And so I, too, prepare to go, though I try hard to remain. That part of me that is bothered by the unopened letters in my rucksack, that longs to see my children, to drink wine, make love, be clean and comfortable again–that part of me is already facing south, over the mountains. This makes me sad, and so I stare about me, trying to etch into this journal the sense of Shey that is so precious, aware that all such effort is in vain; the beauty of this place must be cheerfully abandoned, like the wild rocks in the bright water of its streams. Frustration at the paltriness of words drives me to write, but there is more of Shey in a single sheep hair, in one withered sprig of everlasting, than in all these notes; to strive for permanence in what I think I have perceived is to miss the point.

Peter Matthiessen, The Snow Leopard

That morning none of us were motivated enough to walk to the Organic Cafe.

“Do you mind?” asked Ele.

“No, no! I only suggested it so you would have someone to go with. There is plenty of hippie food back home,” I said.

We enjoyed the hotel buffet instead.

I still had extra rupees to spend and planned on some last-minute shopping to pick up a few more gifts. Amanda and Ele offered to go with me. I found a pair of the downy slippers I envied back in Dingboche (and promptly used two weeks later on Mt. Shasta). We were talked into a shop by a scarf that had been calling my name every time I passed it on the street the past couple days. It turned out that Ele loved scarves so we were given the royal treatment by the shopkeeper once inside.

Next stop was a textile shop to pick up more yak wool blankets for family. As I browsed, the shopkeeper prattled on in English, trying to be friendly and conversational. However, the clock was ticking. The longer I stayed the more distracted I became, as if California was already sucking my consciousness in that direction. He mistook my distraction for misunderstanding and told me his English must be bad.

“No, no! It’s great,” I assured him. “My mind is just somewhere else.”

The hotel and inevitable trip home loomed ever closer. We passed DK on the street happily chatting away with a couple other guys.

“You’ve been replaced,” he told us when we met back in the lobby. Those guys were on the Annapurna trek that would start the next day.

“Hello, goodbye. The story of my life,” he said.

The story of all our lives, I thought. If I didn’t know he was miles away in Lukla, I may have suspected he overheard my conversation with Dovile on her last night. This wasn’t the first time he would say something I had been thinking… or was it the other way around?

And still not one word had been spoken; only later did we discover that all thoughts, laughter, and emotions had been not similar but just the same, one mind, one Mind. – Mattheissen (43)

“Not always a bad thing,” he continued.

Not always indeed. It didn’t feel that way now, though.

The cab arrived on time at 10:30. DK tied a scarf around my neck that I would refuse to take off until I got home. It felt like a lifeline to Nepal. We hugged, he kissed my cheek and said “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Will do. Thank you for the awesome time.” Somehow those words felt inadequate.

That was a great game. (Hook, 1991).

Breathing got more difficult. I instinctively stepped outside as if more hot, humid air would help then turned around and said “Girls!” giving Amanda and Ele hugs.

“Maybe someday I’ll get to visit you in Queenstown,” I told them.

“Or we’ll come to Calfornia,” they said.

“Yeah, come visit me!” This was a great idea. “You’ll even have your own room!”

I got into the cab and pushed aside a growing feeling of unfairness. These three people were now some of my favorite people on earth and I felt like I was just getting to know them. I wanted more time.

“Every person with whom you interact is a part of the person you are becoming.” – Abraham

This is good news. I’d been so inspired by the three of them it’s good to think that even if we never see each other again, they will always be part of who I become. Amanda inspired me for her ability to create a new life in a new country. Ele and her dad inspired me to work on a naturopath certification. DK inspired me to just be my whole authentic self. I would begin to write, study astronomy/astrology, begin my naturopath certification and play music again when I returned.

The cab began to move forward and I looked out the back window to wave goodbye. First at Ele who looked contagiously tearful, then at DK. We locked eyes briefly, then I couldn’t stand it anymore so I turned around and fiddled with my seat belt. I really didn’t want to leave, yet was still so in love with life I didn’t cry. Everything would be alright. How could it not be? Love was in control.

