Returning Home

Two of the people with whom I work at Conner Partners have recently moved from Atlanta to Myrtle Beach. The rationale for the move was the same in each case. “Why should I live somewhere that I don’t want to be, and then ‘go on vacation’ to where I do want to be spending my time? “

Coming home, I have Sima’s recommendation in mind. What will I do that is special, so that I will not feel the inevitable post-vacation letdown? I had thought about this on and off throughout the trip. It is only on my return home that I know the answer. I will resume the life that I live each day. It is just the life that I want to live. It has its own routine, its own rhythm. It is filled with simple pleasures: the fresh-ground coffee; the fresh-squeezed juice; yoga; meditation; time with family; time with friends. I make pictures, and find joy in the pictures I have made. Each morning I greet the sunrise through my windows as it begins to light the skyline of New York City. Each night I go to sleep with the moon and the stars shining through my skylights onto my bed. Several times a week I shop for fresh produce, vegetables, meat, chicken, and/or fish. Monday through Friday I am up at five to begin my yoga practice. Saturday or Sunday I am at the yoga studio, celebrating the balance that I have found in my life.

The first Tuesday I am home, I return to the gym, and to my training with Mitchel. We had scheduled my return before I left; we had also scheduled a dinner in the place of my training on Thursday night. By Thursday, I know my new training goal, and I lay it out to Mitchel. As we age, we loose balance, we loose flexibility, and we loose agility. My goal is to do a split at the age of 60. This week I ask Mitchel whether, as my trainer, he will be demonstrating the split when it comes time for me to practice. He smiles. He will be ready.

I may never do a split. In some ways, whether or not I do is irrelevant. When I reach 60, I will be more flexible, agile, and balanced than I am today. (Because of the way that Mitchel and I train, I will also have greater cardio-vascular capacity and be physically stronger.) That alone will be cause to celebrate. It is about the journey!

This is my last entry in this blog. I thank each of you for joining me on my journey.

Namaste

The Rescue

Others are better positioned than I to provide the details of the rescue. Let me summarize it as best I know it.. As afternoon settles in, those remaining on the mountain become concerned that they will have to spend the night. They move Aaron to a flat, somewhat sheltered area a few hundred feet down from where he lay. Raja, the guide, returns to the summit to find tarps and the begin the prepare a shelter. The porters return, and fashion a stretcher, somewhat like a cocoon. Aaron is placed in the stretcher, and is wrapped in so that he can not see anything. In this way he is carried down to Gomuck.

At Gomuck they are met by the crew from Gangotri. Aaron is transferred into the dandie. A passing tourist from Sweden helps to secure him in. It is at this point that my poles are used to splint his leg. Aaron is then carried into Gangotri, arriving at 11:00 that night. Tom travels with Aaron. Robert, Robert, and Jojo, stay in Vojbasa for the night.

By midnight, Aaron, Tom, and Raja are in the back of the ambulance for what is supposed to be a three hour trip to the nearest hospital. They arrive more than thirteen hours later, delayed once again by a landslide.

Robert Johnson, once he is able to get cell service, calls one of his law partners who has family in Delhi. They in turn track down a hospital and doctor for Aaron.

We arrive late Sunday afternoon (September 9) at the first hospital that Aaron has been transported to. There is no electricity. As we walk in the front entrance (there is no actual door) we step around the dogs sleeping on the floor.

The next morning at 6:00 Aaron, Tom, and one of the drivers leave for Delhi. On the way, they stop in Rishikesh to let Aaron rest. While there, he makes hotel arrangements for the rest of us.
Aaron arrives in Delhi Monday night, and is put into traction. Tuesday afternoon they operate, putting a rod into the femur and pinning it on both ends. He will remain in the hospital for a week before returning home.

The rest of us arrive in Rishikesh Monday afternoon, and stay until Thursday morning. We then drive into Delhi. Robert Johnson and I visit Aaron in the hospital, pick up Tom from the hospital and head to the airport to return home. Others are staying on in India as tourists for a few more days.

I arrive at Newark Airport at 4:45 in the morning, 17 days and a lifetime after I left. I am home by 6:30. One of the first things I do is to grind the beans and make my morning coffee. Then I take a very long, very hot shower.

(x-ray photo by Robert Johnson)

Namaste

Descent

September 8: The morning dawns crisp and cold. The warmth of the sun gives way to damp chills as clouds move through, then returns to bless us again as the clouds pass by. After breakfast, we pack our gear and move to the ridgeline once again. We stop, the eight yogis who have trekked through dung and leeches; we who have sweated and cursed and shivered together; we who have shared our most private thoughts, and fears, and aspirations; we who have waited out landslides, and who have climbed to heaven. We stop, form a circle, and hold hands.

Together we chant the Gayatri Mantra three times. For many months, Gayatri has been the first music I listen to each day. Today, at the edge of Topovan, we chant.

Om Bhur Vhuvah Svah;
Om Tat Savitur varenyam bhargo devasya dhimahi;
Dhiyo yo nah prachodayat. Om.

(Oh, creator of the Universe! We mediate upon they supreme splendor. May thy radiant power illuminate our intellects, destroy our sins, and guide us in the right direction.)

Without shame, the tears flow down my cheeks. What beauty surrounds me. What beauty accompanies me in the men who stand here. What beauty is within me. Aaron reminds us that the divine power of the universe is the power in each of us. We prepare to descend.
Once again, I am positioned immediately behind the guide. I lengthen my poles for the descent, and we set out. It remains difficult to stay focused on the path. “It is all downhill from here.” There is talk and laughter behind me. An occasional slip of the foot, mine or another’s, sends a trail of gravel sliding down the mountain. There is also caution. No one has forgotten where we are, nor Aaron’s promise before we left Rishikesh that he will bring us all off the mountain safely.
I don’t know how long it has been. We aren’t very far down the mountain. Perhaps it was fifteen minutes, a little more or a little less. I hear shouting up above and turn to see a boulder careening down the face of the mountain. It bounds to the left, lands and bounces left again. Perhaps the next bounce will take it to the right, or straight ahead. I start shouting. I check my footing, looking where and how far I am able move in each direction in order to dodge it. What they say about these moments is true. It seems like it all is happening in slow motion. What is only been a matter of seconds unfolds frame by frame in front of me. The others above me hear the screams, perhaps mine, perhaps from the hikers above them. They begin to turn, to look upward. As he turns and looks, the boulder takes one more bounce and hits Aaron on his upper left leg.

