“It is only when we understand that our time is limited that we begin to appreciate the value of each day.” ~Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
I never expected the journey to start like this.
In December 2003, I decided to take a break for Christmas. I booked an ecotour in Sri Lanka and traveled around the country staying in different locations. It was something I had been looking forward to for a long time.
But during the flight on Christmas Eve, I started feeling sick. At first I thought it was just a stomach problem. Nothing special during the trip. But that discomfort quickly turned into something more serious. I started feeling deep and persistent pain in my lower back.
By the time we landed, I knew something was wrong. We arrived at the first hotel, where a doctor was called. I remember lying there, trying not to make a fuss, while he examined me. The diagnosis was a severe kidney infection. I was prescribed strong painkillers and told to rest.
It was Christmas Day. It wasn’t the start I had imagined.
My room was a small bungalow on the beach. I could hear other vacationers having fun outside while I lay in the dark room trying to get through the pain.
The next morning, a note had been slipped under the door. The tour was scheduled to start later that day, but since I was feeling unwell, the hotel manager agreed to let me stay and recuperate.
The idea of not going on tour didn’t sit well with me. Since I had come this far, I had no intention of lying in my room while everyone else left. So I decided to go.
I took my medicine with me and told myself it would be okay.
Looking back, there was no sense that anything significant was about to happen. There are no warnings. I didn’t feel like this decision carried any weight beyond whether or not I would enjoy the trip. I just didn’t want to miss out.
We left our hotel and headed inland to begin the first half of our tour. It wasn’t until the next day that I felt something was wrong.
I watched the news footage on TV, but it was in a foreign language and difficult to understand. There were images associated with tsunamis: destruction, water, and chaos.
Our tour guide said this is Thailand. That was partially true. As the days passed, information gradually came in.
At that time, only a few of the tour participants had cell phones. They started getting messages. It was short and unclear, but it was enough to cause concern. They were both told they were listed as “missing in action.” I didn’t understand what it meant.
Then I was able to call my friend in England. She answered the phone in tears. She kept saying, “Thank God…thank God.”
I didn’t understand at first.
And then it became clear. People believed we were dead. The hotel we were staying in, the one we left from that morning, was flooded.
Although the scale of what happened was still unknown, the reality was already there. We were there at that time, and for reasons that felt perfectly normal, we were no longer there.
There were no dramatic moments. Just a quiet, sober understanding that things could have been very different.
As soon as my family made sure we were okay, the tension subsided.
We then asked to be taken to the affected area. It was much closer than we expected.
After that, the rest of the trip took on a different vibe. As a group, we did everything in our power to help in any way possible. It didn’t feel like a big deal considering everything that had happened, but it felt important to try.
When I got home, I wasn’t prepared for that reaction.
The number of messages, calls, and people who cared for me was overwhelming. People I hadn’t talked to in years were following the news trying to see if we were okay.
It was an emotional time, but not in the way I expected.
What stuck with me was not just what happened, but how many people cared.
I had never stopped and thought about it before.
Life just went on as usual. But being placed on the other side, even temporarily, of being the person people thought they might have lost, provided a different kind of perspective.
It changed something. Not suddenly, but enough. As time went on, the changes became more pronounced.
I started seeing things differently. What’s important, where your attention is, what feels important and what doesn’t. I found myself drawn to helping in ways I had never considered before.
As a result, I began spending time in Southeast Asia, volunteering and working with communities in Thailand, Cambodia, and Vietnam. One day, I was invited to stay at a Buddhist monastery and help support visually impaired students.
There was never a moment when I decided to change direction. It was quieter than that. It’s more of a gradual change in direction than a sudden leap forward.
Looking back now, I wonder how it all started. It’s not a tsunami. But I was sick, which I didn’t want. I tried to overcome the inconvenience. What I felt was a hindrance.
Back then, it was something to be avoided, something to be ignored.
I won’t try to explain what happened. I don’t think there’s any need to give it meaning or attach a conclusion to it, but I see it differently now.
Not everything that confuses us is against us.
Not everything that feels like a problem is actually a problem.
And not everything important is announced in a way that we can immediately recognize.
The journey began with me resisting.
The situation has developed in a way that I cannot understand.
And it left me with something unexpected.
I still remember how close everything was. But more than that, I think about what happens next and how I could have easily missed it.
About Neil Burgess
Neil Burgess is an Akashic Records reader and teacher with over 30 years of experience working with people around the world. His work focuses on helping individuals gain clarity and perspective in a grounded, practical way. After a life-changing experience in Sri Lanka in 2003, Neil spent an extended period of time working with Buddhist monks in Southeast Asia, exploring a more purpose-driven direction. Visit him at globalakasha.com. Click here to learn more about Akashic Record readings.