I’ve heard it said that all the wisdom of the ages can be summed up in the following tune:

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream

The past three weeks were a beautiful, perfect dream. The cab and I floated to the airport, flowing merrily along with the traffic, dust and chaos, completely at peace with it all. When we arrived I let the men carry my bags and absentmindedly passed out my remaining rupees for tips.

Sleeping on the planes and in Changi was easy. I drifted to the rental car center in SFO and somehow remembered how to drive. Once at the empty house that I used to call home, I retrieved the key my sister was kind enough to hide for me and stepped into a shower fit for a goddess.

How wondrous this, how mysterious! – Layman P’ang Chu-Shih

I tried to make sense of the reverse culture shock. What was I doing here? In California, all my material needs were satisfied in complete abundance. Yet I wondered if here I’d ever be able to feel the sense of warmth and community I did in Nepal. Somehow there must be a way to unite the two. What would it take? I looked forward to finding out…

The next morning I met the girls downstairs for breakfast. I was a little tired, but still felt good.

“I might still be a little drunk,” I admitted to a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Amanda.

Amanda told me about a book of Everest stories where people experienced the supernatural in the extreme conditions. Now THERE’S an Everest book that would be fun to read. I asked her if she was familiar with Graham Hancock. She wasn’t so I suggested his books on the supernatural and the pyramids.

We watched the dozens of resident sparrows hop in and out of all the planters. It seemed that every plant in the yard was in a pot. Good thing for the monsoons because otherwise they would be a lot of work to water.

Three men worked at hanging bright new prayer flags from the balconies to the stupa in the center of the garden in honor of Buddha.

In the lobby we met our guide for Durbar Square, who was smartly dressed and possibly the most considerate person I’d ever met. After three weeks of trekking through the Himalayas and wandering the streets of Kathmandu we were quite impressed that a person would tell us to “watch your step” whenever we encountered a mere turd in the street.

We followed him through the city on what was already a very warm morning. Hangover symptoms began to kick in as the temperature rose. Ele looked like she was feeling it too. What time did we get in last night? 3 am?

Amanda, who got sleep, was chipper as ever.

“Cheater!” I teased her.

We walked through a farmers’ market. Our guide said this was the primary place where everybody in the entire city would come to get food.

“We have markets that are closer to home,” he explained, “but they don’t always carry the variety that this one does.”

Before long we were out of the Thamel District “tourist tunnel” and into the real Kathmandu. Cows wandered the street, masses of tangled wire dangled from ancient buildings, people tried to sell whatever they could from blankets spread on the street for maybe a few rupees a day. Cars and motorcycles squeezed by, horns blaring.

Once at Durbar Square we waited outside a chain barrier while our guide took care of the entry fee.

The first monument we saw remained my favorite, for the childlike imaginative quality it possessed. It was a small, ancient shrine partially consumed by the roots of an ancient tree. I tried to imagine how the valley might have looked when the structure was first built. Even today it was still being used, as devotees kneeled in front, busily preparing colorful food offerings.

There were so many temples and monuments, both Hindu and Buddhist, that it was almost overwhelming. I alternated between utter fascination and despair at the way they were, or more accurately were not, being preserved. Our guide knew all of them and talked about them in detail.

In front of one he told us how the Kama Sutra evolved to coax the otherwise shy populace into having more kids. Government and religion were one and those in control believed that a greater population meant a stronger country. Erotic images found their way into the temple as a sacred act of creation.

We walked into another temple with a wall of photos showing the most recent monarchs. We’d heard the story of the end of the monarchy in bits and pieces since our first tour of the Monkey Temple. In here we were able to put faces to the tragedy. Our guide told the story again, and emphasized that we cannot really know for certain what actually happened, because nearly everyone was killed and conspiracy theories abound.

In short, one of the princes was in love with a woman, and became very angry when his parents the king and queen forbade him to pursue her for political reasons. One night he had been drinking heavily and got in an argument with his father. He stormed away from where the entire royal family was having dinner and returned with a gun (or guns), massacred his entire family, and eventually shot himself. Ten people were killed, four injured. A surviving uncle ascended the throne, until the monarchy was dissolved in favor of a republic in 2008. Nepal had been without a stable government since then.

