary tension or crashes you go through together, you will discover a sense of spirituality that yoga has described for thousands of years (and it has nothing to do with standing on your head).
I know this from experience. When I lived in Bangkok from 2006-2007, I bought a motorbike and crashed every day for the first two months. Every morning, after the first week of crashing daily, I had a fear and hate of crashing, but not enough to go sweat my way through the train station.
As I actively participated in loving my bike, through changing tires and brakes, as well as learning the roads in Bangkok, I recall the day I walked up to my bike and had a deep realization: "I would never crash again."
And I didn't.
For five years.
The next crash happened when I was rushing to deliver my son's passport to his mother on the other side of Ko Samui Island.
I consider myself lucky. All my crashes were minor, resulting in just scratches. Even the crash on Ko Samui, which left me sitting on the side of the road with a bleeding toe until the ambulance arrived, only meant I couldn't ride my motorcycle for a while. The bike itself suffered minor scratches.
Arriving at my son's hotel room with blood on my clothes and bandages on my right foot and arm left a shock and trepidation about motorcycles in his mind. I also thought that would be my worst crash. And while many years later, driving on a highway in Chiang Mai, a car suddenly stopping to take pictures in the middle of the road caused a crash that required stitches above my left eye, I still considered the Ko Samui crash to be my worst (probably due to the impact it had on my five-year-old son). I still considered myself lucky, and the love I had found for my bike during those first two months in Bangkok never wavered.
True love is the experience of becoming 'one' with another.
From a spiritual point of view, we are all 'one.' Call it 'god,' 'goddess,' 'divine,' 'energy,' 'light,' 'consciousness,' or just the 'great one.' These are just words, but the experience is real, and glimpses of this deep truth of life are one aspect that separates humans from other animals.
An animal does not consider the notion of 'one.' Yet an animal also does not spend most of its waking hours wondering, as the great poet Rumi beautifully expressed, "where did we come from, and what are we supposed to be doing here?"
So, I crashed. It happens. But I still love my bike.
Learning to love my partner regardless of crashes has been a more challenging process, requiring daily practice. Just love. Just give. No expectations. And yes, sometimes parts need to be updated, oiled, or replaced. If you want a spiritual awakening through your sexual relationship, then it's not the lover who needs to be updated or replaced. It's your inner thinking, your over-obsession with your own emotions, and your need for validation. Oil your gears and get to work on giving what you seek.
It requires practice and a different mindset. Check out David Deida's work. He is the only person I know who actively teaches how relationships can become deeper and more spiritual.
Deida's work has been a major influence in my life since I was first introduced to it in 2005. I have spent over 10,000 hours listening to all his recordings, reading every published book and article, attending two different intensives, and another 10,000 hours meditating, writing, talking, and practicing what I have learned from him. I recognize that it has kept my sanity and my heart open when I found myself lying on the ground, three hours after dropping my son off at Phuket airport, looking up at my left ankle and realizing that its 'L' shape in relation to my calf is not normal.
In all my crashes, I have never been hit. I was always the one who either slid to avoid a direct crash into a car or mismanaged water or sand, causing the motorcycle to slide.
Only once have I been to the hospital and received stitches (above my left eye).
You can imagine my shock and dismay at finding myself on the ground just outside the Boat Lagoon area in North Phuket, thinking, 'I got hit! How did I get hit? Where did this van come from?'
After dropping off Leeor (my son) at the airport, I changed clothes and headed to check out the surf. It was a gorgeous Friday afternoon, and I was enjoying the back roads, with an idea of which road I wanted to take to get to the beach.
Boat Lagoon is a shopping area outside a large private living area, and every Friday, they have an outdoor market. When I arrived at the main road, I realized that the shortcut to the road I wanted to take was closed because the market vendors were setting up.
I caught a glimpse of a second road that I thought I could take, so I decided to cut through the traffic jam. Thailand has yellow squares in intersections with a yellow X through the box to indicate an area to be careful, as cars or motorbikes might cross here during traffic jams.
With confidence, I sneaked through a hole between two cars and entered the yellow box.
Always look right and left before entering any intersection. I know this from my pedestrian life and growing up in Israel, where TV ads ingrained that rule into our minds as children.
However, it turns out that what I thought I was watching out for was just getting through the market. When I was well into the box, I found myself thrown off the bike, lying on my back with items from my seat scattered around me.
I saw a black van with my motorbike snug beneath its front fender. I knew my bike was okay. But as I lay there, thoughts raced through my mind: 'I got hit! How did I get hit? Where did this van come from?'
After the initial shock, I noticed that my left leg was extended toward the sky, like a platform for a SpaceX rocket, with the ankle and foot in an L shape compared to the leg itself. Not a natural position.
Broken, I realized.
I couldn't walk away from this one.
Surprisingly, I had no pain. I took note of this as I gently placed my left ankle back into its correct position, much like fitting a broken ceramic piece back onto a vase with a perfect fit.
I hobbled to the side of the road while holding my ankle and leg in alignment, as the black van driver told me he was calling the police.
"Are you okay?" he asked me. "Why did you come out like that? I think it's your fault," he continued in English.
I responded in Thai, "I'm sorry. It's my fault," having learned a long time ago that taking responsibility and staying calm is the best response in any crash situation in Thailand.
I waited for the adrenaline to wear off and the pain to start, but as I sat there, responding to passerby and exchanging small talk with the driver in Thai, the pain never came.
