I have taken sickness as the Nepali would say. The head cold has clouded my mind with doubt and the fever has burnt away all inspiration. This place so enchanting yesterday, has taken on a hellish glow today, its strange sights, sounds and smells now an attack on the senses. How fickle is the mind. What dangerous a thing to depend upon for our perception. Like a stained glass window, it colours all that we see, our happiness often completely dependent on its precarious and dualistic nature.

It seems to me that I should be able to direct my own mind according to my immediate goals and even greater purpose. This seems like an obvious statement but often it is the other way around. The majority of my energy has always been invested in observing, understanding and purifying my mind but I am still often slave to its fragile balance. The layers of distortion are so profound that the decision for happiness is not sufficient in itself. Strong will must follow the decision and the will must exert great effort and determination when reprogramming the mind for peace. It is faith however that will lead us home. Not an abstract or theological faith, but a knowing that only our collective, selfless Love gives anything true meaning. Faith has always been my greatest challenge.

The bus is crowded with locals sitting on top of one another, all engaged in the excited chatter of the days events, their voices muffled under the blaring of music with the intriguing mix of traditional Nepali vocals over western beats and electronica. The driver deftly navigates around other vehicles on a bumpy, narrow mountain road. My partner and I have opted for a change of scenery in the quiet region of Nagarkot while recovering from the ‘foreigners flu’. The regions beauty seems to bypass my heart as I stare out of the window with a vague disconnectedness. I try to observe my discomfort with an impartial objectivity, remembering that ‘this too shall pass’, but the Buddhist mantra does not transcend the intellectual level so instead I observe the discomfort of being uncomfortable and try to enjoy the scenery.

The lush valleys of Nagarkot seem the safest place on earth, cradled by the strength of the surrounding mountains. Their protectors. The mountains shield the valleys from wind and sand as well as collecting rain and condensation, providing an abundance of fresh water. It’s hard to imagine these majestic protectors and providers switching to the role of destroyer in the wake of natural disaster. The area is underdeveloped with larger buildings scattered sparsely amongst the modest village homes and farms. The mountains and valleys are filled with a peculiar mix of pine and broadleaf trees, creating a stunning tapestry of greens, decorated with the occasional purple and white native flowers. Bamboo also grows in abundance and is put to use by locals as framework for simple structures or as scaffolding for larger developments.

The bus stops just outside of Nagarkot to admit even more passengers. The bus is now so full that there are four different people pressed up against me at the same time and I’m pretty sure I can feel a wang and a set of nuts on my arm, unless of course there is someone here with three boneless fingers. The Nepali don’t shy from physical contact with strangers and are even comfortable with placing their children in the care of others as I notice my partner gently cradling a tiny boy of around three years old. The sight of this beautiful little boy falling asleep in my partners arms finally silences my mind and awakens my heart, a gentle warmth sweeping through my being. I feel each cell of my body start to repair as we travel together, literally as one.

We pass many villages and towns severely affected by the earthquake, six storey buildings reduced to rubble. Men scour through piles of debris in search of reusable bricks, throwing them into huge woven backpacks, supported by a single strap across their forehead. Other than the occasional multilevel hotel, all buildings here are simple one level structures often consisting of only one or two rooms. Many are mere shacks of bamboo framework and aluminium rooftops. We exit the bus in the heart of Nagarkot and continue on foot, greeting locals with Namaste or Namaskar as I prefer, Namaskar normally being reserved as the highest form of respectful greeting. They both have the same meaning though. ‘I see and honour the god in you.’

We settle into our modest room just as it starts to rain, the valley and mountainside slowly disappearing beneath a thick mist. It feels as though I have entered an ancient and forgotten land at the edge of the earth. Clearly I am not the first to feel this isolated and powerful energy. The hotel is called ‘End of the Universe.’

The rain has kept us hostage in the common room of the hotel and my agitation and longing for the familiar has materialised a cold beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I fend off thoughts of guilt, trying to enjoy the moment but my heart is not fooled. It seeks the eternal and will not be contented with transient, fleeting pleasures that only serve distraction and delay. How long can man delay his answer to the call of becoming. The void within, like a black hole, consumes all sense pleasure and its thirst is insatiable. Service must be our true purpose. It is only during brief moments when I have served others without ego or hidden intention that I have felt the black holes vast emptiness recede, in its place a vision of our highest self. A ‘self’ that few have remembered and embodied fearlessly in a world made entirely by fear. I am so self-centred. I suppress my self-loathing with a deep draw of toxic smoke and wash away my distaste with beer, smiling at the irony.

My moment of reflection finally lightens with the appearance of the hotel manager. He asks if I am well and my response feels more like a wish, empty of its usual honesty. “Always well.” I notice his detached, yet pleasant calming energy as he lights a cigarette and joins me in the common room. His name is Oasis. The perfect name for a man that I imagine to be on a permanent holiday, such is his easy-going demeanour. His English is very good so I take the opportunity to ask some questions that have been on my mind, in particular, my current curiosity about the Hindu God Shiva. Shiva seems to be one of the most revered God’s in the Hindu faith, gracing most homes in the image of his final incarnation. The paintings always depict him meditating with a cobra wrapped around his neck. I have always imagined that Shiva embodies the darker aspects of self, considering that he is often called the God of destruction. I listen to Oasis dispel the misconception and share stories of Shiva’s incarnations before his enlightenment.

Shiva is often called the God of destruction because he saw with perfect clarity, the nature of impermanence. All things on the physical plane are destroyed. His path to enlightenment is also the most ‘human’ path to enlightenment I have ever encountered. He smoked marijuana for many lifetimes, also indulging in every other sense pleasure, leaving no path unexplored and finding only misery in each sense pleasure. It was only then that he was able to transcend the physical world. As a God he uses his incredible tolerance for poisons to serve mankind by holding the negativity of the world in his throat chakra, hence the cobra around his neck. The timing of our conversation is overwhelming.

Why do I continue to make choices that I know will not bring me happiness? It is as though I hear two voices. The ego would have me suffer and Love would keep me in Its peace forever. May we all hear but one Voice. May we all embody our highest Self.

-James