Another highlight of our tour was a stop to see the princess Kumari, considered to be a living goddess. She appeared briefly in a window just after we arrived, only to be whisked away by her attendants. Our guide told us this was probably because someone tried to take a picture, which was not permitted.

We walked up and down Freak Street, once a hippie hot spot, now the same as any other street. Amanda with all her extra energy went to explore more temples. Ele and I took a potty break and waited for her in the shade of a building, trying not to melt. Some men walked up and wanted to talk. All we wanted to do was sleep. They tried to tell us there was a party going on at the Monkey Temple. (Been there, done that.) Fortunately Amanda returned shortly and we were on our way without having to fend off any more unwanted chit-chat.

Once back at the hotel, we ordered lunch. Soup and salad was about all I’d be able to handle in the heat, so I asked for a Greek salad and some hot and sour soup. Normally two of my favorite things. The salad was divine, the hot and sour soup was so spicy I coughed and my eyes watered when I tried to eat it. I’m a person who will put a slice of jalapeno on every nacho chip I eat and think nothing of it. That soup was HOT (piro).

DK sat down with us for a minute looking like I felt. He suggested we might have time to do a cooking class later. At the moment all I wanted to do was sleep, but said a cooking class would be worth staying awake for. He left to go back to bed.

“Ugh, I’m so jealous,” I said as he walked off. Finishing the soup was starting to feel like work.

We finished our food, made plans to meet up later, and I went upstairs and collapsed on top of my bed (it was still effing hot in that room) for a blissful 3 hour nap.

Later I met the girls for dinner. (The cooking class was not to be, but later I found this blog post from another trekker who had managed to fit one in.) We walked through the streets of Kathmandu and tried to remember how to make decisions on our own. We chose a restaurant with a New Orleans theme for dinner, mostly because it was the first place we found. I looked at the menu and ordered a small salad, a vegetable dish and a Bloody Mary.

“This is a small?” I said incredulously when the food arrived. What, am I back in the States already? Both dishes were enormous. I knew immediately I wouldn’t be able to finish it but vowed to do my best. I nearly choked when I tried the drink. It was just Tabasco and ice. What was with all the extra spice today?

A sparkling clean baby-faced kid showed up and sat down.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” DK said. Touché.

“Hmm, yeah I vaguely remember you as the guy we started the tour with.”

“Hey, Tiff, do you know anything about cameras?” he said, changing the subject.

DK pulled out an actual SLR.

“Not really.” Why, do I sound like I do? (Clueless, 1995)

Ele did, and immediately they began playing around with it, resulting in some really cool photos.

“Hey, share those, will you?” I said.

Before heading back to Phat Kath for dessert, DK took a sip of my mostly untouched Bloody Mary and made a face that plainly said “Oh hell no.” Yep, exactly what I thought when I tried to drink it.

Downstairs below the Phat Kath was a menu for crepes. I ordered an ice cream crepe, picturing a crepe with a nice cold scoop of ice cream on top. We went upstairs and sat in the cozy little nest under the live grapefruit tree. The crepes arrived and the ice cream turned out to be wrapped inside, completely warm and melted. Oh well, it still tasted good.

DK challenged me to a game of backgammon. I’d never played and my brain was moving way to slow to count the little triangles on the board fast enough to make it interesting. I enlisted the help of the girls to help me count, and also to include them in our activity. Poor DK had lost all patience by the time I lost spectacularly. Apparently I wasn’t the great and worthy opponent (Hook, 1991) he’d been hoping for.

“You should try it again when you’re not so tired,” he said. Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I was still on vacation and anything involving counting wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.

The moon rose and Amanda made a comment about it.

“Super moon tonight,” I said. There would be multiple this year, and having a nearly full super moon on Buddha’s birthday made it seem that much more special.

The conversation turned to dating. Ele and Amanda seemed to think that it was hard to meet men in New Zealand. I couldn’t argue, since the only Kiwi male I met in my two weeks there was our guide Ben. At the time Ben told me all the Kiwis were in Canada. I didn’t meet any in Canada either, it took a trip to Nepal to meet one more. They’re about as elusive as their namesake birds. The girls said that in New Zealand people don’t really “date” or have dating sites like we do in the states.

