TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN,
I am a pilgrim on the road to finding myself. I have been told that is the answer to my problems in life. Finding myself. Tell me if I have been led astray. Pity me if I have led myself away. Help me turn problems into solutions. Correct me when I turn knowledge against myself. Show me the wisdom that will help me help others.
And since I got your attention and I don’t do this often.
Take care of those that have been treated unfairly by life, who feel like they don’t deserve what has happened to them, and who sulk alone in couch corners. Those poor bastards may never one day fight the good fight. And aid those that can only see the shit in themselves and in every action they take, sometimes taking every world problem on themselves. Both are exhausting, endless wars within ourselves that may take our lives before the doctor announces our time for us.
Let the overworked and underpaid enjoy more than a weekend off. Especially in those places where half the weekend the town is closed. And for those that still find too much time to shop with stores open or closed, help them find a new pastime, like drinking or baseball.
Train not just me with the good fight within, but also the kings and queens of this world who have conquered so much already and have yet conquered themselves. And for those who have achieved the greatest victory, help them off the street and out of the bars of life because they feel like shit for not conquering the world around them.
Laugh at us when we try so hard to create things, whether by a tool, a computer, or an art-form. Laugh at us, but give us the courage to fucking do it anyway, even if we know somebody could do it better than us, and a million already have. And then laugh at the legends in a lunchbox that have turned their inspiration and skill into a reason for making themselves feel better than others.
Feel sorry for those that eat too much, drink too much, and just find themselves with only their bowl of ice cream or their bottle of wine as their lover. But also feel sorry for those that live such a censored and controlled lifestyle, who see themselves as heroes and expect admiration.
Have mercy on those who can only see themselves. That the world and people around them are nothing but a blur and a boring movie playing in the background. Don’t let them suffer too much in their eventual silent and empty atmosphere. And have even more mercy on those that just give it all away. That see nothing in the mirror and give themselves away for free. Mercy that we may one day realize that if we have a glove, but are hungry and not cold, that we trade it for an apple.
Comfort us into understanding death. To accept death. Not to look for it, but to admit it is there. To realize that we all die. Die alone. And whether we have only one death or many deaths, help us remember that it all ends. Rich or poor, pretty or ugly, smart or stupid. Help us realize that just this very fact should be enough to make us all be a little fucking nicer with each other until that unknowing and unpredictable end arrives.
And love. God, what have you done with this love? An equation that nearly rivals your own. Warm those cold souls that see love as the only solution. That tie their happiness to it and use it to think themselves masters of others for it. That feel envy, and poison themselves and torture themselves because they still can’t see that everything, including love, changes. And light a fire next to those that are so afraid of love that they reject every opportunity for the hope of finding the right love or a greater love or who are too afraid to experience it due to the pain that is sure to come with it.
Show us that the universe is more than just a scientific explanation and that human beings are more than just creatures with needs to be satisfied. And it would be cool if you could have a talk with those fanatics that kill people with you in mind and make our lives miserable because they put too much blind faith in you.
To you that is listening, dare us to take up the sword to fight when it is time, and to light the fire when it is time. Lead us to recognize, understand, and accept ourselves. To find the middle path that Buddha did. To swim with the stream of the Tao like Lao Tzu did. To realize that we hold both our fire and our sword with our two hands, two opposites that are equal, symmetrical, seemingly the same, but separate. Let these two hands help us build the way toward wherever the fuck it is we are supposed to be going to.
Thanks for hearing me out.
Amen.
31
The praying was a laugh. I don’t know if it worked or not. I had a rough night of sleep. Cold. Some difficulty breathing and more knotted stomach pains. I didn’t release the pressure this time through the form of regurgitated supper, but I had plenty of gas and diarrhea. It has graciously stayed with me all day.
It was a big day of personal achievement for me. The day started at five a.m. Not too early since I was already up half the night. I had my usual breakfast of oatmeal with apples at 5h30 and waited around until 615 for the others to get ready. It was cold. Too damn cold. Colder than should be allowed for a human to voluntarily commit himself to, but I did. Then I was testing my patience and maximum levels of frustration as I waited for the others to get ready.
The sky was lit up with a baby blue Tarheels color, but we were on the wrong side of this mountain tip as we started our ascent. We were stuck in the mountain's shadow for the first hour up. The mountain didn’t protect us from the wind though and the wind was freezing. It froze my water. It froze the entire camelback. It froze my toes. I wanted to keep moving so I wouldn’t break them by misplacing my steps, but I waited. I was still waiting for them. I guess I shouldn’t complain; they waited for me for a half day to catch up. The difference was that they had apple pie and hot cocoa. But I waited. Every fifteen minutes, I waited fifteen minutes. And that was just for the second person. I couldn’t understand it. I saw myself a fat-ass and broken with a metal rod in my leg, a screw in my knee and another screw in my hip. I drank, and I smoked, and I didn’t take altitude medication. Yet, I was flying up this hill compared to them. What had the army done to me?
