I’ve been watching the campaign of the New Zealand Ministry of Health to vaccinate tens of thousands of children in the North against meningococcal C. The campaign is aided and abetted by all the newspapers of the area with headline after headline creating fear in parents and hence the perceived need to have their children immunized. I feel I have to say something.

Twice in my life I’ve contracted spinal meningitis, once at age 4 and again at 28. I was fortunate to survive the second time after ending up in a coma in an isolated Norwegian town. Both times the disease followed vaccinations. Is this a coincidence?

If we believe the press, New Zealand has had an epidemic of spinal meningitis since 1991. That’s the very year the MMR vaccine was introduced here. Is this a coincidence?

There’s a Canadian doctor causing ripples if not tidal waves in the ocean of mainstream medicine today. He claims every vaccine causes a tiny stroke in the person receiving it. He says the effects of these vaccine-induced strokes are cumulative. Dr. Andrew Moulden has traced the clotting blood, common in the metabolism after vaccination, to brain damage in many children.

 A. True Ott, PhD, ND has written a convincing treatise claiming that all pandemics in the last hundred years have been induced by vaccines. The list includes the 1918 flu pandemic, polio (the ONLY cases of recorded polio in the modern era have immediately followed vaccinations), the 1976 “Swine Flu” Fiasco, AIDS and “Gulf War Syndrome”. For more detail see: https://insearchofsimplicity.com/2009/09/02/all-modern-pandemics-are-caused-by-vaccine-needles/

The medical community, supported by the pharmaceutical companies that make untold billions from vaccines, claims vaccinations have eradicated all sorts of killer diseases from the earth. Yet study after independent study show that the arrival of the vaccine followed the decline of the disease. The same studies and others demonstrate conclusively that cleanliness, hygiene and improved living conditions actually eliminated the diseases. London experienced seven major cholera outbreaks in the 1800s at a time when the inhabitants of that city lived in filth and squalor. Cholera is still found today in places with similar filthy living conditions. Polio too is a water-borne disease and it disappeared in America when chlorinated water filtration plants were introduced in the early 1960s.

Do you remember the hype of the 2009 Swine Flu? There was a time when it was being considered to vaccinate every man, woman and child in America against this disease. When NY State instituted compulsory swine flu vaccinations for health care workers did these same workers say, “Thank you?” No, they rose up in unison and marched at the state capital in Albany in protest. If they felt so strongly about being immunized how should the general public feel? More on that here: http://www.thenewamerican.com/index.php/usnews/health-care/2081-swine-flu-seizures

In 2009 the pharmaceutical giant Pfizer Inc. (the very company providing the current vaccine) and a subsidiary agreed to pay a record US $2.3 billion penalty for illegally promoting certain of their drugs.

Would you trust the health of your child with a company such as this?

The data about the current vaccine can be found here:

http://www.medsafe.govt.nz/profs/datasheet/m/Meningitecinj.pdf

Please note that the vaccine contains aluminium phosphate, a known neurotoxin. Note also that what is termed “effectiveness” is really the effectiveness of the vaccine to produce antibodies in those who have been given the vaccine. The data sheet mentions that the vaccine has not been tested for “protective efficacy”, which is unrelated to how effective the vaccine is in producing antibodies. In other words the vaccine has not been tested as to its ability to prevent the disease.

Our two daughters, now age 19 and 16, have never been vaccinated. They have also never had to visit a doctor nor has either of them ever taken so much as an aspirin. Granted, they’ve each had the occasional cold or flu. But nothing that rest, plenty of fluids and natural remedies wouldn’t heal. Our family is only one of many in the Far North that have done independent research and decided not to vaccinate. The children in these families are unquestionably healthy. Likewise there are many children in our area who have suffered irreparable damage from vaccines with symptoms ranging from chronic fatigue to autism and death.

In the deliberate manufactured hype of today I urge you to use common sense and avoid having your precious children subjected to any dangerous vaccinations. And remember, as Dr. Moulden says, they’re all dangerous to some degree. One recent article in the Advocate stated that “up to 15 per cent of people carry the bacteria that cause meningococcal disease in their nose and throat. The national deputy director of public health, Darren Hunt, stated: “In some people, for reasons we don’t fully understand, this bacteria go on to cause disease . . .” Really! Each of us has an immune system designed to protect us from illness. This immune system works optimally when supported by a healthy diet comprised of mostly organic, fresh local produce. The immune system is compromised by unnatural threats such as vaccinations, additives in processed foods, the incredible amounts of sugar contained in fizzy drinks and the chemical sprays used in agriculture (such as is used in the orchard right beside Taipa Area School.)