“Maybe you should start one,” I said. “The list of couples I know who met online grows by the day.”

“Yeah, I see a lot of them too,” said DK, meaning guests on his trips.

We joked that in Nepal the site would be called “Many Shoes” instead of “Plenty of Fish.”

“I don’t know that you really need it,” I said. “All my past relationships started organically. The last one I met in a dog park and I didn’t even have a dog. You just never know.”

“True,” said Amanda. “You could end up talking to your future husband on a bus.”

“I met a girl on a bus once,” said DK, and he told his story of a “chance” meeting with a Polish babe that ended up hot and heavy.

“It was awesome!” he finished with a laugh that was dangerously close to a giggle.

“You’re the guy on the bus!!” quipped Amanda. Awesome, couldn’t have said it better myself. Not long after she turned in for the night early.

DK told a story of a fun party that got started in a bathroom when the weather got bad wherever they were.

“What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever partied?” he asked.

I didn’t answer but thought back… boats, busses, houses, apartments, bars, pubs, clubs, offices, streets, lakes, rivers, beaches, deserts, mountains, football fields, Disneyland, a set in Hollywood… Lukla… frankly, it would be hard to top Kathmandu and the Monkey Temple on Buddha’s birthday.

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” asked Ele.

“10:30,” I said.

“I scheduled you a cab,” said DK.

I looked at him with so much affection in that moment. What a considerate thing to do. The man had done so many kind little things for us that he didn’t have to do on this trip. I had “find a way to the airport” on my mental “to do” list for the next morning and was so relieved to be able to check it off the night before.

“Thank you,” I said, putting as much appreciation into the words and I could.

Ele looked pouty.

“Let’s not think about that right now. It’s still fun time,” I insisted. So we just enjoyed each others’ company until the Phat Kath closed.

On the way home we passed a place called the Organic Cafe and DK suggested we try it.

“Good luck getting Amanda to go with you there,” I told Ele. Amanda was a meat and potatoes kind of gal. “I’ll go with you for breakfast tomorrow morning if you’d like.” We decided to see how we felt the next day.

The gate to the hotel was closed and locked this time, but an employee hurried over to let us in.

We said goodnight and I walked back upstairs on my last night in Nepal.

Day 19 was the last official day of the Active tour. All the guests except me, Ele and Amanda were scheduled to fly out. I had opted way back in the planning stages to stay an extra couple of days because the later flight saved a considerable amount of money. It turned out to be an extremely auspicious decision.

Dovile had the earliest flight out that morning. I woke up early with her and we went downstairs for breakfast and more girl talk with Stacy about (what else?) boys. DK, Ele, and Amanda still hadn’t made it back from Lukla and had to tell her goodbye over the phone. It was a disappointing turn of events, but she handled it in stride. After all, her next stop was Dubai and the beach; not a bad consolation prize.

When he was presenting our certificates in Lukla, DK referred to Dovile as his ray of sunshine, or something to that affect. Indeed she had been for all of us. When her cab whisked her away, our world got a little dimmer.

I tagged along with Stacy and Kevin while they did their last-minute shopping. First they bargained for pants, next we stopped in a shop where Stacy hunted for the perfect bracelet. I wasn’t in the market for jewelry but kept coming back to a key chain with a lotus carving. I asked if they had any of the same symbols on a necklace, and they pointed me towards some in different colors. I asked again if they had any in the same color as the key chain. The shopkeeper then pulled out a bag with the designs. I chose the one I liked and he designed a necklace for me right there, making it that much more special.

Up the street we were drawn in to a shop because of its huge chunks of pink salt out front.

I’m in hippie heaven!” I exclaimed excitedly when we walked in.

There was tea, pink salt, and spices abound. We bought some for friends and family and continued on, eventually ending up in a souvenir shop selling typical tourist trinkets like magnets and postcards. Kevin and I both had our eye on a collection of magnets that looked more substantial than most. He said he was out of rupees so I told him to just add it to mine.

