I clipped along up the rough path, higher above the already high Kedarnath. I practically ran. Rain started falling. I began to get wet and stopped to change from lungi to windpants and rainjacket. I debated turning back. But a group of young Indian men trudged past. So I decided to follow them. A couple of them were good at eeking out the shortcuts between the switchbacks. I was glad I perservered because in a few minutes we reached the lake. It lay about 30 feet below the path in a cloud bank. Moss green shown through from the rocks below the clear water. It was beautiful. I didn't dare photograph it in the thick rain/sleet for fear of my camera getting too wet. I made some prayers and tossed a piece of Bethlehem grid crystal into the beautiful abyss. 
I barely finished my prayers and chants when a plastic covered figure came out of the mist. A monk from Bangledesh who had trekked over the glaciers from Gangotri greeted me. I glanced down to the ground and picked up a small stone that "spoke" to me, putting it my pocket. I continued with my "work" to visit a cairn that lay above me on glacial til. Not much to see there, I returned to find the monk waiting for me. I wondered where his guide and/or companions were. I learned he wanted to join me in the descent. I was a bit dismayed as I was happy alone, and was now bent on running down the mountain so I could get on to my other trekking destinations. We made our way down to Kedarnath, where I visited the Temple and he continued downwards. The temple was anticlimatic. I managed to get through it with out buying a puja (ceremony) from the many priests. I then started jogging down the mountain. I was drenched. I was cold. I didn't fancy the clustered village of Kedarnath. And I was ready to head out to Hemkund the next day. Even in my jogging, I was passed by Nepali porters carrying the dandi's (chairs with passengers). I marveled at their synchronized steps and endurance. They jogged down the road with their loads. They seemed to dodge the raindrops while their passengers grew wet and cold. I marveled at their seeming comfort in simple cotton clothes that seemed to shed rain while I grew colder and wetter under my poly base layer and raincoat.
Just above Rambara I ran into my glacier trekking monk friend. I wasn't sure I wanted to end my solitude. We trod down into Rambara together. The rain kept us wet and cold while the lower elevation took a bit of the edge off the chill. In my mind, I mulled over the idea of staying in Rambara, but decided I wanted to head to Garikund so I could leave for Hemkund the next day. About 100 m past the guesthouse I'd stayed at in Rambara, I felt a twinge of pain in my left knee. Stupidly, I thought it silly to return up hill. Surely I'd cruise on down to Garikund in no time. Aches continued to spread through both legs with each of the 8 km. The monk tried to talk with me but my misery kept me removed. He shared some glucose powder with me, which I mixed with water. I began to realize I hadn't taken the best care of myself. Water and food I knew would go along way to rejuvenating me. I tried to drink more water. I felt a lack of time, in wanting to get to Garikund by dark.
We trudged onwards down the cobbled trail, stepping aside as ponies with cold wet riders clipped past us, sometimes nearly running us down. The monk went into a spontaneous spiel on the wonders of meditation and how if you meditate into pain it will go away. My ego made me feel talked down to... I knew all that from a Reiki perspective and wasn't sure I needed the free advertisement! Nonetheless, I tried to heed the advice... I don't think he realized how much pain I was in. I tried to meditate the pain away. Well, as well as one can when they are trekking down a mountain in cold wet rain. About as hard and fun as trying to do a sitting meditation in a room of mosquitoes! A few minutes later I grumbled to the monk that I was trying and the meditation thing wasn't working! He acknowledged the difficulty that we all face. He acknowledged his own challenges.
We trudged on through the rain and mud. I stepped off to pee a few times to let out all the water I was drinking in hopes of lubricating my knees. At one point, he asked if I wanted to stay with him in the ashram; he'd have to check with the manager of course. I never gave him a direct answer. The truth was I wasn't sure if it would be nurturing. Perhaps it would be better for me to take care of myself. Finally, he asked if I was going to answer his offer. I said I wanted to see how things went. He didn't know where the ashram was. I didn't want to walk any further than I had to.
About an hour after dark we finally reached Garikund. A hotelier asked me if I wanted a room as I went by... how much I asked? 100rs he replied. I was going to check it out, but the monk was upset that I wasn't going on to the ashram. He said it was near. I hobbled along like a spent race horse. The pain was unbearable as it had been for nearly 2 hours. We reached the ashram which was down by the hot spring. The manager did not permit me to stay. He told me to follow a boy, who led me to the hotel next door. The hotel didn't thrill me a bit. The manager led me all the way up the stairs to the fourth floor. I gimped up the stairs. He showed me the room. Grimy green walls and musty odor didn't impress me. He said it was 250rs. I told him I'd seen another for 100rs. He was shocked when I started following him back out. "Don't you want the room?" I said why should I pay 250rs for a room when I can get one for 100rs! He finally relented to 150rs. My legs were aching so much, I took it, top floor and all.