I’ll conclude with the words of the aforementioned Dr. Andrew Moulden (for more from Dr. Moulden see http://vactruth.com:80/2009/07/21/dr-andrew-moulden-interview-what-you-were-never-told-about-vaccines/

“We do not need to vaccinate for all the pathogens on earth, since all pathogens are inducing disease and death and disability via a singular common set of mechanism. It is these mechanism that need to be addressed on an as needed basis. This is now do-able. It always was. Louis Pasteur’s germ theory was just that – a theory. His contemporaries, Dr. Antoine Beachamp and Dr. Rudolph Virchow were closer to the truth as to the cause of disease. Remarkably, this means that much of what we are doing in western medicine is wrong – we have been practicing medicine in a state of confusing cause and effect and causing more harm, globally, than good…for over 200 years!”

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the author of In Search of Simplicity: A True Story that Changes Lives and the recently released Beyond the Search, books to lift the spirit and touch the heart. See http://www.JohnHainesBooks.com

 

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“In Search of Simplicity is one of those rare literary jewels with the ability to completely and simultaneously ingratiate itself into the mind, heart and soul of the reader.”

 

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The following is a somewhat condensed version of Chapter 3 of In Search of Simplicity. It is a turn around time for me when I come down with spinal meningitis in Norway and end up in a coma. This chapter was condensed for a compilation book of inspiring stories.

Enjoy,

John

 London, May, 1986.

“Can you tell me where I might find the Russia-Scandinavia tour bus?” asked the blonde stranger.

After a restless night spent in one of London’s crowded traveler hostels I had been searching in vain for the bus that would take me on my next adventure, a six week camping tour of Scandinavia and the Eastern European communist states. The 8.30 am departure time was rapidly approaching.

“Do you know where the tour bus is?” asked the young man again. I was more than a little surprised to have this absolute stranger voice the very question that was on my lips.

“Funny you should ask. I’m looking for the same bus,” I responded, smiling back at this man. “Let’s look for it together. It can’t be far away.”

So it was that I met Dean, the shy, muscular Cape Town native who was taking time out from construction work in London.

We found that bus around the next corner. We were the last to arrive. We quickly discovered that aside from a couple of Canadian girls in their late teens, we were the only travelers on the tour who were not from Australia or New Zealand. There is something divinely ‘right’ about two lost people meeting each other. Perhaps it happens more often than most of us realize.

The bus took a ferry across to Belgium and we spent the first night of the tour in Amsterdam. Over the next week we carried on up to Denmark and we were soon enjoying the beautiful fiords north of Oslo.

We were driving along a road cut through snow banks the height of the bus. I leaned over to Dean and said, “I feel horrible.” I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach and had the faint onset of a headache.

 “Perhaps you’ve got a touch of food poisoning, John,” said Stan, the red haired Kiwi whom both Dean and I had befriended.

“Maybe I do,” I groaned, lying down on the seat. In a matter of minutes I had a whopping headache. It felt like my cranium was beginning to swell and my neck was stiff and throbbing.

A few minutes later I called out, “I think I’m going to die!” I had never voiced these words before and I wasn’t sure where they were coming from now. I was terrified. I must have been delirious.

“John, take a couple of aspirins,” interjected Maree, a petite Australian friend. It was rare for me to use any medicine but I was grateful for this offer now.

I lay down again and dozed off.

I was incredibly grateful when the bus stopped and our travel was over for the day. I was doubly grateful that this was to be our first stay in quite comfortable cabins, after night after night of camping. The thought of a tent was not an appealing idea. Dean and Stan helped me to a lower bunk.

I had excruciating pain in my head, which now felt as if it was swollen like a balloon.

“My neck is too stiff to bend. Can you guys help to get my shoes off?” Dean and Stan were happy to oblige. They helped me get under the covers.

That night passed by in a blur of repeated somnolent trips to the toilet to vomit. Despite evacuating my stomach throughout the night I felt even worse in the morning. My head felt as if a herd of Norwegian reindeer had stamped on it all night. Stan and Dean supported me as I stumbled out to the bus. That is all that I remember. At this point I slipped into a coma.

I heard later that our tour leader became very concerned. They stopped at the next village and consulted with a doctor. When the doctor observed my comatose form and noted the other symptoms, which now included spots all over my arms, he diagnosed spinal meningitis and prepared to give me a massive injection of penicillin.