“Are you sure?”

“Dude, you’re my EBC brother now, I think I can manage a $2 magnet!”

From day one, Kevin was keeping our spirits light with his wit and humor. We owed much of the laughter on the trail to him. Stacy was the warmhearted sort who fostered homeless dogs back home and helped keep us connected like a family. Like Dovile, they had to settle for a phone farewell. DK and the girls had finally escaped the fog in Lukla and were on their way back, just not quite soon enough. Their cabs probably crossed paths going to and from the airport.

It was down to me, Mike and Sara. I also followed them along for their pre-flight shopping. Their list, rather than Buddha masks, singing bowls, or yak wool blankets, consisted of items like water sanitation tablets. The two lucky ducks weren’t going home, instead they were continuing on their world tour and needed to travel light.

When it was time to meet in the lobby for their cab, we all hugged them goodbye. Mike had been so friendly with everybody with his ability to talk about nearly any subject. He followed none of my rules for staying healthy (eating fried snickers bars for dessert… whaaat?) and was the strongest guest on the trip, impervious even to kerosene fumes. Mike could light up a room with his laugh, Sara with her smile.

“Brother from another mother!” DK said to Mike when we gathered in the lobby to send them off. He got that right. All of us were now EBC brothers and sisters and I loved them like family.

Somehow Mike ended up in charge of collecting the trip leaders’ thank you card and tips and handed them over. I don’t know how much they each ended up with, but whatever it was it wasn’t enough. The more I think about it, the more I believe that there’s no job on earth more important. The three of them took our world-weary souls and over the course of three short weeks filled us with so much love and light that when I got home and looked at my thinner, healthier body I wondered how my overflowing heart could still fit inside. To me, that’s priceless.

We waved at Mike and Sara through the back window of the cab as they idled down the alley and then turned on the street. A tearful Ele said she was glad she didn’t end up going through this in person multiple times. Hmmm, maybe that was why I suddenly felt so drained. All the goodbyes happened so fast and at the moment I was feeling quite lost and alone with half of my family missing. I sat on one of the seats in the lobby and stared at the local newspaper “The Himalayan” without really reading it. Someone suggested the remaining four of us go to dinner and I enthusiastically agreed before heading back up to the room.

Amanda stopped by later and we enjoyed some more girl talk. She told me to meet them upstairs when it was time to leave for dinner. When the time came, I walked up and DK was already in there with his guitar.

“He came to wake us up,” said Ele.

I grinned. “That’s a nice wake up call.”

We walked through the streets of Kathmandu and ended up at a familiar staircase. The Phat Kath; now infamous because of the hat DK sported on sunny days in the mountains. Once upstairs I stared at the chalkboard menu for a few minutes and was at a loss as to what to order. It all felt so foreign and complicated compared to the simplicity I was used to on the trail. So I asked a man who worked there what his favorite item was and ordered it. I couldn’t pronounce it at the time and still couldn’t tell you what it was. A huge delicious plate of something containing lots of everything, including the first meat I’d had in weeks.

Next priority was a beverage. The tantalizing cocktail menu that was off-limits on our first visit a lifetime ago was now all mine for the choosing. It all looked good, and I opted for a Phat Kath just for the name. Moments later, I was surprised when not just one Phat Kath arrived, but two. It was happy hour. Excellent, what luck. Over the course of conversation we learned that tonight was Buddha’s birthday and there would be a festival at the Monkey Temple. Whaaat?? We were so in. What could possibly be more awesome? Apparently my luck wasn’t running out anytime soon.

We finished our drinks and DK led us on to a second nightspot. We walked upstairs to another cool hangout that I remember as a blend of funky and sporty. My kind of place. We found a table by a window with a view of a flat in the building across the street. For some reason this made the Kathmandu seem more real to me and my gaze kept returning to the window, just so happy to be there. Ele and I sat on one side, DK and Amanda on the other.

The cocktail menu was huge, and all of it looked appealing. How to choose? DK solved that problem when he said he wanted to order the first round and have us guess what it was. A game! Heck yeah, surprise us. The drink was green and dangerously sweet. Either Amanda or Ele correctly guessed what it was (I don’t remember the name now) and we ended up getting a second round.