I gimped down to the hot springs 50 m around the corner, and found the "pool" emptied for cleaning. Uggh. I returned to my room for a cold bucket shower. I went for food. I risked ordering palak paneer (spinach cheese curry) from a priceless menu, thinking I'd treat myself to a favorite dish. It wasn't so good. Then I was charged 90rs which seemed outrageous. My feet hurt from rubbing on my sandal straps. My legs ached. I lay in bed. I went to a pharmacist for Tiger Balm. All he had was some chemical heating lotion. Not even anything like Ben Gay. I got some Vitamins C and B. He said I'd be fine after a day of rest. I wasn't so sure.
Miserable. I lay in bed. I yearned for home. "I want to go home!", I moaned to myself. A typical response to sickness in a foreign land. I tried to imagine home Images of the US flashed through my mind... my last domicile in San Francisco, my parents house, my Aunt and Uncle's house. But I couldn't really imagine going back and creating a home, setting up housekeeping, etc. And later sitting in the steaming waters of the public bath, a stone adorned tank similar to a swimming pool, I began to appreciate where I was. In India. In a public hot pool. Surrounded by men (women have a separate pool). It was comforting. And I began to see my confusion.
I want to go home. But where is my home? Fond images from all over the world popped into my head. Saunas of Thailand, and the familiar streets of Chiang Mai and Bangkok with their marvelous street food. The foggy hills of San Francisco and my faerie friends there. The stone lined streets of Thamel, Kathmandu, Nepal, and the little disco that calls itself the Funky Buddha Bar. The hills of the Butternut Valley where my father grew up in upstate New York. The Clay Hotel Hostel and Washington Street in South Beach, Miami. The glowing energy of Joshua Tree in California. And my beloved Mauna Loa in Hawaii. The friendly people of Laos and tubing in Vang Viang.
I realized i have no place to call home anymore. My sense of place is shattered. I'm truly homeless. I've virtually shattered my identity. The only thing left to do is to be at home wherever I am. The only thing left to do is to be present with who I am in the moment.
I felt empty. I felt pain. I lay in my bed depressed. The pain and injury didn't fit into my plans. The balm from the pharmacist didn't seem to work. I was miserable. In 36 hours I'd gone from discovered my greatest joy... traipsing up the mountain... to loosing it. To top things off, I felt a cold coming on.
Then I picked up the stone I'd found by Ghandi Tal (the lake above Kedarnath). I felt the vibration and energy of the stone permeate my body. I grew excited. The "other" reality. The Reality of Reiki and metaphysics and energy healing was back! I thought to myself how years ago after getting into Reiki I had learned to disown the reality of having/catching colds. I had started viewing them as detox symptoms from my body clearing toxins. Why, that made sense now after my first big exercise in a month. Further I remembered how several years ago I had decided to quit having colds, and merely seen them as patterns of being that I could choose my way out of if I started to have symptoms. Then I realized my knees and legs were no different! Why was I projecting a self hypnotic future of not being able to continue on my treks? I started to remember my own magic. The power of empowerment I had shared with so many clients in my Reiki practice. I remembered how several years ago I would simply ask my body to release the pattern if I started to feel twinges of knee pain. And it would work. I remembered how one day riding my bike up a hill to work, I had felt a twinge of knee pain, and banished it off, saying "I don't have time for this now!"
I grew excited. I started setting intentions for healing for alignment. I started to envision myself going trekking at Hemkund. The next few days rained. I spent two days in that hotel room. I discovered the best sleep in months as the raging river made a beautiful melody that drifted in the bathroom window. I enjoyed dreamy sleeps that felt like streams of consciousness. Memories from my past bubbled through my minds eye as the rains bubbled through the hills. I felt the most relaxed I had in months. I felt good! I slept and napped and Reiki'd myself throughout the day. I found a dhaba that had the best all you can eat thali (only 35rs) ever! I ate there twice a day. The staff treated me like a king. In between I soaked in the hot sulphur waters of the public bath, enjoying the views of the other men. My pains indeed went away. And finally one evening I booked a ticket for the 6 am bus to Govindghat, the departure point for the Hemkund trek.
The magical monk from Bangladesh, who had popped out of the fogs at Ghandi Tal, I never saw again. I tried to find him the day after our descent, but he had left. I'll always wonder how he transversed the glaciers from Gangotri to Kedarnath, apparently alone in a lungi and a plastic raincoat. Like so many others we meet walking about the world, he flashed out of my life as quickly as he appeared.
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