I awoke abruptly from the coma to find that I was lying on my back. I saw a doctor above me holding a large needle before my eyes. The doctor was flanked by two nurses on one side and three female friends from my trip.

Maree looked at me in surprise. “Oh, hello John. You’re awake. Are you allergic to penicillin?”

“Yes,” I replied and slipped immediately back into the coma. That memory is still etched indelibly in my mind over twenty years later.

The next day, twenty seven hours after I initially went into a coma, I returned to consciousness with a splitting headache, in what appeared to be a small, private hospital room. I was being drip fed on intravenous.

After a short time, a nurse, with a cloth over her mouth and nose, looking like a bank robber in white, quietly entered the room.

“Oh, hello. Good to see you back with us. You’re a lucky young man,” she exclaimed.

“Where am I?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“You have spinal meningitis. You are in the hospital in Molde, a small town in Norway. The doctor will explain more to you later.” She checked the intravenous and some monitoring devices and then left the room as quietly as she’d entered. My impression of her now was more of a talking ghost than of a bank robber.

A few hours later the doctor visited me.

“Hello John,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“My head aches and it feels like I could sleep for a week,” I responded, remaining prone in bed.

He looked at me understandingly. “That’s not unusual. You will be with us for a while. We are all happy to see you out of the coma. Do you have any questions?”

“How did I get this, meningitis, that is?” I asked.

“For some unknown reason we have a few cases of it in this part of Norway at this time every year. A teenage boy died last week here in the hospital. Meningitis is highly contagious and it usually attacks children or young people who are fit and healthy. It is a mystery why one person gets it and another doesn’t.

 “As for your headache we have you on morphine through the intravenous for now. If you have difficulty sleeping we can give you some sleeping pills.”

He left, presumably to continue his rounds. I promptly fell asleep.

For close to two weeks I remained in that room, isolated from other patients and most of the nurses save for the friendly, talking ghost.

Despite steady improvement in my condition, there were a few little complications. The veins in my forearms became rigid and made it increasingly difficult for the nurses to rig up the intravenous for me there. They decided to use a vein on the left side of my neck. This worked well until I developed a huge herpes in that location.

Each time the doctor came by I would ask the same question, “Can I go home yet?” His response was always the same, “Not yet.” This made for rather tiresome conversations.

Finally, after nearly two weeks the doctor said, “We’re going to give you a spinal injection tomorrow to see if your cerebrospinal white blood cell count is low enough for you to leave.”

This should have been good news. But I lay in bed and wondered, What if the white blood cell count is too high for me to go home? What if they make a mistake with the needle? I don’t like the idea of someone jabbing me in the spine with a needle. I still remembered vividly having spinal injections when in the hospital with meningitis at the age of four. This current experience seemed to trigger deeply buried fears from that time of illness as a child.

The next day I was wheeled down to the belly of the hospital for my shot. All went well and there were no complications. I had to wait all afternoon for the results. I felt like a prisoner who had been on death row when the capital punishment law was revoked. I was waiting for the decision of the prison warden to see if I had served enough time.

Early in the evening, in the eerie light of a northern summer day, the doctor came to visit me. The smile on his face said it all. “The white blood cell count is low enough. You can go home tomorrow. Congratulations.”

“That’s great. Thanks,” I said, a wave of relief pouring through me.

“No thanks are needed,” said the doctor. “You have healed well.”

I started to get out of the bed.

“What are you doing?” asked the physician.

“I thought I’d pack my things. Isn’t my backpack in that closet beside the bed?”

“John, please stay in bed and rest until you are discharged tomorrow. This has been a serious illness. You have only just survived. Do you know how close to dying you were?”

“No,” I said a little sheepishly, getting back under the covers.

“John, you have to rest for at least another five to seven weeks before you can resume an ordinary, active life. If you don’t rest enough you could have a headache for the rest of your life.” The doctor seemed to be coming on strong but, in fairness, he could see that I was not inclined to remain idle for long. I took his words seriously. After all, I continued to have a raging headache that had hardly abated in two weeks. I was anxious to leave and get on with my life. I felt that this hospital and its mostly unsmiling faces was no longer a healing environment for me. Modern care and allopathic medicine, together with ‘angelic’ intervention (at the time of the nearly fatal penicillin injection), had saved my life. What I craved now was that greatest of healing forces, love, and I could think of nothing better than to fly home to Canada and stay with my parents until I was healthy enough to resume my travels.