My world is frozen. There is no sound. I loose sight of the boulder. And then, Aaron screams. He screams in pain, and in anger. And he screams. And he screams. It seems as if he takes a few hops on one leg, and then he folds down to the ground. Others, who are close by, surround him instantly. And he screams. Our guide moves back up past me. I remain where I am, not sure that I can provide any assistance and not wanting to be in the way. And he screams. He screams in pain. He curses. And he screams.

The others position themselves around Aaron to stabilize him. They are below him to prevent him from rolling down. They are above him to prevent anything else coming down the mountain from hitting him. They begin to cover him, to keep him warm, and to administer first aid.
And Aaron finds the power of Gayatri within him. Once again, he takes charge. First, he sends Tom with one of the guides into Vojbasa. Tom is the most agile and swiftest among us. He also has an incredibly level head. When he reaches the police station in Vojbasa, he is to ask them to radio the military base outside Gangotri, and have them send the helicopter we saw there to airlift Aaron.

Next, he sends the porters down the mountain. They are to also travel into Vojbasa (if necessary) and find items to fashion a stretcher, leaving the burdens they are carrying there so that if need be they can carry Aaron off the mountain. Finally, he summons Pablo, Brent and me. He assigns one porter to guide us off the mountain. The two Roberts and Jojo will stay with him.
Before we leave, Robert Johnson asks me if I think I can make it without my trekking poles. They would like them, if needed, to help stabilize Aaron, perhaps to splint him. My poles have been how I have traveled the entire trek, yet there is no hesitation. I swap my two high-tech, carbon-fiber poles for one too-short bamboo pole and head down the mountain.

Leaving Aaron and the others behind, there is only one thought in my mind. Aaron still feels responsible for getting us off the mountain safely. Now it is my responsibility to reach Gangotri without mishap. We move swiftly. I am not sure that we stop for more than a few seconds to grab a drink of water or to check in with one another. We are not moving in a foolhardy way; but, we are not wasting any time.

All the way to Vojbasa, I keep scanning the sky, listening for the helicopter. It never comes. At Vojbasa we meet Tom and the other porters. They have stowed the gear along the trail, and are heading back. Tom is uncertain whether he has been able to communicate to the police the nature of the emergency, the seriousness, or the urgency. We hurriedly eat our lunch. Pablo, Brent, the porter and I then set out for Gangotri. I watch the sky, and I listen.

It is mid-afternoon by the time we arrive in Gangotri. Perhaps an hour out, while still on the trail, we are passed by four men carrying a dandie, or “sedan chair.” It looks like the frame of a kayak with a seat suspended in the center, and a pole at each end for carrying. We hope they are heading to Aaron. Arriving in Gangotri, we are assured that this is the case; the police in Vojbasa have radioed the police in Gangotri, and they have dispatched the rescue crew.

We knew that they cannot reach Aaron on the mountain before sundown, and they can neither climb nor descend in the dark. We have to try again. A call is placed to the tour company that had provided the guides and porters; it is Saturday and they are not there, so Pablo leaves a voicemail message. We then track down the guide who had left us after the first trek. Reaching him by phone, I ask him to find the number for the US embassy in Delhi. Soon after, he calls back with the number. For the next eight hours, the embassy and I are in contact as they trace the progress of the rescue. They advise me that it will not be possible to get all of the approvals required to send a helicopter. And, they have an ambulance sent to Gangotri to await Aaron’s arrival. (photos by Robert Johnson)

Ascent

September 7: Today’s trek is not terribly far either; on the descent tomorrow, we are planning to return all the way to Gangotri from Topovan.

The first leg of the day we spend continuing up the trail to Gomuck at the snout of the glacier. The ascent is, overall, gradual. I realize that I am no longer cursing those downturns in the trail that at one time screamed to me “for each step you go down, you are going to have to go back up again!” The trail, like life, requires ascent, as well as descent, to reach its destination.

We stop to rest at Gomuck. There is an open-air shrine (“please no shose in tempel”). From here we can see the glacier as it is calving, breaking and falling into the emerging Ganga. Aaron reminds us once again to watch our step, remain on the trail, allow the proper distance between one another. We will be crossing the glacier, which is covered in rock and dirt. Then we will be ascending rather sharply. The terrain, which has been largely stable, will be anything but stable until we reach Topovan. We will be climbing in sand, loose dirt, and gravel. The face of the mountain is littered with boulders, left when the glacier retreated, or melted. Now they are perched in anticipation of gravity calling them down. Attention becomes our mantra: attention to our steps, to our footing, to those around us. There is no margin for error, or for carelessness.
Once again, I am positioned as the pacesetter, directly behind the guide.

I pick up my trekking poles, and look up to my right. Across the mouth of the Ganga is the face of the mountain we will be climbing. I think of the climb up the mountain from the lake at Camp No-Be-Bo-Sco. That was an ascent that challenged me at eleven, energized me at fourteen, empowered me at sixteen. That ascent would barely get me from where I am standing up to the top of the glacier and to the base of the climb that I am now facing. I no longer feel the adrenaline rush that had challenged me earlier in our trekking. Now I feel the steadfastness of myself—heart, body, mind, breath, the physical and the spiritual—stepping forth in unison. My feet, my poles, my self move as one.

