FOREWORD Once, when I was being interviewed for a magazine article, the journalist tossed an unexpected question at me. "What is the role of mindfulness or meditation at a time of complete crisis?" The words I heard come out of my mouth spontaneously in response: "I wouldn''t wait." Of course, some people do wait for the bottom to fall out from under them, for an emergency, for some kind of disaster before they reach for a resource like mindfulness, and even then it may well provide some support. But if we can strengthen mindfulness in times of more ordinary stress and challenge, in a regular day, the qualities that come from mindfulness-compassion, balance, awareness, and openness-develop as a kind of muscle memory that accompanies us right into times of great fear, despair, or upheaval. These qualities reveal some sense of what is intact and whole within us, no matter what. They bring us back to the essential aspects of ourselves, like the capacity to love, which cannot be destroyed, even if everything else somehow does feel like it already has been or may well soon be destroyed. Now, and I suspect for the rest of my life, whenever I think of that response, "I wouldn''t wait," I picture Allan Lokos and his wife, Susanna Weiss. Having done so much of my meditation training with Burmese teachers, and feeling such a strong affinity for the country, I follow a few different sources of Burmese news on Twitter.

I saw right away the reports of a plane crash on Christmas Day 2012. I knew several people in Burma at the time, but I didn''t see any reports of Americans injured or killed. I watched some YouTube videos of Australians who had been on the plane who seemed perfectly okay. What I didn''t consider was just how much depended on where on the airplane your seat was. A few days after the crash, I got an e-mail from Susanna, saying she and Allan had been on that plane. At that point, they were in Bangkok. From the time of that e-mail onward, I had the chance to bear witness to the ever-shifting, kaleidoscopic picture of the new world of injury, trauma, resilience, and healing they had entered. Through the Flames recounts Allan''s depiction of the crash and what follows, via the lens of his own experience, and for the immediate experience and aftermath, what he has gleaned from Susanna and medical records, and via the perspectives of others.

It is also the story of the mindfulness, balance, and compassion Allan brought forth from within himself to meet the intensity and shock and pain of the moment, first in order to survive, then in order to recover, and ultimately to flourish. It is the story of the patience and the kindness we are all capable of, no matter who we are or what we go through. It is the story of the incredible resilience of the human spirit and the fact that we can each learn how to access and trust it. More than anything, Through the Flames seems to me to be a love story. It is the story of Allan and Susanna''s love for each other. It is the story of the love for humankind displayed by medical personnel. It is the story of the love of friends who will go the extra mile to help out someone who needs them. It is the story of the extraordinary, grace-filled love of life Allan demonstrates, a love that is so much bigger than any circumstance.

We probably all know people who go through pain or suffering and get ensnared in a sense of isolation, bitterness, or self-loathing. Seeing someone right in the midst of their vulnerability and distress turn again and again to awareness, love, and compassion is inspiring beyond words. Recently, a friend ran into Allan and saw how calm, kind, and at ease Allan seems these days. He put it succinctly: "You can''t see Allan without thinking his recovery is nothing short of a miracle." I phrase it like that myself sometimes. But in truth, most often, when I think of what Allan and Susanna have gone through, when I think of what we so often go through in our lives-the tremendous joys and the sorrows and everything in between-and the potential we have for understanding, for awareness, and for love, I find that I fundamentally and repeatedly come back to, "Practice now, strengthen those qualities right now. I wouldn''t wait." -Sharon Salzberg INTRODUCTION This tale is one that, until the end of 2012, I would never have imagined writing.

After all, one should have the appropriate knowledge and experience to write about a specific subject. I can honestly say that I wish I did not have the experience or background. Yet the thought that sharing the unimaginable and terrifying event that I lived through could be of benefit to others inspires and motivates me. I wanted to present the details as accurately as possible with no exaggeration, no aggrandizement, and no "poetic license." In order to do so, I had to rely heavily upon my wife, Susanna, since much of the time described in part one, "Christmas," I was unconscious, dazed, in shock, or in a drug-induced state. Even when I was awake, my memories, particularly of the first few weeks, would have to be viewed as unreliable. Susanna was with me through just about every minute offered herein. She was definitely awake and aware.