It was harder to hear DK and Amanda so I spent most of that time bonding with my Kiwi sister. Something inspired a toast to “happy as!” and the three of us girls raised our glasses. Where was my Kiwi brother? Surely he needed to be in on this one. When he returned, we raised our glasses again. “Joust, to happy as!!” We were the luckiest people on earth that night. DK said something along the lines of it was our choices that created the luck. Ha, well then lucky us for being the sort of people who make good choices and for being born in places where more good choices are possible.

DK and Amanda were talking about The Bhagavad Gita. He asked me if I’d read it. Of course I’d read it. What was blowing my mind as I nodded was that he had too. Seriously, where had these people been all my life?

DK talked about a custom trip he wanted to organize in another part of Nepal. What he was describing sounded perfect. “Yes! Sign me up!” I said. I completely trusted his judgement by now, as he seemed to be a sort of magnet for all things awesome. Anything Nepal-related already sounded good, and his idea was unique enough to put it above the rest.

We moved on to a third nightspot. This place was bright and spacious and featured some live music. Local boys played and sang in perfect English, you’d never know it was a second language to them. Ele and I looked the menu over and were won over by a drink featuring lots of coconut. DK sat down and immediately appeared to become one with the music.

A guy came up to our table and asked for a light. Neither Ele or I had one. When the guy walked away, DK chastised us for missing an opportunity to invite him to join our party.

“I’m trying to help you out,” he said.

I admit that I was completely oblivious to the fact that the guy’s asking for a light was probably not the primary intention. Still, flirting with complete strangers on my second to last night in town wasn’t high on my priority list. Yet.

It was almost time to meet to go to the temple. We walked back along the way of the hotel where we said goodnight to Amanda, who wasn’t super keen on Type III fun.

From there it was back to Phat Kath. Ele put another drink in my hand. I smelled it and immediately my body told me I’d have to choose between that drink and the Monkey Temple. I chose the temple and held on to the drink without touching it. The place was hopping. We were introduced to a man who had just successfully summitted Everest. Mountaineering royalty!! We’re not worthy!! How lucky were we to meet one of them!

When Mike, Amanda and I talked psychology back in Rivendell I mentioned the Meyers-Briggs put me right on the cusp between introvert and extrovert. Alcohol definitely tips the balance in favor of the ‘E’. Get a few drinks in me and I’ll chirp away merrily at anybody about almost anything.

I started jabbering excitedly at my new mountaineer friend and learned that he was from Canada and was a businessman. We had that in common so talked about it for a bit. I asked him about his future adventuring plans and he didn’t seem too keen on tackling any mountains any time soon. Who could blame him, I had a hard enough time just keeping it together at the base camp. He mentioned he dedicated his climb to a worthy cause and I told him that was wonderful and threw an arm around him. This is something folks with my kind of heart line tend to do, though maybe not to people we just met. It might have been a bit much for the poor fellow but I was too drunk to care. He introduced me to his friend who also summitted, a doctor from down south in the US, maybe Louisiana. They gave me a hard time for not finishing the drink in my hand so I donated it to them.

Soon the party moved downstairs to make the trek over to the temple. My new climber friends decided to join us for the walk over. I had no idea where the heck I was going, and depended on DK and Ele to lead us there. On the way she saw a statue and remembering what she saw locals do earlier, touched it where there was a deposit of colored powder, and then painted a dot on my forehead where the third eye would be. Perfect.

The festival was like everything else I’d seen in Nepal. An eclectic mix of modern west and traditional east. Western tourists like ourselves joined the devoted Buddhists and circumvented the temple block in a clockwise direction. Occasionally I found myself side-stepping one of the devout when he stopped and dropped in the middle of traffic to worship face down on the ground. Wow, this was the real deal. It was so amazing to experience something like that in person, at the time there was no place else on earth I would rather have been.

In keeping with tradition, some of the faithful were giving away food. As sentient beings, we were allowed to receive this gift and sat in plastic chairs under a canopy with other participants. I wondered if the food had previously been offered to and blessed by the monks. We only stayed long enough to taste a sample before giving up our seats so others could partake. Not long after, our climber friends decided to call it a night.