There is no question, the climb is challenging. It is difficult to not be distracted. The views are otherworldly. When you look up, all you can see is the very top of the world, and it is very far away. Looking out you see postcards from the Himalayas, the pictures that were in the encyclopedia when you wrote your report in the sixth grade. Looking down and behind, you see the otherworldly terrain that you are slowly crossing. My mind turns briefly to the lunar rover; it seems that this would be the type of surface it would need to be prepared to traverse. I allow myself these thoughts, these looks, only when I stop and stabilize myself.

At one point, we stop to rest along the trail, and allow the porters to pass. They have dissembled last night’s camp, and have now caught up with us. They are carrying all of the equipment on this trek; there are no donkeys. Each of the adult men is carrying about 100 pounds on his back; the two young teens accompanying them have 50 pounds apiece. I marvel.

Later, still ascending, we find an area that is large enough for each of us to find a seat. From my position in the lead, I am one of the first to be seated. As he approaches me, Robert points out a large fissure in the ground between where he is standing and where I am sitting. Perhaps it was there and I stepped over it without seeing it. I am careful to move around it when I stand to begin climbing again.

Perspective is a funny thing when you are climbing. Over the horizon may only mean that the angle of the climb will moderate slightly, or that the next sharp ascent is set back a bit from the one you are on. I learn not to anticipate the top, only to appreciate the climb.

When I look up once more, I see the porters walking back and forth across the ridge. I know that we are nearing our destination. We all gather as, one by one we come over the top edge. We marvel at the view. I glow with pride in my accomplishment. Aaron asks if I understand why he considers this place heaven on earth. I certainly do. And, I posit that “you just have to go through hell to get here.” We both chuckle, and we move out toward the campsite.

I realize how tired and hungry I am. I began the day with an empty system and a light breakfast. We have only stopped to snack. I find a tent and lay down to rest. Others set out to explore the area. Later I will join them in a visit to Mata-ji, one of the sages who resides here. We bring her chocolate. Even sages have a sweet tooth! As we sit on the ground outside the entrance to her cave, she serves us tea and tells the most marvelous stories. I walk away with many lessons, as do each of us. The most important for me is a story that reminds me, the fire of my potential is inside of me. Only I can unleash it.

I sleep in peace.

Vojbasa

September 6: As is my habit, I am up at 5:00 this morning. I complete my morning prayers and head to the temple to observe the sunrise. By 6:10 I am sitting at the far end of the plaza. The morning’s rays are reflecting off the silver paint of the temple across from me. The morning rituals are beginning. There is a small gathering outside the temple doors. Bells are ringing, the priests are chanting the prayers, and incense is burning. What is my bell, what is my prayer, how do I live my life more fully as one?

Robert and Jojo are there as well. We silently acknowledge each other, joining the celebration in our hearts even though we lack the words. We join the procession, receive our blessing, make our donation, and begin the day.

Given what we have been through, and what awaits us, the hike from Gangotri to Vojbasa is mild. We begin by heading up the same stairs that lead to our rooms, climbing them slowly, acknowledging each we pass with Namaste or another honorific. At times the trail is as wide as a road. The weather is cold with a misting rain, which is unusual for this time of year. We move above the tree line, stopping for chi at a teahouse along the trail, and again for noodles at another teahouse just above Vojbasa. By 4:30 we are in camp; I notice that the latrines are the furthest they have been from the tents. Several of us go down to the Ganga together, though each of us interacts with the river on our own terms. I say a prayer, dip my fingers into the glacial waters, and extend a blessing.

By dinner I am not feeling well. I arrive at the mess tent with a Cipro in hand, and take it with dinner. I take a seat at the back end of the tent, as I usually do; it is warmer. Unfortunately, it also means that as the gas and cramps start to take hold, I need to work my way around the others to head out and to the latrine. By the time I get back to my tent, I am racked with chills and gasping for air. I unzip the outer flap, then the inner. Sitting down inside, I remove my boots, and leave them between the two flaps. I carefully place the zipper pulls where I can find them in the dark (they zip from both directions), a decision that will prove wise several more times over the next twelve hours.

It is, quite literally, freezing both outside and in as I shiver myself out of my clothes to add layers and crawl into my sleeping bag. I am sure that I sleep some between my runs (pardon the expression) to the latrine throughout the night. I know that I don’t rest. However, by morning I am feeling better. I go to the mess tent for an early breakfast of chi, toast, peanut butter and jelly, and another Cipro. The others join me a short time later for a more traditional Indian breakfast.

I am not 100%. I know that I could return to Gangotri; the others will be back tomorrow. However, I also know that I am able, and thus will, continue.

Gangotri

September 5 (continued): Shortly before we reach Gangotri, we pass a military base. It is a rambling encampment of buildings on both sides of the road. Soldiers walk alongside the road, or traverse their routes on motor scooters. Delivery vehicles of every sort site along the shoulders. At one point we observe that there is a helicopter. Only an observation.

Gangotri is the last village accessible by road as you travel toward the headwaters of the Ganga. Some say that at one time it sat at the snout of the glacier that becomes the Ganga River. Today it is several miles below the glacier. Arriving, you immediately notice that it differs in some ways from the many other villages that we have experienced. Gangotri greets you with a gate, the town dump, and a parking lot. The gate is old and concrete, straddling the road. It is chipped, the paint faded. The dump, which is smoldering, is evidently also home to some of the town residents.

Our drivers adroitly thread the cars into parking spaces where they are to remain for several days. We are assured that we can leave anything that we won’t need in the cars. I find myself leaving behind much of what I once thought indispensible. It is no longer indispensible, and I trust that it will be there on my return. I am learning what is important. I am learning India.
It is late afternoon. We will not be able to trek today. Instead, we walk up the road in Gangotri to the guesthouse that is expecting our stay to begin in another three nights. They are able to accommodate us. We go into a restaurant, and up a flight of stairs, emerging on a terrace. There is some concern about the rooms that are first shown to us, and we are offered others further up. However, in this case, further up turns out to be a bit treacherous. We walk/climb up along the broken top of a wall that is six inches wide to reach the next level. From there, we go up another level along an inclined sidewalk. Later we will find the stairs that go from the street level. They are outside the restaurant, and offer their own challenges. Some of the steps are eighteen inches or more in height.

