Musings from the Mountains

Over the past few weeks I’ve finished up the volunteering portion of my stay in Nepal and had the chance to do some trekking and travelling around. Although my experiences in the village certainly need to be processed and digested (because how could I simply let them influence or not influence me without being intellectually aware of what was going on?!?), I think that’s going to take a little bit of time, and right now I’m busy taking in even more new experiences.

Disclaimer: the following post is dramatic and ‘ra ra ra’ in every possible way, but you’ll have to excuse me – it was written on a week long trek through a Himalayan beauty so powerful, extreme and pure that it simply had to come out the way it came in. But just so you know, my poetic musings were interspersed with an internal and uninvited playlist of only the most annoying songs that were for some reason playing on repeat in my head, including hits such as “Son of a Preacher Man”, “These Boots were made for Walking”, and “Walking in a Winter Wonderland”.  And, yes, it was awesome to sing them aloud and hear them disappear into the abyss.

As we hiked the first few days through enchanted mossy forests on a glacial blue river, the following poem took shape, a little heavy on the alliteration, but whatevaaaa:

Majestic yet humble,

Her jagged peaks slice the sky
Towering over a small, sweet spring that trickles between smoothed stones.

Powerful yet soft,

Her raging rivers roar through violated valleys

Leaving behind a green blanket of moss to warm every revealed surface.

Destructive yet nurturing,

Her icy winds burn and freeze all that is in their reach,

Yet her caves promise refuge, and those same winds spread flowers across the earth.

Twin tree trunks twist together

Strangling each other

Embracing each other

We live within Her paradoxes.

This cyclical beauty

That contains within her all the balance we seek and everything that we could ever be.

Although I believed this on at least some level when I wrote it, it was not until the following day when it came together in a way that I could touch and feel on all levels:

After passing a few hours in a small cabin huddled around a fire with strangers to take refuge from the storm, the room was suddenly bathed in a light we had forgotten to keep wishing for. We rushed outside, letting the gushing wind send our cards flying in excited anticipation. The sky was on fire. Burnt orange clouds blazed behind the mountains, deep red embers glowed around smoky clouds, protecting the last oasis of icy blue clarity. The snow spotted peaks stood strong against the changing sky, watching it fade to a deep soft purple with one final flame of orange spreading across like a shooting star.

I remember once playing with the idea that the “bad” is only there to help us appreciate the “good” by enabling us to feel the contrast. I concluded that it is entirely not worth it. The incredible beauty in the world just doesn’t seem to justify the depth of suffering faced by humanity each day. But tonight I realized it doesn’t work that way. Experiences of beauty and pain, goodness and evil, love and betrayal, are not comparable to one another or to any other type of experience. Each one stands along, a burning moment frozen in a place where all types of “good” and “evil” lay down their arms and their egos, swirling together to create an unprecedented and unreplicable space.

The sunset would not have been “less gorgeous” without the storm clouds – that breathtaking moment where fury and serenity met simply would not have been. And the question was never posed to me, “would you rather it not have been, given the challenges retroactively hinged upon it?”, for my role was simply to be a part of the moment as it passed, doing my best to fully appreciate and grow from the revelation.

With that, I thank you all for coming to Nepal with me. I’m heading back to Israel in a few days and am not sure as to the status of this blog upon the return to my version of normalcy, but I think its been good for me, and I hope its been at least mildly interesting for you, so we’ll see what happens.