Another hour. Same shit. The warmest mittens in the world couldn’t keep my fingers alive. I know cause I bought them. I could see them there, but I couldn’t feel them.
And my face. I couldn’t feel it well enough to even speak properly, much less feel all the snot that was freezing on my upper lip.
On a positive, my pack was light, or at least I couldn’t feel it too heavy on my shoulders and lower back like I usually could. Also, I was wearing all my clothes.
After about an hour of stop and go freeze yourself, the sun was high enough that I found a spot along a natural rock wall that hid me from the wind, but allowed me to stay in the sun. I waited twenty minutes before seeing Aviva. I was unnerved. The wait frustrated me as I could not understand how they could be so far behind in such a short amount of time. After a quick conversation with Aviva asking about the others, I decided I had waited long enough - the others had each other - Aviva and I would continue up. She agreed. She stayed up fairly well and responded well when I was motivating her.
I stayed with her until we saw the prayer flags flapping in the arctic wind. It was a finish line. There were still mountains around us higher than us, but we felt on top of the world.
We danced. We took photos. I smoked a cigarette with a local. We talked to other trekkers including a Dutch couple we had seen throughout our trek. It was a moment. A beautiful moment. I wanted to make love in that cold world because it was such a moment.
Cathy arrived about forty minutes after us. Matt and Friedrich showed up twenty minutes after her. Friedrich being the support for Matt. He was struggling again. I felt sorry for him until I realized he wouldn’t want sympathy. He wanted support and appreciation. So I gave him both and felt good about it when he accepted it.
We all made it. Aviva gave a running and jumping greeting to each as they came up the last stretch. Their exhausted and smiling faces made running on frozen toes in below freezing weather a joyous moment.
I was proud of all of them. Probably the lack of oxygen talking again
. It wasn’t Everest. It wasn’t worth writing a story about. It was tourism. Selected tourism, but still tourism.
When Friedrich arrived, we had to do our clapping push-ups. We planned this. Doing it without a shirt was not. It was cold... But we got some laughs. Some stares, and even some cheers.
After a few more photos with the group, we started our 1500m descent.
Mostly uneventful.
My knee was still causing trouble, but it was a beautiful view. The weather began to steadily get warmer. After the victory of crossing the pass, we had an earned and relaxed climb down.
Matkinah was beautiful and settled in a valley. We visited a monastery. Friedrich had been there before and told us about it. Him and his parents had climbed this half already, but never did the pass, now as an adult and no longer a teenager with mama and pop, he wanted to do the full thing from the other direction. And he did.
We found a guesthouse for all of us, and I had a victory beer.
I also had two dinners. A grilled garlic chicken. It was good to eat decent food again. And two hours later, a veggie burger. I spoiled myself with the mood being content and the air feeling spiritual. We took warm showers and felt accomplished. Then we made plans that separated us and would ideally bring us back together.
I put another pint in front of me.
32
The following day was a big day.
It started with goodbyes. Matt. Cathy. An Italian I never really knew. The Dutch couple we had met a few times. Aviva decided to join myself and Friedrich on the climb down to fully complete the circuit.
We would all go our separate ways down the hill. North Americans in jeeps. The Dutch on bikes. Clichés, but good people. Glad I had met them, but always funny to see the reality of the cliché when placed in front of you. Friedrich was a German. Aviva was Israeli. I was a confused American. We probably fitted our clichés too.
We had breakfast together. Took our pictures. Hugged. Smiled. And left.
It was good to be back on the road again. We got to Kagbeni in three hours. We visited a monastery with dogs and children in Tibetan maroon and yellow outfits. They had their shaved heads and enlightened smiles. The dogs barked at us.
We saw stolen American logos and names. Hill-ton, their guesthouse really was on a ton of hill. Applebee’s was exactly the same spelling and logo. We had lunch there, tea and sandwiches.
Then we fought a sandstorm for two hours walking to Jomsom.
Friedrich was a newly certified pilot for Lufthansa airlines. Apparently, you can go straight into pilot training from high school in Germany and the company pays for all of it. I was jealous. I liked Germans. I thought about a German sweetheart that wanted to break all the rules with me. Maybe I’d move to Germany. Things seemed all right there.
Friedrich talked about his school as we walked. Then he talked about the nightmare it must be to land a plane in this area. Jomsom had an airport, and he was doing the simulation in his head. A valley squeezed tightly between two mountain ranges, with this wind, only a small plane could fit, and small planes were the hardest to control in rough environments.
I got scared thinking about it. I had a rough flight from Marseille to Paris and then going to India. I still hadn’t shrugged it off or enjoyed it as I once always did. I felt my stomach in my throat just from simulating the flight in my mind. Maybe I needed to seek psychological help. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me, but I no longer took pleasure in flying. I felt like a pussy, but I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t reason or trick myself out of it.