Gangotri is an unexpected treat. Tonight we will get to visit the temple at sundown, to shop for woolen hats and gloves (which we will need in the next few days), to eat in a restaurant, to pour warm water over ourselves as we shower, and to sleep in a bed. Each room has a small balcony overlooking Gangotri, the Ganga, and the river valley. I spend time marveling at the beauty, and taking pictures.

Tomorrow we leave for Vojbasa. The next day, we will go on to Topovan. At 14,600 feet, this will truly be the peak experience of the trek.

Patience

Traffic. Flooded roads. Travel delays. I am sure you have experienced them, as have I. However, never have I experienced them in the same was as in India.

September 5 (continued): Shortly after leaving for Gangotri, we find that the road ahead is blocked by a landslide. We turn around, and head back a few minutes to the last village we had passed. There is time for breakfast. As we enter the small eatery (I am not sure that I have ever seen an American equivalent), our guide and drivers have already started assisting the proprietor at the stove. Soon we are being served chai, freshly prepared bread (one of the many forms that bread takes in India, though I don’t remember which), and butter. There is a school located up the hill behind us, and as we eat several boys come in the buy new pens. I am sitting at the front table, closest to the cash register, and observe these transactions. For most, it is a quick exchange, pen for rupees. Then one young boy, perhaps eight or nine years of age, comes in. He must try the pen, then another, and yet another. The clear plastic barrels, the colored caps, the ink are all the same yet he tests each one, comparing the results, before finally settling on one of them. I wonder whether this is a habit that will follow him through life, and how it will serve him.
Breakfast is leisurely. We know that when we get back on the road, it will be open or it will still be blocked. There is no need to rush to find out.

In fact, we discover that the landslide that allowed us breakfast has been cleared. However, not many kilometers ahead there is another. This one is much more substantial. As we drive toward it we pass a huge bulldozer starting to warm up. It will be a few hours before it passes us, parked on the side of the road. When we travel as far as we can, we pull to the side of the road and park. The parking is a bit random, some vehicles on one side of the road, some vehicles on the other. There are buses of pilgrims, taxis, motor scooters, cars, and trucks. Everyone knows that we will be here for hours. I confirm that for myself firsthand when I walk down the road to see the massive rocks blocking our way.

Imagine this. You have a travel itinerary, a destination. The plan is to drive to Gangotri, drop some gear at a guesthouse, and begin the next trek. Instead, you and hundred of others will be waiting for an apparently significant period of time on a mountain road. For us, the experience was very Indian, amazing, and thought provoking.

Some took the opportunity to nap, either in their vehicles or along the rocks on the side of the road. Others read. People walked up and down, stopping to meet others and to talk. We had passed a waterfall shortly before we stopped. The sun was out, so it became a place for people to do their laundry. Some (myself included) set shoes and clothes out in the sun to dry. There was dancing and singing. There were processions of pilgrims. What was missing was the anger, the vitriol, the impatience, the honking of horns, the expressions of rage that such a circumstance would have elicited anywhere I had ever been before.

Eventually, the road was opened. It took a bulldozer, dynamite, and a large road crew. It is 3:10 in the afternoon; we have been here over six hours. People move back to their vehicles and, slowly, our pilgrimages resume. We reach our destination three hours later. Tonight we will spend at a guesthouse in Gangotri. Landslides happen, itineraries change. It is about the journey. Namaste

Leaches, Leavings, and Landslides

September 4: How glorious! A bucket of hot water from which to pour my shower, one ladle at a time over my head. My clothes are washed, hopefully to dry by morning.

Our trek from Dodital to Sangamchatti was fascinating. Shortly after we started out, we found ourselves sharing the trail with water buffalo and a family that was herding them. We followed for quite some time before we were able to pass. We then came into a village that has come to represent, for me, so much of this trek. It was shrouded in smoke, perhaps mixed with clouds. It is not that there aren’t any places with similar living conditions in the States; I know that there are. But they are conditions that those of us who trek India are not used to seeing. And yet, as with so many other places and times, we were greeted with total warmth, acceptance, and joy.

We stopped for tea before proceeding on down the trail. Much of the day was spent walking in and out of clouds. I remember one time thinking that if I were to slip and fall, to roll down the mountainside, what a beautiful place this would be to die. It was so lush, so verdant, so embracing. It was neither a fear nor a wish, just an incredible acceptance of the possibility, the inevitability, and the beauty of where we were.

By the time we stopped for lunch, the sun was out. The donkeys were grazing in a corral below a concrete patio. When we arrived we were surprised to be told that we should remove our shoes and socks. Although we were used to removing our shoes at religious sites, this did not look like a shrine. Nor was it. The reason was much more pragmatic. Shortly before arriving there, we had crossed an area that was known for leaches. Sure enough, they were in our shoes, in our socks, and in many cases already attached to our bodies. Salt and sunshine was enough to rid us of most of the leaches. However, as I discovered when we arrived at the guest house this evening, one must have hidden in the fiber of my sock and spent the entire afternoon enjoying a banquet of my blood.

Another, more significant, surprise awaited many of us this evening. At dinner it was announced that of the twelve who had begun the trek, four were leaving in the morning. A fifth did not hesitate to let it be known that if transportation had been available, he would have left as well. I, too, had formulated my exit strategy over the past three days. When I was not meditating on where to take my next step, I was on occasion justifying why I shouldn’t have to. Yet one does not just “get up and leave” in the middle of a trek. You have to arrive somewhere first. And, when we arrived at Sangamchatti, the joy, the sense of gratitude and achievement erased all other thoughts. I can do this. I have done this. I will continue to do this.