I spent the next three weeks with my parents in their home on the north shore of Lake Ontario. It was just what I needed: frequent walks in the lakeside air, the sound of birds, the summer warmth, my parents’ love and practical care. I recovered quickly, gaining some of the weight I’d lost in Norway. The headache waned and then, one day, it was gone.

 My mother and I took another walk through the long grass beside the lake. The killdeers were nesting and singing the distinctive melody that gives them their name. Mom said softly, “We were so concerned when we went to pick you up from the airport. We thought you might be blind or partially deaf. We were so relieved to see you in a remarkably good, if weak, condition.”

 I made a trip to the library to research meningitis. In a medical text I read that in seventy percent of the cases in which the patient is not treated within 24 hours, death follows. Of the thirty percent that survive many have mental difficulties, blindness or associated long-lasting debilitations. I was a lucky man. Twice in my life I’d had spinal meningitis. Twice I’d fully recovered and I’ve rarely had a headache in all the years since.

As my health steadily improved I looked into resuming my world tour. But I could see that the nature of my journey had dramatically changed. Rather than seeking adventure and the discovery of new places, I was now in search of meaning, in search of answers to the deepest questions in life. I was now in search of truth and simplicity.

This experience had transformed me. I wanted to know what or who had woken me from the coma at precisely the right time to save my life. I wanted to know why I was allowed to live and what I was to do with the rest of my life.

I was fired with a burning desire to understand the deeper issues of life. Finished with floating on the surface, I wanted to dive beneath the froth and make some sense of the mystery that lay below the waves.

Perhaps most importantly, I knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was being guided on my path and that I was never alone.

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Radio host, inspirational speaker and health educator John Haines is the author of In Search of Simplicity: A True Story that Changes Lives, a startlingly poignant and inspiring real-life endorsement of the power of thought, belief and synchronicity in one’s life.

The following is a condensed version of the third chapter of In Search of Simplicity. It describes my experience of spinal meningitis in Norway in 1986, the second time I’d encountered the deadly disease.

 

London, May, 1986.

 

“Can you tell me where I might find the Russia-Scandinavia tour bus?” asked the blonde stranger.

After a restless night spent in one of London’s crowded traveler hostels I had been searching in vain for the bus that would take me on my next adventure, a six week camping tour of Scandinavia and the Eastern European communist states. The 8.30 am departure time was rapidly approaching.

“Do you know where the tour bus is?” asked the young man again. I was more than a little surprised to have this absolute stranger voice the very question that was on my lips.

“Funny you should ask. I’m looking for the same bus,” I responded, smiling back at this man. “Let’s look for it together. It can’t be far away.”

So it was that I met Dean, the shy, muscular Cape Town native who was taking time out from construction work in London.

 

We found that bus around the next corner. We were the last to arrive. We quickly discovered that aside from a couple of Canadian girls in their late teens, we were the only travelers on the tour who were not from Australia or New Zealand. There is something divinely ‘right’ about two lost people meeting each other. Perhaps it happens more often than most of us realize.

The bus took a ferry across to Belgium and we spent the first night of the tour in Amsterdam. Over the next week we carried on up to Denmark and we were soon enjoying the beautiful fiords north of Oslo.

 

We were driving along a road cut through snow banks the height of the bus. I leaned over to Dean and said, “I feel horrible.” I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach and had the faint onset of a headache.

 “Perhaps you’ve got a touch of food poisoning, John,” said Stan, the red haired Kiwi whom both Dean and I had befriended.

“Maybe I do,” I groaned, lying down on the seat. In a matter of minutes I had a whopping headache. It felt like my cranium was beginning to swell and my neck was stiff and throbbing.

A few minutes later I called out, “I think I’m going to die!” I had never voiced these words before and I wasn’t sure where they were coming from now. I was terrified. I must have been delirious.

“John, take a couple of aspirins,” interjected Maree, a petite Australian friend. It was rare for me to use any medicine but I was grateful for this offer now.

I lay down again and dozed off.

I was incredibly grateful when the bus stopped and our travel was over for the day. I was doubly grateful that this was to be our first stay in quite comfortable cabins, after night after night of camping. The thought of a tent was not an appealing idea. Dean and Stan helped me to a lower bunk.

I had excruciating pain in my head, which now felt as if it was swollen like a balloon.

“My neck is too stiff to bend. Can you guys help to get my shoes off?” Dean and Stan were happy to oblige. They helped me get under the covers.