We got to Jomsom after a few hours of walking like Laurence of Arabia through the sandstorm. What should have taken eight hours to walk, we made it in five. Much faster than before the pass, Friedrich and Aviva were more my pace.
It was only about four when we arrived at our destination, but we had pushed it. It tired me.
I found my ATM. Then I relaxed. Then, I found an internet café. This place was civilized.
I checked my email. Judy, Jackie’s grandma, my best friend growing up, had passed away. People kept dying when I was too far away to visit them. I loved that woman like my own grandmother. I stayed on that moment for a while and looked at everybody in the room, accepting the reality of their death for them. It was sad. Another funeral I’ve missed. We always forgot or put it in the back of our minds we would die. Oh, Judy. I’ll never forget you saying, ‘Lying through your teeth,’ as you would catch Jackie and me getting into more trouble.
I didn’t know how to respond to Jackie’s email, so I didn’t.
Sometimes I thought about how long it has been since I left Arkansas and how it has changed.
Claudia also sent a few emails.
The first four were very sweet and loving. Even saying, ‘I love you (today, but we’ll see when you get back.)’ Well, at least I knew it was not somebody pretending to be her. The last one was not as affectionate though. It was sent two days ago and five days after the first four. I had been out of touch for a while. I didn’t miss it.
She said she hoped I was having a good time. It was maybe passive aggressive. But I did unfairly put a lot on her. She had work and school. Both part time, but she was a serious woman, and every minute counted. Then there was Maverick. He held true to his name.
She said I should get home soon and come back to the real world.
I didn’t respond to that either.
33
We took our time getting up. Waiting until the sun was up before for moving around. We were on the downhill side. I got up first and had my breakfast in a near empty kitchen. It was a solid breakfast.
Not feeling so tired, I faced Claudia and sent her a response. I decided against trying to actually justify or reason with her last email, but just wanted to comfort her. I usually write good letters, but this one said, ‘I miss you. Be home soon.’ I hoped that would hold her over until I got home, or at least to Pokhara.
Friedrich, Aviva, and I planned another long day, but took it more relaxing. We stopped halfway at the apple capital of Nepal, Marpha. It only took us an hour and a half to get there, but we stayed for a while. We had apple crumble, apple cider, and apple brandy. It was strong and sweet, and it was good. It was a beautiful morning of just sitting, talking, and laughing. I also finished a book. I would have to find another book store to exchange for new books. I must have read about 11 books, always carrying two or three on me and then changing with other people or with stores along the way.
We ended up staying for lunch before we made progress further down the trail. I was drunk and didn’t want to move, but staying wasn’t the best idea even if it was the apple capital of Nepal. The walk was all right in the beginning being slightly drunk, but after two hours, the accelerated hangover kicked in and I was feeling knotted and had that annoying pain in my head that came with drinking alcohol.
The hangover with the wind and general fatigue from two weeks of trekking made the afternoon long. We ventured off the main road for half of it, which was nice. There were apple farms, pine trees, lovely smells, and more flashbacks of home. You could see the change in microclimates as each day passed, and we descended hundreds of meters at a time.
This side of the pass was more populated. China was building a road for them to make trade easier with India. Nepal didn’t mind, but us nature-tourists, we disapproved and always tried making our own trails away from where vehicles could now pass. I was glad Nepal was getting an upgrade into the modern world, but walking along roads, even dirt roads just made the trip feel like walking to get somewhere rather than walking to be lost somewhere.
That’s when the motivation started to fade and fatigue and soreness started to settle in. I wanted to get this bag off my shoulders and my feet off the ground.
Even with our relaxing morning, we still did over eighteen kilometers.
My knees were shot.
I got a new book and started reading it while waiting for dinner.
WE LEFT LARJUNG THIS morning, adding an Ital
ian sailor to the group. We had met him at Marpha while having our apple brandies and crumbles. Then crossed him again last night at our guesthouse. He had his own boat in the western Mediterranean. He could never take more than a week off, so this was his third trip flying over here to complete the circuit, just doing legs at a time. I don’t think I had ever been that motivated about something.
He was an interesting guy though. I didn’t take to him too much at Marpha, the apple capital of Nepal because he interrupted me while reading and drinking to say hello, but giving the guy a chance last night at dinner and walking with him, he had some wisdom and spirit about him. He was about forty, but had the vigor of a much younger man. Despite that, he kept calm like a much older man.
We talked about women. We were on the same page there and even though he was the type to oil his long dark hair back every day, I could see we were of similar breed. He must have thought the same. He offered me a job on his boat with a promise that in a year I would have my own boat. I considered it.
Myself, the sailor, sailing from port to port, carrying my charm and STDs from one bar to the next. Speaking my languages and seducing women of all shapes, sizes, and colors. I tucked his email in a safe place.
We were still walking on and off the main road. The map said it was a trail, but it was obviously behind Chinese production and we constantly worked our way towards any side path we could find.
Sin and Zen, #1 Page 13