September 5: This morning we are smaller by 1/3 of our original group. We have relinquished one guide of two. We are now comfortably in three cars and are heading to Gangotri. What we are soon to discover is that the road, a national highway, has been blocked by a landslide.

Honoring

There is much more to recount of this journey, but I find myself stepping back and reflecting on an insight that hit home with me at about this time in our trek.

Throughout this trip, others were there to serve us. Our drivers met us at the airport; when we reached the cars they had damp towels and bottled water to refresh us. They drove us eight hours or more some days. When we stopped to eat, they often joined the proprietor in preparing and serving our meals. When we stopped, whether at a guest house or hotel, they helped to bring our luggage in. When we trekked they took care of the luggage that was not with us.

We also had guides, and porters. As we prepared to set out in the mornings, they handed us snack packs. They disassembled the camp, and packed it up. When we couldn’t use donkeys, they carried everything we did not: the tents, the sleeping bags, the stoves, the food, their own gear as well as much of ours. When we filled out water bottles from the streams, they had the iodine. The carried our lunch, and set it out for us. When we arrived at the campsite, it was already being set up: the latrines dug, the mess tent and dining tent up, food being prepared. We didn’t have to set up our tents, our unroll our sleeping bags. We didn’t wash dishes, or boil water for drinking.

Special thanks is due to Aaron. As always, he handled all of the logistics from landing to departure. Even after his leg was broken, he ensured hotel arrangements for us in Rishikesh as he headed to Delhi for surgery.

Throughout, we were served with respect, with joy, with love.

Some see this service by others as their due, an entitlement, owed by virtue of privilege, status, class, or economics. I came to know that it is an honor to be served in this way, and it is humbling. I also know that without this care, this service, I would not have been able to complete the trek.

To all those who served me on this journey, I honor the divine in each of you, and express to all my appreciation for the service you provided. Namaste

Make It Effortless?

September 3: Make it effortless. If you have ever achieved this—in your yoga, your running, your lifting, or whatever training you do—you know the feeling. Your body may be sweating, your muscles will be sore tomorrow, and you are flowing through effortlessly. It can take considerable strength to achieve effortlessness. However, it is strength of focus—not muscle—that brings you to this point.

Last night we camped at Seema, at slightly over 11,000 feet. Today we will be going over the Darwa Pass, and begin our descent, camping overnight at Dodital. It sounds so easy, effortless. It won’t be.

Before we leave, Aaron reminds us to breathe through our noses; taking breath in through the mouth begins to activate the lower chakras; you “move into survival mode.” The climb out of camp is steep, and within minutes I am breathing through my mouth. This is not effortless. Sometimes, the only thought can be, “Where do I plant my pole? Where do I take my next step? Where do I plant my pole for the support that I need, and so it doesn’t become wedged? Where do I plant my foot so there is a place to plant my next foot.” Even these thoughts sometimes just skim the consciousness. I am panting, breathing deeply through my mouth. And I stop.

Finding Aaron, I ask for a refresher on breathing through my mouth. It will be days later that I realize my starts have been fueled by adrenaline; once I learn to control that, I am able to maintain my breath as I should. Now, with intention and attention to my breath I begin to move forward again. We switchback our way up toward the pass. It becomes effortless. My mind opens back up, and I know that this—make it effortless—is the mantra not only for this journey, but for what I am seeking here. I don’t know what that means, or how to do it, in terms of my quest, so record the observation in my journal.

We stop at Darwa Pass where we eat lunch at approximately 13,000 feet. The descent is steep, muddy. We encounter a family herding water buffalo. As I observe them, their smiles, I understand that they have so much less than I do, and so much more. I begin to think about the importance of letting go. Tonight at Dodital I journal on how so much unhappiness is the result of “need” and expectation, both of which are artificial creations of our culture. I begin to record what I have been letting go of: dry shoes, dry feet, dry clothes. Letting go of all the scents we put on our bodies in various guises. Letting go of hot showers, or any showers. Letting go of being in control. It is small, it is temporary, it is experimental. Yet it is important.

I sleep with a smile on my face.

Starting to Trek

On the morning of September 1, the sky comes awake as we drive from Rishikesh to Jankichatti. Shortly after 6:00, as dawn is breaking, the drive becomes steeper. We eat lunch, or perhaps a late breakfast, in Barkot. It is now noon, and we are at approximately 4,000 feet. It is too early for us to appreciate the comfort of this altitude, or the fact that the paved roads on which we have been driving much of our trip will give way shortly to eight days of unpaved roads, washouts, landslides, and trails. In this moment we enjoy the children heading to school, the blue sky, and the clouds that still wrap the mountains.

We get to Jankichatti an hour and a half later than we had expected to arrive. For those of us new to India, we have yet to learn that is not a delay, nor anything to be concerned with. It is the flow of life.

Our first trek is to Yamunotri and back. I pack my knapsack as I intend to pack it for the longer treks; for me, this is a “test flight.” I pick up my poles. I don’t complete the trek, turning around and returning to the guest house after an hour and a half on the trail. Lesson 1: I do not need to (and physically will not be able to) carry my 35mm digital (for color) and my 35mm film (for black and white). Lesson 2: I am okay with the altitude. Lesson 3: It is not a race. Lesson 4: Enjoy the scenery. On the way up my focus was the destination; on the return I see the monkeys, the green birds, the clouds wending their way through the valleys and along the trails. I consider the trek a success; I have learned important things about how to succeed going forward.

September 2 (16:13): We are at camp, at Seema. In Jankichatti we stayed in a guest house. It was my introduction to a bathroom where the toilet is a porcelain basin in the floor (Lesson 5: When using, only bring your pants to your knees). For a shower we order a bucket of hot water, and scoop it over ourselves. Tonight in camp the toilet is a hole in the ground (inside a latrine tent), and there will be no shower for another two days.