That night passed by in a blur of repeated somnolent trips to the toilet to vomit. Despite evacuating my stomach throughout the night I felt even worse in the morning. My head felt as if a herd of Norwegian reindeer had stamped on it all night. Stan and Dean supported me as I stumbled out to the bus. That is all that I remember. At this point I slipped into a coma.

I heard later that our tour leader became very concerned. They stopped at the next village and consulted with a doctor. When the doctor observed my comatose form and noted the other symptoms, which now included spots all over my arms, he diagnosed spinal meningitis and prepared to give me a massive injection of penicillin.

I awoke abruptly from the coma to find that I was lying on my back. I saw a doctor above me holding a large needle before my eyes. The doctor was flanked by two nurses on one side and three female friends from my trip.

Maree looked at me in surprise. “Oh, hello John. You’re awake. Are you allergic to penicillin?”

“Yes,” I replied and slipped immediately back into the coma. That memory is still etched indelibly in my mind over twenty years later.

 

The next day, twenty seven hours after I initially went into a coma, I returned to consciousness with a splitting headache, in what appeared to be a small, private hospital room. I was being drip fed on intravenous.

After a short time, a nurse, with a cloth over her mouth and nose, looking like a bank robber in white, quietly entered the room.

“Oh, hello. Good to see you back with us. You’re a lucky young man,” she exclaimed.

“Where am I?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

“You have spinal meningitis. You are in the hospital in Molde, a small town in Norway. The doctor will explain more to you later.” She checked the intravenous and some monitoring devices and then left the room as quietly as she’d entered. My impression of her now was more of a talking ghost than of a bank robber.

A few hours later the doctor visited me.

“Hello John,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“My head aches and it feels like I could sleep for a week,” I responded, remaining prone in bed.

He looked at me understandingly. “That’s not unusual. You will be with us for a while. We are all happy to see you out of the coma. Do you have any questions?”

“How did I get this, meningitis, that is?” I asked.

“For some unknown reason we have a few cases of it in this part of Norway at this time every year. A teenage boy died last week here in the hospital. Meningitis is highly contagious and it usually attacks children or young people who are fit and healthy. It is a mystery why one person gets it and another doesn’t.

 “As for your headache we have you on morphine through the intravenous for now. If you have difficulty sleeping we can give you some sleeping pills.”

He left, presumably to continue his rounds. I promptly fell asleep.

For close to two weeks I remained in that room, isolated from other patients and most of the nurses save for the friendly, talking ghost.

Despite steady improvement in my condition, there were a few little complications. The veins in my forearms became rigid and made it increasingly difficult for the nurses to rig up the intravenous for me there. They decided to use a vein on the left side of my neck. This worked well until I developed a huge herpes in that location.

Each time the doctor came by I would ask the same question, “Can I go home yet?” His response was always the same, “Not yet.” This made for rather tiresome conversations.

Finally, after nearly two weeks the doctor said, “We’re going to give you a spinal injection tomorrow to see if your cerebrospinal white blood cell count is low enough for you to leave.”

This should have been good news. But I lay in bed and wondered, What if the white blood cell count is too high for me to go home? What if they make a mistake with the needle? I don’t like the idea of someone jabbing me in the spine with a needle. I still remembered vividly having spinal injections when in the hospital with meningitis at the age of four. This current experience seemed to trigger deeply buried fears from that time of illness as a child.

 

The next day I was wheeled down to the belly of the hospital for my shot. All went well and there were no complications. I had to wait all afternoon for the results. I felt like a prisoner who had been on death row when the capital punishment law was revoked. I was waiting for the decision of the prison warden to see if I had served enough time.

Early in the evening, in the eerie light of a northern summer day, the doctor came to visit me. The smile on his face said it all. “The white blood cell count is low enough. You can go home tomorrow. Congratulations.”

“That’s great. Thanks,” I said, a wave of relief pouring through me.

“No thanks are needed,” said the doctor. “You have healed well.”

I started to get out of the bed.

“What are you doing?” asked the physician.

“I thought I’d pack my things. Isn’t my backpack in that closet beside the bed?”

“John, please stay in bed and rest until you are discharged tomorrow. This has been a serious illness. You have only just survived. Do you know how close to dying you were?”

“No,” I said a little sheepishly, getting back under the covers.