I continued on with DK and Ele and attempted to communicate what I liked about them as Kiwis so much. It was hard to put into words.

“You’re so authentic!” I said. “So much about where I’m from is about being fake. Fake and pretentious and materialistic. I try to be my real self at home and after a while it gets lonely and so I have to be fake to fit in. It’s not like that with you.”

“You’re one of us now,” said Ele. If I wasn’t so happy I might have cried. What a wonderful thought. (“What you seek is seeking you.”- Rumi) If only my flight home in two days was to New Zealand.

“My Kiwi sister!” I said.

I tried to tell DK how much all these experiences meant to me, how grateful I was he decided to share it all with us, and how much he inspired me over the past three weeks. Again, it was hard to put into words, but I felt like he got the gist.

He talked a bit more about his experience with Nepal, especially how wonderful its people were. A compliment like that really means something coming from DK. Not only has he been all over the world himself, the world also comes to be with him on these trips.

“Yes, it’s one thing to read about it, it’s quite another to experience it,” I agreed. Again. I don’t think we ever disagreed about anything.

We stopped at a vendor displaying a table full of candles. In exchange for a few rupees, we could light a few candles, make a wish, and then blow them out. Much like a big birthday cake for Buddha. Ele lit an auspicious number and blew them out.

DK asked if I’d like to make a wish. My mind went blank. Could it really be I was totally devoid of desire? I was completely fulfilled in the moment and looked forward to whatever would come next. Hmmm, how “enlightened” of me. Well, if that wholehearted acceptance of ‘what is’ was a taste of enlightenment, it may actually be the one true desire worth pursuing.

“It’s already coming true!” I said. Isn’t happiness at the root of whatever it is we want? What if we’re already happy, what is there to want then? The feeling of want was replaced with total gratitude. Looking back, I suppose I could have wished for more time, maybe a double-header of Everest and Annapurna.

We walked up some of the temple steps and sat down, talking a little, mostly just content to be a part of that magical night.

It began to sprinkle, and apprehensive of another deluge like the one on Thursday, we headed home after only one lap around the Temple. The devoted would be walking all night and all day to reach 108.

Ele and I crossed the street. Where was DK? He eventually made his way over.

“There’s my Kiwi brother!” I chirped.

On the way home as we walked down to the bridge across the river the conversation turned to birds. Ele said the word, and smiling I said,

“I love how you guys say ‘bird.'”

“Bird.” repeated DK in that lovely Kiwi accent.

My imaginary bird soared lightly on the sound.

“Say it again!” I laughed.

Silence.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I really do think it’s cool.”

“How do you say it?” he asked.

“Bird,” I said, putting heavy emphasis on the ‘R’. You could almost hear the imaginary bird thudding to the ground. They agreed our American pronunciation wasn’t as fitting.

“The aborigines named birds like the sounds they make.” he said, and then told us their word for crow. It did sound a bit like a crow cawing.

We three little birds continued to the hotel, and approached what appeared to be a locked gate. Uh, oh, were we locked out? Not tonight; DK was able to push it open and we went upstairs to our rooms.

It was still hot and humid so I passed out on top the bed, only to wake up later in a pool of sweat. I spread a towel on the cool bathroom floor tiles and slept there a while, too drunk and happy to care. If this didn’t end up the best night ever, it was definitely in the top ten.

I leap across the mountaintops, madly singing the song of all songs
…
Wine makes drunk the mind and body
But it is love which thrills the soul
When I approach you, I feel the mad pounding of love
The singing wonder
The joy which opens blossoms on the trees of the world.

Come to me, and I shall dance with you
In the temples, on the beaches, through the crowded streets
Be you man or woman, plant or animal, slave or free
I shall show you the brilliant crystal fires, shining within
I shall show you the beauty deep within your soul
I shall show the path beyond Heaven.

Only dance, and your illusions will blow in the wind
Dance, and make joyous the love around you
Dance, and your veils which hide the Light
Shall swirl in a heap at your feet.

Rumi