Overnight the rain was incessant. Halfway from Jankichatti to our starting point in Hanuman Chatti, the road had been washed out. We left the cars, starting the trek kilometers early. As it turns out, there had also been landslides that blocked portions of the road. All in the life of a pilgrim….

It was quite the trek. I was carrying my 35mm digital. It kept on swinging and bouncing. When I anchored it with my belt, I found myself being pulled forward by its weight. I could not lengthen the strap enough to be comfortable. Tomorrow it will go in my pack. It is too much; I will use my point and shoot and be content.

Today I often found myself thanking Mitchel for the challenge, and the variety, of my training. Those thanks will be amplified in the days to come. I also expressed thanks for quick dry clothing (even though, in the clouds and the rain they remain wet as I write this). And, thank you to the discovery of trekking poles. I am the only one with them; and I find them a tremendous help.

Today was a struggle. I learned a few more lessons. Lesson 5: There is always one more ankle-deep stretch of mud to traverse than there is clear glacial spring to ford. Lesson 6: The mud is never pure. Lesson 7: The best place to set down your next footstep has been marked for you in the recent past by a cow, a donkey, or a water buffalo.

Tomorrow, my mantra will be, Make it effortless.

I Am Back

Yes, I am back from India. It was quite the journey.

Actually, the journey is continuing. As I settle back into my life, I know that there are things yet to be learned, yet to be understood, yet to become a part of my life. I returned seven pounds lighter, 2,000 photos richer, and physically, mentally, and spiritually stronger than when I left. As I seek to sort out my images, my impressions, my journal entries, and my memories, I have yet to find a clear way to articulate it all. Perhaps I never will; perhaps it is not meant to be neatly reported.

What follows is my first “post-India” blog. I will continue making entries each weekend.

August 31: We are on the road from Delhi to Rishikesh by 5:00 AM. Though I don’t know it yet, this departure is a great awakening for my senses, and will serve me well in the weeks to come. As we drive this morning, the sun doesn’t rise, so much as the haze becomes increasingly luminous. Over the next two weeks we will experience many sunrises, from the road and on the trail. There will be those days when we look up to see the sun lighting the tops of the mountains above us, and look down to see the clouds engulf the mountains below. In Seema, sunrise finds us inside the clouds, while at Tapoban the sky is blue, the peaks of Shivling and Bhagirathi glistening white and gold. These experiences still await me this morning.

Today as the haze grows brighter, it is clouded over at times by the dust from the road, or the infrequent patch of fog. The cacophony of noise, even at this hour, is almost overwhelming. Painted on the rear of every truck is Horn Please. We oblige, frequently. Honking, like so much else on the roads of India, carries a different meaning than it does here in the US. It is not about aggression, or dominance, or bravado; nor is it an expression of testosterone. Honking is a means of communication. It is telling the driver in front that you are behind, and that you are preparing to pass. It is telling the driver around the curve that you are coming in the other direction. Each time you honk, you are asking the other driver to be aware of your presence, to let you know if “the road is clear” to pass, to pull further to the left if possible (in India you drive on the left side of the road).

I quickly begin to learn the language of the horns, and to trust our drivers. The first of these lessons is interesting. The second is indispensable. Two lane, two way roads quickly become one way as vehicles pass one another in an intricately choreographed dance. The bicycles, motorbikes and oxcarts dance with the cars, taxis, buses, and trucks. Each moves at a different pace, finds its own space. All forms of conveyance share the roads, whether highway or byway, city or—increasingly—country. Tractors pull carts laden with grass while oxcarts are loaded with brick. Mini-buses (many three-wheeled), bicycles (again, many with three wheels), donkey carts weave a living fabric of noise, sight, sound, and motion. Through all of this wend the cattle, the dogs, and the pedestrians. One lane in each direction becomes two, three, or even four leading a single way. The road doesn’t change width, only flow, until there is no choice but to reclaim its original two-way identity.

We stop along the way for breakfast. This is our introduction to virtually two weeks of vegetarian eating, though we don’t know that at the time When we arrive in Rishikesh, all of our senses are awakened. We will rely on them in ways unanticipated in the coming days.

My Bags Are Packed

Well, not quite packed. However, the last purchases have been made. They included a compass at the camping goods store, and a bar of laundry soap at the supermarket. The clothing has been accumulating in a dresser drawer that has been set aside for that purpose since June. The boots have been trekking through the streets and subways for weeks.

Today we received our final itinerary (subject to change). Tomorrow I will pack. Tuesday, I head to the airport. If you want to trek along with me, it will need to be after the fact. There is no internet (or cell phone service) most of the way. I will be back with a blog when I return. In the meantime, here is our travel.

August 30 - Aaron Star Delhi Tour and lunch at the Imperial Hotel

Sep 01 - Rishikesh drive to Jankichatti, trek up to Yamunotri and back. (We will be leaving very early in the morning.)

Sep 02 - Trek Hanumanchatti to Seema

Sep 03 - Trek Seema to Dodital

Sep 04 - Trek Dodital to Sangamchatti (roadhead) and stay in a hotel nearby

Sep 05 - Drive 5 hrs to Gangotri and trek to Chirbasa.

Sep 06 - Chirbasa to Tapovan.

Sep 07 - Tapovan to Gangotri and drive further (possibly to Uttarkashi).

Sep 08 - Uttarkashi to Kedarnath Base

Sep 09 - Kedarnath hike up

Sep 10 - Kedarnath day

Sep 11 - Hike down - head to Riskikesh

Sept 12 - Stay in Rishikesh

Sep 13 - Rishikesh to Delhi then fly to New York

I am home September 14. Namaste.

Good Advice

Earlier this summer I had dinner with my good friends Susan and Sima. When I arrived Sima was already there, and we had a chance to talk before Susan arrived. One of the first questions she asked was, What do you have planned for after your return? She went on the explain that she and Susan always plan something for shortly after a major event; it is something that they find great pleasure in, so that they don’t have time to experience that post-event let-down.

