voice pulls me out of a deep slumber. “Time to get up, sister.”
I open my eyes to the empty mats beside me and see they’ve done it again—Dendup and Karma snuck off early to prepare our horses and let me sleep in. They’re good like that, and while I’m usually embarrassed by it, I’m grateful now.
A big yawn escapes my mouth as I stretch my limbs. The excitement of yesterday with the crowded town, its buzzing stalls, the endless fittings of garments, and Lanying’s more than candid talk left me exhausted. I must have passed out once my head hit the pillow—or rather Karma’s chest—because the memory of anything after the sumptuous dinner of yesterday evening is absent.
Not fully awake yet, I hasten to clear the mat. My blurry eyes catch the red string on my wrist as I bend to make my prostrations.
“First tea, then talk,” my sisters used to say in the early morning. Pema and Tsomo.
The thought of my dear sisters tugs at my heart, and my mind lingers back to the mountain, to the twin sisters, one brilliant mind born into two human bodies, so alike yet so different.
My hands roll the blanket tight. The clatter of dishes on the far side of the kitchen prompts me on—no time for reminiscence this morning.
Rattling off my morning prayer, I repack my bag with only shifty shadows and muffled pother surrounding me. From now on, it’s a stretch of hard travel to Lhasa. Dendup reminded me of it yesterday evening, raising his so-called last glass with a pained look.
Ah well, knowing Dendup, he’ll find comfort on the way.
Securing the last strap on my bag, I follow the enticing aroma of zesty thukpa, drawing me to the stove like a moth to a flame.
“Made it extra spicy.” The matron serves me, a bowl filled to the brim with a smile that warms my heart. The stay at her home has been good for me; my body’s well rested and fed. But Lhasa’s calling.
I squint as the whiff of pepper hits my nostrils. The matron wasn’t joking. Carefully, I blow the steam to the side. My eyes close for a moment, relishing the quietude all to myself with only the hiss of the wood stove around me.
“Ready for Lhasa?” Karma’s arms lock me in from behind. His warm breath strokes my cheek. I lean in and rest my hand on his. This man.
“Ready,” I say. Lhasa. Something deep inside of me stirs, a renewed awakening of purpose on this pilgrim’s path.
“Let’s go then.” Karma throws my bag over his shoulder. He turns and the side of his chuba gets caught, exposing the shiny shaft of his long knife as he strides out of the door. I flinch. The silver glints, a potent reminder that he’s also on a journey, albeit with a purpose so different from mine. I’ve been hiding it, that terrifying truth—banishing it to the furthest outskirts of my mind. Yet somehow it always rises and roars again—it’s the real reason I’m here. Not now. My legs waver. The taste of sour thukpa hits my palate.
“Come on, then.” Karma’s far voice jolts me towards the hallway, the unnerving flicker nonetheless clear in my vision. Not now. With a deep breath I follow his swift shadow into the courtyard, where the dim morning light is my alley, hiding my sudden unease. Our horses are saddled and ready, scraping their front hoofs as if to urge me on.
A quick leg-up from Karma and I’m on my prancing stallion. Om Tara. With my prayer beads clutched in the palms of my hands, I settle down in the saddle—and in myself—reigning in my excited horse and my unruly mind at the same time. And so we join the caravan, a long trail of waxen silhouettes waiting at the edges of the still snoozing town of Chamdo, ready to ride into the onset of a purple-hazed dawn.
It doesn’t take us long to fall into our routine again, with Karma in front, Dendup closing our line, and little sister gracing us with her joyous company from time to time. Our long, often scorching hot days in the saddle are followed by short, freezing nights on either wet grasslands or hardened sarsens, both a dread to our bones. I’m in good company though, with my brothers always finding the best spots to lay our weary bodies to rest.
Nevertheless, these mountains are hard on the body as Dendup fervently reminds me, crying out loud about his aching back every morning before the first cup of tea. I can’t disagree with him on this one, but then again, my nights are spent in the comfort of Karma’s arms, making the journey so much more bearable.
With my mind turned to prayer for most of the time, I delight in gaining the merit, traveling thought this hallowed landscape of sacred mountains and revered lakes. Yes, the road is wayward and unpredictable, but that’s what I’d imagined a pilgrimage to be—like our life here spent in samsara, taking whatever occurs, our trials, our good fortunes, and our hard conditions. So, while Dendup grumbles about another mudslide, leading us to detour, I try to view the setback as another lesson in letting go of resistance and resentment, with varying degrees of success.
Nature with all its wildness proves to be a brilliant teacher, giving me all the training my unruly mind needs. The treacherous trails with loose gravel and dense vegetation, the unpredictable weather changing from scorching sun to blistering rain in an instant, even the unexpected encounters with animals—the wild out here demands a ruthless mindfulness of staying fully present.
Ominous piles of bleached bones—human and animal alike—stacked all along the trails serve as a morbid memento of our own inescapable impermanence and unheralded death out here. To survive this journey, I need to be with all that happens in this very moment, needing to keep my mind exactly where my presence is—in the here and the now. And that’s just the right training for me, as my thoughts love to travel ahead, always have—envisioning all that’s waiting beyond the horizon, all that my eyes and mind are not yet able to distinguish.
I have plenty of time to observe myself and my companions on these long rides, and I must admit, with all the instruction on life in the monastery, Dendup, and especially Karma, have the better of me. First, I thought them so confident, so at ease in the wild because of their experience out here, with this trail. Now I know it’s not their familiarity with these outer circumstances, for even the trail changes within the shortest of time. It’s their being, so wholeheartedly present amid everything that makes them so at home with themselves, wherever they go, whatever they do. Whether it is lighting the fire, packing our bags, arriving at an unknown place, even riding the long stretches and the winding tracks, they’re in the awareness of everything, in every stumbling step our horses take.
“You can’t afford to let down your guard out here,” Dendup told me during one of our many nights around the fire. “These mountains, they’re like a cruel mistress, demanding your full attention and sending you her immediate wrath if you so much think about as going astray.” And while Dendup loves to orate his many—often gruesome—tales of the mountains with much verve, Karma and I sit and listen, tangled in the quiet intimacy only we share.
This journey with my companions, the closeness between us and the vastness of the landscape we travel together, it does me good—like a pilgrimage is intended to do. There’s a clarity that has pervaded my mind, like the golden shafts of the sun moving along the planes we ride, illuminating what I already knew, but was never able to actually grasp. As I turn my face to the raveled shreds of opal and pearl lingering around the mountain ridge in this early morning light, I now truly realize it’s the same with my wayward thoughts—just little shifting shadows, that’s all.
“It’s onto Nam Tso from here.” Karma’s warm voice jolts me out of my usual morning musings over the comfort of a cup of tea.
Nam Tso, the holiest of lakes today. How fortunate I am on this pilgrimage, surrounded by the blessings of these sacred places, gaining the merit for the benefit of all.
For a split moment in time, I hear Grandfather’s voice in Karma’s call, urging me on from afar. This family is your sanctuary, my child.
Yes, how privileged I am to be in the company of my trusted brother and my beloved.
How blessed I am with this family as my sanctuary after all.