She had to be if I was to survive. Fortunately, she is bright, articulate, and usually imperturbable. I believe that between us we have produced an authentic account. Truth does not need embellishment. I began taking notes for this narrative in April 2013, and wrote the actual manuscript from June 2013 through March 2014. I did most of the "writing" with dictation software, which was essentially a new experience for me. (The reason for the dictation method will soon be evident.) Since I had written my previous books, articles, and stories using the more standard computer and keyboard method, I was concerned that my brain-to-speech process might not work as well as my more familiar brain-to-hands process.

I found the dictation method amazing, frustrating, and amusing: amazing because it actually works, frustrating because of how often it does not, and amusing because of what it creates when it falters. As an example, "Myanmar" (Burma) became "Me and Ma." We battled endlessly over the spelling of my first name, with me clinging desperately to that which was chosen by my parents so many years ago, while it created numerous clever and innovative alternatives. Even so, I remain amazed at how all my spoken words became zeros and ones, and they in turn became printed words, all in less time than it takes to say "Me and Ma." Nevertheless, I got the hang of it and began to find the process quite seductive. - THE CORE significance of dukkha (Sanskrit: suffering, stress) in Buddhist thought has led some casual observers to suggest that Buddhism is a pessimistic ideology. The emphasis on dukkha, however, when viewed as intended, does not present a negative view but rather a practical and realistic assessment of the human condition. The Buddhist view is that all beings experience suffering.

This includes, but by no means is limited to, sickness, old age, and death. It incorporates every moment of dissatisfaction, unhappiness, discomfort, displeasure, and more. Dukkha is intricately interwoven with the joys, delights, and beauty of everyday life. The most accurate appraisal of the Buddhist philosophy is that it is neither pessimistic nor optimistic, but realistic. The reality is that what happened to me is unlikely to happen to you. If it did, just like me, it is highly improbable that you would survive. I was just fortunate/blessed/lucky/being watched over, or as the Buddhists might say, the conditions did not quite come together to bring about my demise. All of us experience dukkha.

I have lived through some of the most challenging dukkha imaginable and have managed to maintain, and in some ways improve upon, a previously wonderful life. I have been asked again and again how I have done that. I do not want to mislead-it has often been a struggle beyond what I ever could have imagined. There were days when it felt as if the mountain was just too formidable for this mere mortal to climb. - SOMETIMES WE dismiss the counsel of others because we feel that they could not possibly understand; no one could understand. We feel we are absolutely alone: No one has ever had to endure what I am going through. While there is some truth to that lonely perspective, I believe that the greater, more accurate view, and certainly the more beneficial view, is that we are in this together. I assure you that I have been in the fire with you and I have come through the flames.

The ensuing narrative may appear to be about one person''s journey, but in truth it is about reality; the reality of suffering; its cause; and a path that can lead to its cessation. It is my chosen path, and just as I have had to carve out a trail for myself, you will have to do the same for yourself. My hope is that my experience might serve as a guide. In part one, "Christmas," we start out enjoying a holiday but end up in a nightmare, a devastating event occurring thousands of miles from home. Professional opinions in Myanmar (Burma), Bangkok, and Singapore were that I could not possibly survive. Back home in New York City the prognosis was the same. Fortunately for me, they were wrong. The writing of "Christmas," the first section of this book, was a stressful endeavor and at times quite upsetting.

While acknowledging that parts of this story were difficult to write, I also want to mention that there may be those for whom "Christmas," in particular, could be difficult to read. Please be wise, and when necessary, slow down and/or take a break. Part two, "Healing," moves through the travails of surviving all the way to thriving, acknowledging, among other.