Pried Open

I woke up this morning feeling groggy and hungover---the product of going shot-for-shot with a Russian last night. My mind told me to get up, haul myself to the nearest internet cafe, flood my brain with caffeine, and lose myself in the interwebs. My body told me to go for a walk, climb the steps to the nearby Shanti Stupa and meditate (I'm in Leh, Ladakh).

By some impulse of momentary wisdom, I chose the latter. I wiped my eyes, threw on some dirty clothes and headed out to the foot of the mountain. I started up the steps heavily, slowly, counting in my mind as I linked up my breath with my steps. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.... Pretty soon I had lost count as my mind slowed and my body rose slowly up the barren mountain. As I rounded the last flight of steps, I was apprehended by a monk sweeping the steps to the meditation hall.

"Where you from?" he called out warmly.

Yanked out of my mindspace, I whirled around, checking to make sure he was talking to me.

"California," I eeked out awkwardly, wiping a smile on my face to try and match his good-natured demeanor.

"Ah," he replied with a playful grin. "Hollywood-land."

"Kind of," I conceded, leaking out a now-genuine smile.

He asked where I was going and I told him of my plans to meditate in front of the stupa.

"Come to my room for tea on your way down," he said, ushering to his tiny quarters just around the corner from the meditation hall.

"I will," I replied, not at all sure that I actually would. My head was ringing, and the intoxicating image of my morning coffee beckoned irresistibly from the dark recesses of my habitual psyche.

The platform around the massive stupa was completely empty and, after three clockwise laps around the monument, I sat at the foot of one of the pillars, facing the rising sun and meditated. Rising, falling, sitting. Rising, falling, sitting.

With each breath, my body softened. The drops of rising sunlight on my skin melted my inner resistance, and I started to wake with clarity to the beauty and immediacy of this new day.

After a good twenty minutes and a few sun salutations to boot, I headed down to the monk's tiny room.

"Come in, come in!" he called through the open window. Inside, incense was burning and fresh 'cha ngarmo' (milk tea) boiled on the stove. He gestured to the cushions near the open window, looking out at Stok Kangri and the beautiful snowcapped mountains of the Ladhaki Range. I took my seat.

He started out asking about my family and my travels---how long I planned to stay in Ladakh, what I had been doing here, etc. I explained that I had been teaching English at a Buddhist convent in the Zanskar Valley, just south of Leh, and was back in Leh on my way down to Delhi. I thought our conversation would hover here at the surface, all politeness and niceties, but he quickly dove into topics more meaningful...my interest in Buddhism, the importance of education and reduction of "ignorance" (one of the three "poisons" of Buddhism) in the area. He thanked me for my "service" and laughed and joked with me about my height and 'chomo' or nun-like haircut.

Before I left, he asked for my contact info and gave me his. "We Buddhists," he explained, "don't think of ourselves as separate or different from anyone else. Everyone suffers and everyone wants to be happy. We all just try and learn." He went on to explain (in very broken English) that anyone who studies and understands what the Buddha taught is a 'Buddhist', though the term is non essential, greatly reducing the distance between us. He wrapped me in a warm hug and sent me off.

On my way down the steps, I came across an older, British woman resting against a rock. Energized by my exchange with the monk, I stopped to talk to her. She was 72 and on her 9th trip to Leh. "It's my happy place," she explained and pointed out her favorite spots in the area from our lofty vantage point. We bonded over travel stories and love of the Himalayan landscape, finding common ground where age and culture may have normally prevented. I left her with a promise to meet again the following morning for a hike to the surrounding mountains and agricultural areas.

Had I followed my habitual instincts, this morning might have been a gray slug-fest against irritation and sleep-deprivation, survivable at best. Instead, it turned out to be magical. Serendipity and connection renewed me, pulled me out of myself and forced me to see and experience the world around me.

Though it's not always like this, travel has, on the whole, pried me open in this way---made me just lost, just lonely, just out-of-sorts enough to say yes to new people, new situations, new experiences. I lent a stranger $700 in Thailand, shared a room with a man I had just met in Ladakh for a week... things I never would have done back at home. The effect is a broadening one, vaporizing the walls I built years ago to shut people out and the armour I've worn since to keep them away.

I don't know if I'll be able to stay so open when my travels come to an end and I pick up my life back at home, but I am most certainly going to try.

Shanti Stupa, Leh, Ladakh