“John, you have to rest for at least another five to seven weeks before you can resume an ordinary, active life. If you don’t rest enough you could have a headache for the rest of your life.” The doctor seemed to be coming on strong but, in fairness, he could see that I was not inclined to remain idle for long. I took his words seriously. After all, I continued to have a raging headache that had hardly abated in two weeks. I was anxious to leave and get on with my life. I felt that this hospital and its mostly unsmiling faces was no longer a healing environment for me. Modern care and allopathic medicine, together with ‘angelic’ intervention (at the time of the nearly fatal penicillin injection), had saved my life. What I craved now was that greatest of healing forces, love, and I could think of nothing better than to fly home to Canada and stay with my parents until I was healthy enough to resume my travels.

 

I spent the next three weeks with my parents in their home on the north shore of Lake Ontario. It was just what I needed: frequent walks in the lakeside air, the sound of birds, the summer warmth, my parents’ love and practical care. I recovered quickly, gaining some of the weight I’d lost in Norway. The headache waned and then, one day, it was gone.

 My mother and I took another walk through the long grass beside the lake. The killdeers were nesting and singing the distinctive melody that gives them their name. Mom said softly, “We were so concerned when we went to pick you up from the airport. We thought you might be blind or partially deaf. We were so relieved to see you in a remarkably good, if weak, condition.”

 I made a trip to the library to research meningitis. In a medical text I read that in seventy percent of the cases in which the patient is not treated within 24 hours, death follows. Of the thirty percent that survive many have mental difficulties, blindness or associated long-lasting debilitations. I was a lucky man. Twice in my life I’d had spinal meningitis. Twice I’d fully recovered and I’ve rarely had a headache in all the years since.

As my health steadily improved I looked into resuming my world tour. But I could see that the nature of my journey had dramatically changed. Rather than seeking adventure and the discovery of new places, I was now in search of meaning, in search of answers to the deepest questions in life. I was now in search of truth and simplicity.

This experience had transformed me. I wanted to know what or who had woken me from the coma at precisely the right time to save my life. I wanted to know why I was allowed to live and what I was to do with the rest of my life.

I was fired with a burning desire to understand the deeper issues of life. Finished with floating on the surface, I wanted to dive beneath the froth and make some sense of the mystery that lay below the waves.

Perhaps most importantly, I knew now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I was being guided on my path and that I was never alone.

Subscribe to In Search of Simplicity by Email

John Haines is the author of In Search of Simplicity: A True Story that Changes Lives, a startlingly poignant and inspiring real-life endorsement of the power of thought, belief and synchronicity in one’s life.

Here John Haines describes having and recovering from spinal meningitis twice in his life—at the ages of four and twenty-eight. He goes on to speak of how his second encounter with this serious illness changed his perspective and his subsequent travels.

John Haines is the author of In Search of Simplicity: A True Story that Changes Lives, a startlingly poignant and inspiring real-life endorsement of the power of thought, belief and synchronicity in one’s life.

Subscribe to In Search of Simplicity by Email

 

Lifestyles

·     

John Haines’ Search for Simplicity

September 7, 2008

by Jason Rip

Special To The News

He has been called an Indiana Jones of the spirit.

John Haines’ life has taken him from business executive to global adventurer to author. His first book, In Search of Simplicity, chronicles the many exciting – and enlightening – changes and coincidences in his life so far.

It started with Haines being one of six Westerners involved in a Kashmir plane hijacking. The hijackers had threatened to blow up the plane and, as Haines reports, when that worse case scenario didn’t play out, the passengers cheered, jumped for joy, and even hugged their assailants. That was when Haines knew that his sedate life as a manager for Bell Canada International was crying out for a change.

What follows is a long string of epic adventures: being grabbed by a “ghost” in the Himalayas (a mysterious hand grabbed his ankle and wouldn’t let go while he sheltered in the dark shadow of a glacier), hitch-hiking through New Zealand, where he now resides, and contracting spinal meningitis in Norway. This latter adventure saw Haines slipping into a coma, waking just in time to tell the doctor that he was allergic to penicillin, and then slipping right back into it.

Aside from his transition from the corporate life to the life of a world traveler, Haines has increasingly felt the need to “do more than live the life, but share it.” He describes his new book as “an autobiographical travel adventure story that reads like a novel.” It claims to probe into the true nature of “so-called coincidences,” and empower its readers with the potential for “personal awakening.”

Haines feels a deep connection to Tillsonburg. His mother Audrey lives here and he is able to make the visit back every few years. In addition to his writing, Haines is also a radio host, a natural health instructor, and a conductor of “playshops” in voice, sound, and expression.

Copies of In Search of Simplicity can be ordered from www.amazon.com or by calling toll free 1-866-308-6235