While people offered me water to drink, both my hands were occupied with holding my ankle in alignment. I could feel the bones slipping if I wasn't firm in my grip, which caused significant discomfort. So, I just sat there, looking at my motorbike and shocked that not much happened to it besides laying on its side.
The police arrived and took pictures while talking to me in Thai, trying to understand what happened. Everyone was super nice. Then, the ambulance arrived, and as they put me on a stretcher, they didn't pay as close attention to keeping my ankle in exact alignment. I experienced discomfort and was unable to lie on my back and relax while they lifted me into the ambulance.
"Look," I told the ambulance crew, showing them how easily my ankle could slip out of alignment. "We have to keep it in the correct position; otherwise, it's painful." Part of me was surprised that I could communicate so easily in Thai, but there was no time to dwell on it. I had been living in Thailand for three years, primarily to study Thai, which I had done for one year in school and the rest through daily attempts to speak Thai, YouTube videos, and my language learning app (although sporadically).
They used extra bandages and managed to keep my ankle in the correct position. We rode in the ambulance, joking in Thai and discussing specific details like my age and where I was from.
"You speak Thai so well," one of the paramedics said. "How long have you lived here?"
"Three years," I replied.
"Only three years?" the paramedic checking my heart rate was surprised. "Good job!"
"Your blood pressure is normal, heart rate is normal," he turned his attention to the machines. "Any pain?"
"No pain," I responded and settled into my restricted position on the stretcher as we headed to the hospital.
Just before being put in the ambulance, I verified that my motorbike started, and when I asked where it would be, the police said I could pick it up from their station.
It was 2:38 PM when I got into the crash, and I arrived at the first hospital by 3:56 PM.
Now, it was 6:22 PM.
The ambulance arrived at 8:08 PM. The traffic in Phuket on a Friday night was horrible.
We arrived at the southern Mission hospital around 8:53 PM, and within 25 minutes, I was in the surgery room, maintaining my calm and humorous attitude. The constant surprise at my Thai skills made me feel better about my situation. When I met the surgeon, I immediately felt a sense of calmness as he was super friendly and experienced.
I woke up the next morning in my own room, with an IV in my right arm and my left foot bandaged in a brown wrap, similar to what I would use for a sprained ankle. It was 5:45 AM, and I had full movement in my ankle, toes, and foot, although they felt stiff, like a deeply sprained ankle.
By 6:30 AM, the first nurse came in with medication for me to take and to check my blood pressure and heart rate.
"When can I go home?" I asked her.
"The surgeon will come at 9 AM to decide," she replied with a smile, assuring me that everything was normal and good.
Breakfast arrived soon after, but as a picky eater who usually didn't think about food before 11 AM, I only drank the water and focused on texting on my phone. What else could I do? The room was cozy and spacious, with a balcony, but getting up with the IV pole was not even a thought yet.
Before I knew it, the surgeon and a nurse came into my room.
"Good morning," he greeted me with a smile. "How do you feel?"
"Great, doctor," I replied, returning the smile. "How did it go?"
"It went very well. Do you want to see your X-ray?"
"Of course," I replied, my mouth speaking faster than my brain as the surgeon pulled out his iPhone and showed me the X-ray at the head of the bed.
I saw my ankle with two rods, one along the tibia and one across to the medial malleolus, with several pins.
"Can I go home?" I asked.
"Don't you want to stay one more night?" the surgeon asked.
"Not really. I have to fly. There is someone I have to meet."
"Fly? Are you sure?" The look of surprise on the surgeon's and nurse's faces was evident.
"I have no pain," I reassured them. "Look, I can move my toes and ankle, and I feel great."
"Okay," the surgeon agreed. "Let's monitor you until 4 PM. If there's no pain and everything looks good, you can check out."
The nurse stayed, undoing the elastic brown wrap to reveal red gauze pads on either side of my ankle. They were red due to excess blood from the surgery.
She cleaned and re-wrapped my ankle.
"I'll be back around 3 PM to give you an update," she said before leaving the room.
At 11 AM, I decided I needed to get out of bed, at least to use the toilet like a regular human being. The IV hung from a long metal pole on wheels, and I used it as a crutch to hobble to the toilet. I immediately realized how cumbersome it was to live with one leg. It made me think of those who had lost a leg and once again appreciate how lucky I was.
I hobbled to the balcony and even walked outside, discovering a vegan restaurant at the front of the hospital when lunch arrived. I told the attendant that I wasn't hungry and asked him to take the food away.
"Are you sure you're not hungry?" he asked with concern.
"Yes," I replied calmly. Internally, I knew I wanted to drink only water that day to help my body focus on healing.
At 3 PM, the nurse returned with the remaining portion of my bill and a few forms for me to sign since I wanted to leave. I was given crutches, had the IV removed, and was told to pick up more medication on my way out.
As she left, I took off the hospital clothes and changed back into my own clothes, which hadn't been ruined in the crash, and walked out the door.
Passing the nurse station, I said, "Thank you and have a great day."
My friend Daniel came to pick me up, and I asked him to stop at the police station so I could retrieve my motorcycle.
My bike is an automatic, so I can drive it. True, I have to be careful.
After all, I love my motorbike, and I need it to get around, especially with one leg.
And there is someone special I have to go see.
In the words of the 'Blue Brothers,' I am on a mission from God.
