Archive for September 30, 2011
living the practice…part 1
Kat and I, with our guide, Jigmet, were driven about 90 minutes outside of Leh, Ladakh, to begin our trek in the Himalayan Mountains. I met Kat, a young woman from NYC, 3 months previously at the women’s meeting in Pune. We were both excited to begin this part of our synchronistic journey which seemed to fall effortlessly into place.
Our enthusiasm luckily outweighed our ill-prepared,unprofessional ‘gear’…Kat with her heavy, law school back-pack and old running shoes; me in my $12 boy’s sneakers I bought in Pune, and a cheap nylon pack from the old market. We were in the spirit of ‘us and the mountain’! The jeep pulled away, we peed behind a tree, and filled our stainless water bottles from the river. Her steri-pen made it possible to sanitize the water and we were good to begin the climb.
Up the rocky terrain, higher and higher, the river snaked further and further below us. We were thankful it was a cloudy day. Jigmet went ahead and we quietly followed with our footsteps the only sound in the silence of the steep, high rock gorge. It quickly became apparent it was essential to keep my eyes on the path, so narrow in spots that only one foot at a time could touch down. Slippery shale covered much of the path as we climbed, reminding me if I ’gawked around’ it could result in a slide or step off the side into the gorge basin, now quite far below. As I placed my foot on the path, my mantra became,‘one intentional step at a time’. I was truly living in the present moment.
Momentarily breaking our focus, Jigmet would turn around, look us in the eye, and ask, “are you OK?”, checking to see how we were handling the altitude. He slowed up to point out things like the herd of blue sheep, across the gorge on the opposite stone wall…an auspicious siting on a trek. Or the family of marmets chasing and playing with each other, or the great black yak with the tremendous curling horns.
Watching my foot steps in the gray powder, stones, and shale, I suddenly noticed I was stepping on pink flower petals. To my surprise, I looked up to see a large, pink, blooming bush growing out of a gray rock wall. After a couple of hours, it began to rain, and we stopped to put on our nylon parkas…we were a little prepared! Then it was seriously raining with big thunder and lightning. Two days before we left for the trek, the town of Leh was closed down in honor of the local people and tourists who were killed a year ago when an unseasonal, flash downpour occurred, causing great flooding, rock-slides, and loss of many lives. We kept walking. Hours later, when we reached our first home-stay, Jigmet told us thunder in the mountains is very dangerous as the vibration can cause a rock avalanche. We were grateful to arrive only wet and tired. The home-stays are small, simple Ladakhi homes that families open to trekkers for a modest meal and a mat to spend the night. We washed our face and brushed our teeth in the cold water between the few houses in this small village, then slept like the dead in the warmth and safety of this kind family.
A fresh layer of snow was on the mountain tops when we woke in the morning. By now I loved young Jigmet, a 24-year-old Ladakhi who grew up in these mountains, and knew and revered the trails and the people along the way. Over cups of weak tea, sitting on our mats in the home-stay, he openly shared about his family life, his hopes and dreams. I trusted him absolutely. Kat and I, with more than a 30 year age difference, were on a similar wave-length, shared a deep appreciation for life in general, our adventure in particular, and had mini-meetings while waiting for our evening meals.
The next day was the ‘big climb’ to a point called GondaLa Pass, at 16,000 ft. The guidebook says, ‘this is a trek for the experienced and hardy’…I obviously didn’t see that before we signed on! My cheap sneakers didn’t give me one blister, and my body felt good and strong. I was ready!
We began at an elevation so high the clouds covered the tops of the peaks in front of us. The climb was steep, slow and steady. We were surrounded by a brilliant blue sky, with a special moment of spotting two eagles soaring together between mountain tops. The terrain was more open, with the trail wide enough in many places to keep my head up and enjoy the show. Great majestic mountain ranges woven with wide ribbons of bright purple and green rock, jagged rock towers touching the cerulean sky, giant boulders splotched with orange algae, an entire side of a mountain with pure white rock, the rich textures changing with the light and shadows presented unparalleled art. One foot in front of the other…
Along the trail, were stacks of stones, forming balanced towers, in honor of reaching another ‘milestone’ on the journey. We wordlessly bent down to find the appropriate stone to carefully add to this homage to the spirits of the sky and mountains; this Buddhist recognition of balance and patience. I called them ‘blessing stones’ and would offer gratitude for whatever came to mind in that moment. Kat told me each of her stones represented a prayer for a meaningful person in her life.
We had the great pleasure of crossing paths a couple of times with the Tibetan pony man. He told us of being a small child when his parents and older siblings fled their homeland and walked for months through the Himalayan Mountains to arrive in their new home, Ladakh, in northern India. He’s a few years younger than me, and has spent his life traveling with a herd of pack-ponies carrying supplies from one part of the mountains to another. Hanging from a dirty, silk scarf slung around his neck, he wears a silver embossed tin containing prayers the Dalai Lama gave him. It rests against his heart. He told me he’s never taken it off. The brass pony bells alerted they were behind us on the trail, then after passing us, gradually grew fainter, then silenced as they moved further up the trail. In a moment of ‘what if ‘, I decided if something happened to Jigmet, we could just follow the trail of pony poop to find our way. Always need to have a survival plan…
The steep climb became very intense with the necessity for each step to be slow and conscious…meditative. Looking ahead at the distance still to climb felt absolutely daunting. Over and over again, I reminded myself to stay right here, right now in this moment. Put one foot in front of the other, step by step. In order to keep my energy in my body, with each conscious step forward, I would honor a person in my life who died, or who I know would never have this opportunity…this step is for Dad, this is for Georgette, for Rajan, for Julie, for Michael, for Eddy, and on and on and on. It was remarkable how many people were actually there with me in that solitary climb. My heart beat was so rapid, even when I stopped for some time, it was never able to return to a resting place. I focused on each precious inhalation, and exhalation, breathing in courage and strength, exhaling any fear and doubt. In those moments of stopping, I would turn around and be awe-struck by the magnificence, the vast boundlessness, and the recognition of the distance we’d come, one step at a time. It reminded me how important and helpful ‘looking back’ can be. Arms hanging at my sides, I opened my hands wide, palms in a receiving position, and visualized immense strength and energy streaming into my hands, into my body, into my very being, from these ancient, majestic mountains, from the obvious pervasive spirit surrounding me. Of the ka-zillion stones I saw, stepped on or over, one particular one would catch my attention and I would carry it for its powerful energy, and then my other hand would want one. The body/mind always trying to create balance. Intense focus, trusting my body/mind, and a power greater than myself, this climb was the closest thing to the labor-childbirth process that I’ve experienced. Reaching the peak was pure joy and utter bliss! Re-birth of self, at age 61, on this indescribable mountain top. Jigmet built a small stone tower in our honor…
The following day, I discovered the descent presents its own challenges. My mind definitely wrote a story about down hill being the easier softer way, but my hips and knees had another story to tell. Navigating those gravel paths, too narrow for goats, was a real work out. We made it to the top, so had no doubt we could navigate pretty much anything that was in front of us! We experienced the limitlessness in each of us…
Stay tuned for ‘living the practice’…part 2, for the rafting story.
Peace and blessings…