My plans are far from clear, but it is good advice. I have begun thinking, what is my training goal after I return? I know I don’t want to just stop, and I know it will be difficult to maintain a regimen without a goal/objective. What is my next challenge? I don’t know; but, I do know to be open to recognizing it.

I really don’t have anything significant planned for after I return. It is definitely good advice. I just haven’t really figured it out yet. Suggestions are welcome.

When the Student is Ready

When the student is ready, the teacher appears.

This Buddhist proverb is so true for me. I am not sure, yet, what I am ready for. At the same time, many teachers have appeared in my life in the last months. Today it is time to say, Thank you. Namaste.

Thank you. Namaste, to Aaron, my yoga teacher who has provided me with the spiritual guidance to find my way back to the path of my life. Thank you, also, for guiding the trek.

Thank you, Namaste, Paul, for walking with me as my step became sure and steady.

Thank you, Namaste, Michael, for your help in bringing this funky pizza called life into balance.

Thank you. Namaste, to the authors whose books have entered my path. Roger Housden, Thich Nhat Hanh, Swami Rama, Nando Parrado, your wisdom is beyond me, yet has helped to make me wiser.

Thank you. Namaste, to the students, the regents, and the staff of the Pont Foundation. Your commitment to, and belief in, a future of justice and social equity is an inspiration to what we can become. Thank you, also, for teaching me once again how blessed I am in this life.

Thank you. Namaste, to Mitchel, who patiently has guided me in my physical preparations for my trek.

Thank you, Namaste, Seth, for ensuring that I am mindful of the divine in each of us. Thank you, also, for my Buddha in blue jeans.

Thank you, Namaste, all my teachers, my families, my friends.

The Preparation is the Journey

I know that at least a few of you missed me last week. I didn’t forget; I was fully engaged in what was one of my life’s truly peak experiences.

For the past year I have been mentoring for an organization known as The Point Foundation (www.pointfoundation.org). The mission of “Point” as it is known is to provide “financial support, mentoring and hope to meritorious students who are marginalized due to sexual orientation, gender expression or gender identity.” A few weeks ago I was invited to photograph the annual leadership conference. The Point scholars (this coming year there will be more than 80) come together with leaders from the organization and the LGBT community to explore and develop their own leadership.

The new scholars were provided a day of orientation on Friday. They were joined by returning scholars for an opening banquet that evening. The next two days were filled with working sessions, keynote addresses and relationship building. Throughout, I stood on tables and chairs, crawled on the floor, kneeled, leaned, and tip-toed to be as invisible as possible while taking almost 2,000 pictures. Now I am in the process of editing these, and compiling a portfolio for Point to use.

It was an amazing three days. The scholars range academically from incoming freshmen to Ph.D. MD, and law students. Their schools range from a small bible college in the Midwest to Stanford, Harvard, Columbia, NYU, and American University; both public and private institutions are included. There were gay men and lesbians, bisexual men and women, as well as transgender/transsexual female to male and male to female. Ethnicity, race, geographic origins, and religious traditions were broadly represented.

I put my camera down as I watched the new scholars participate in an icebreaker on Friday afternoon. I had already met some, and knew their stories. The tears came to my eyes as a half-dozen self-identified as having experienced homelessness. Twice as many acknowledged that they had gone more than a day without eating at some time in their lives because they could not afford food. Some have lost homes, and families, by being honest about their sexual identification. Some have experienced verbal and physical abuse: at home, in school, in their neighborhoods and in their communities. Some have been ostracized by the houses of worship in which they were raised.

As I listened to their stories, and observed the scholars, I realized that the preparations we make in life are our journeys. Each of these students brought their background into the conference, and for the duration of their time together explored ways in which they could draw from that background to lead into the future.

Perhaps the most amazing thing for me, however, is that their commitment to leadership is broad-based. It is not only in social justice for the LGBT community, it is in social justice for all. It is about leadership in politics, medicine, law, academics, corporate America, and in the arts. It is about leadership that serves all, not just their LGBT brothers and sisters. It is a dedication, a commitment, a passion for securing and improving not only our national, but also our global future. Yes, there is the idealism of youth. However, it is not an idealism grown of privilege, so much as one nurtured in pain. It is an idealism not of lessons learned as much as lessons experienced. It is a promise of hope for our collective future that I have not seen in a very long time.

Of Rumi, and Harry Potter

When was the last time you read a book twice? I honestly don’t recall when I have, though I am sure it has occurred. Most probably, it was a business-related text of some sort.

This weekend was one that became about reading a book twice. In fact, it was my second, and third, readings of the same book. Chasing Rumi by Roger Housden, is subtitled, A Fable About Finding the Heart’s True Desire. Set in the 1950’s, it is the story of Georgiou, an Italian of Greek descent, who goes on a pilgrimage to Konya. Konya is the Turkish city in which Rumi met Shams, the city in which Shams was murdered by Rumi’s jealous students, and the city in which Rumi wrote his poetry.

In part, I am sure that it is the parallel between my own upcoming pilgrimage and that of Georgiou that drew me in so deeply. (“Georgiou would go because his heart said so, without needing the words to say why,” p. 21). I, too, do not have the words to say why I am making this trip, even now, five weeks before I leave and after many months of contrmplation and preparation. In part, I am sure, it is the words and wisdom or Rumi that whisper off the pages to me. Perhaps it is also the hope that my pilgrimage, like Georgiou’s, will reveal itself both at the destination, and upon the return. And, finally, perhaps it is that it is a fascinating fable.

There is much of Chasing Rumi that will be transcribed into my Pilgrim’s Bible in the coming weeks, and that will accompany me on the trek.

As for Harry Potter? The final book in the series was released this weekend. I have read the previous six, and will, I am sure, read this one as well. Chances are, I will only read it once.

