5-5-15 Rocky’s Guesthouse Old Manali, India
A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.
– Lao Tzu
As the first bus of the morning honked its horn, signaling the start of a new day, I laid in bed at Rocky’s Guesthouse, listening to the soothing melody of the birds singing their morning song. Through the window, I overheard the small talk and nervous giggles of a group of travelers discussing the difficulties of using the laundry machine.
The less spoken, the more said
After a few days of silence, I ventured into Old Manali to “socialize” and see what the town had to offer. The locals were busy preparing communal meals cooked in massive pots, with rice knee-deep. I observed a proud man discussing human design through chakras and astrology.
Feeling aimless, I took a hike behind Rocky’s Guesthouse, where a friendly dog guided me along the Himalayan mountain paths.
Where are the words to explain the thoughts that matter most?
The sun reflecting off the snow-capped mountains in the distance was a sight to behold. As I walked, my mind started to wander and I pondered the origins of the words “spirit” or “soul”. I realized that in the silence and stillness of the mountains, I could access a deeper understanding of the essence of these words. The sun warming my scalp, with closed eyes, I saw dancing imagery of spider-webbed cellular structures, the kind seen under a microscope, but these images were enlarged by my mind as the sun’s sensation pulsed through my head.
Turning 30 in Old Manali – contemplating mortality
As I turned 30 in Old Manali, I couldn’t help but contemplate my own mortality. If the mind can only control the body for the duration of its life, where will this mind, this spirit go? Will it be gone with the wind, nothing but dust and specs of stardust? Or will it be redirected back into the confines of Earth, while an infinite universe exists. I can’t fathom the vastness of the universe, it seems endless, yet I can’t imagine an end.
As I reached the arbitrary milestone of 30 years, I reminded myself that the origins of the structures that make up my being are likely at least 4.5 billion years old.
Like the flowers that bloom and fade, we are all renters and owners with misaligned incentives, calling for order among the “too late to change”. Souls and spirits reborn in fertile lands, where sunbeams glisten through translucent pink flowers, illuminating the flower as nature’s stained glass window. Passing through villages as children flip coins and create rules. The dew drips formed, clinging to blades of green, and the moment the sun’s rays first reach the flower’s petals, was a reminder that life is fleeting, and we must cherish every moment.
Maybe you are searching among the branches, for what only appears in the roots.
– Rumi
Rolling through the puffy white clouds, reveling in nature’s glorious backdrop. Portions passed lavishly. A king sits looking at his kingdom, wondering how his body’s changing face can be imprinted on the minds of the ruled.