Random (?) Thoughts

In my first entry to the blog (Beginnings), I wrote about my Pilgrim’s Bible. This week, I took a trip to Atlanta. On the way down, I worked. On the way back, I read my Pilgrim’s Bible. This is excerpts from books that I have read that have particular meaning to me. I thought that today I would share some of what resonated with me at this point in my preparations, and my life.

If you utilize obstacles properly, then they strengthen your courage, and they also give you more intelligence, more wisdom. (His Holiness, the Dalai Lama)

Each day, write a few lines in your journal that you want to mediate on during the day. (Philip Cousineau)

Once you allow your own life to flow, you have the best chance of attracting the lover you should have. (Thomas Moore)

He saved his life by never risking it, and complained that he was misunderstood. (Dag Hammarskjöld)

The unveiling of the body is also the unveiling of the soul, because the body is the soul. To allow the body to be seen in its nakedness, to say nothing of being touched and embraced, is to show the soul in all its glory and complexity. But it isn’t always easy to be so thoroughly exposed. (Thomas Moore)

It is far too common and erroneous a misperception that artists make art because they see the world differently. I think this is backwards. They see the world differently because they are artists. (Brooks Jensen)

So live, then, that you may use what has been put into your hand. (Dag Hammarskjöld)

Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. (Kierkegaard)

Elvis (Presley) also taught me that the only lasting thing is what we do for others. (James Van Harper)

The purpose is to be in the present, and enjoy each step you make. (Tich Nhat Hanh)

Ouch!

“Man plans, and God (or, the gods) laugh.” My world shook with that laughter two weeks ago.

On Monday night, I was doing a photo shoot. I noticed that I was having a bit of difficulty moving around my subject, especially when attempting to kneel or sit on the floor. Tuesday when I went down the six flights of stairs to get my morning paper there was a pain in my right hip. As the week went on, the pain intensified, and began to radiate down the front of my right thigh. Wednesday night, I decided to see a chiropractor. I made the appointment on Thursday, and was in the office Friday.

The message was clear: nothing that caused spinal compression, no forward bends, no back bends, no hip rotation until I was x-rayed, and Lou (Dr. Lou Granirer, to my way of thinking the world’s best chiropractor) reviewed the films. The good news was, I could still get the x-rays taken that afternoon. The bad news, Lou was on vacation until the following Thursday. Well, I thought to myself, there goes training—both my workouts and my cardio—and most of yoga. But, I can still do savasana (corpse pose)!

It was a long six days. I continued my pranayama. I started taking the elevator. And, as the days progressed, I listened to the laughter.

Perhaps the most important lesson for me was that I could determine whether the laughter was laughing with me, or laughing at me. If worse came to worse—I could not go on the trek—and all of my preparation was solely for that purpose, then the laughter was definitely at me. As I thought about it, I realized that the gym-based part of the preparation had definitely begun solely for the purpose of conditioning myself for the Himalayas. I also realized that it had moved beyond that. I am finding great inner reward, and peace, in my improved health and conditioning. If I was able to accept the premise that perhaps this was all about improving my health and conditioning, then I, too, could laugh.

Late Thursday afternoon I was back in Lou’s office. The prognosis is positive. My pelvis is rotated, and elevated on the left; there is some compression in the lower spine. However, it is certainly treatable. I was back in the gym that evening. My cardio was on the elliptical trainer (holding off on the stairs, and the bike, for now). Mitchel was, as always, great. I had prepared him with a call, and he was prepared. We did all upper body, as we will continue to do going into the new week. I resumed my morning yoga practice on Friday (absent the pigeon for now). I was back in the yoga studio on Saturday, where I was able to do close to 75% of the poses throughout the ninety minutes of class; Mark, yesterday’s instructor, kept his eye on me to ensure that I did not push the limits! I have regular visits on the calendar with Lou. I am icing twice daily, and meditating on healing.

Understanding that I am not training for India, I signed up for another training package on Thursday night. This will take me well past the trek and into the fall. My plan is to be on the plane to Delhi in seven weeks. In the meantime, I will be listening for the laughter...

Namaste

Namaste. A belief. A blessing. A bow. What is “Namaste?”

In Yoga Journal, Aadil Pakkhivala defines Namaste as “a gesture (that) is an acknowledgement of the soul in one by the soul of another….Namaste literally means, ‘bow me you,’ or “I bow to you.’” For me, Namaste begins with the belief that there is the divine in each person I meet. Christian traditions speak to each of us being “made in God’s image,” each of us being imbued with the divine. Other religions deliver a similar message.

Try this for one day. Each person you see—your significant other, the mail carrier, the surly clerk at the grocery check out, the road enraged driver racing past—seek the divine. You may not see it. Like so many other things, in this we are often masters of disguise, even from ourselves. But for one day, seek it in each person you encounter. Seek it in yourself as you look in the mirror. Seek it in yourself as you go through the day. Namaste.

This is a part of my yoga practice. As with other aspects of yoga, it takes practice. I am far from having perfected it. But, especially when I find myself wanting to respond to negative energy with the same, I attempt to step back. Namaste.

“To perform Namaste, we place the hands together at the heart chakra, close the eyes, and bow the head,” (Aadil Pakkhivala, Yoga Journal). What could be more honorific than to bless the soul of another through your own soul? Namaste.

I found the importance of Namaste to me in a yoga workshop. We were doing a double circle exercise. There is an inner circle and an outer, with participants matched one-to-one. We were instructed, “Look into the eyes of the person across from you. Voice to that person something that you honor in them. It may be their wisdom, their looks, their compassion; it may be the divine that is in each of us.” Then the outer circle would move one person to the left. The instructions were the same. For some, honoring the divine was easy. It was so visible, right there looking back at me. For others, the divine was not visible, so I chose something else. This bothered me. As I thought about it I realized that the less visible the divine is in another, the more important that I seek it, honor it, allow it to rise to the surface. Namaste.

Namaste. A belief, a blessing, and a bow. Namaste, a new way of seeing. Namaste.