This is Chapter 4 in a blog series. If you’re new to the series, visit the series homepage for the full table of contents.

Part I: She Arrives

We wake and meditate on the third-floor rooftop in the dark overlooking the city of Pokhara, a sit that becomes one of the more pleasurable sits of my life. The air is cold and the wind passes over my shawl-wrapped body.

When I first open my eyes, it is bright and I’m in shock. There is a distant mountain range with sunlit peaks rising into the skies. Patches of snowfall cover the crags and my jaw remains open for some time.

Bradley opens to the Himalayas.

Sunrise sits.

Christian leaves today. He is good friends with Tim although they had not met before staying here. We talk briefly about how we still feel lost in a whirlwind at this place, like babies learning to crawl. Tim and Christian say yes, this sounds exactly right and how they first felt upon arrival, and not to worry. They give us good advice like to surrender our notions of control and expectation, especially when it comes to Sajana. Whatever you expect she should be like, they say, give this up. She is unlike anything you’re imagining and will soon learn more. And if you have any questions, you must go to her as she will only offer guidance if asked. My eyebrow raises. It makes me even more curious to hear what all she has to say, and I wonder what questions I’ll ask her. Soon the time will come.

That morning, we hug Christian before he departs out the gates by motorcycle to catch his plane flight.

Our new friend Tim, 31 years old with shaven head and peaceful demeanor, takes us into town for the first time.

The streets leading to town begin quiet then grow busy. We spend the day strolling the sidewalk and weaving between an oncoming flurry of scooters, motorcycles, cars and the occasional cow when crossing streets. We visit various stores, too—there is a shopping mall to purchase muesli and tea, a German bread store for bread, and an organic produce market to grab some fruits and veggies. These will become staple visits during our time spent here.

Tim is well acquainted with the city and walks us to Goma’s house, who is Sajana’s mother. She is of old age and says pain is flowing through her legs, paining, paining, but she rises to make milk tea anyway. It is sweet, which wakes me right up, and the hot liquid slides down my throat to warm my insides.

Tim leaves and returns with a haircut and clean shave. Bradley glances at me. I laugh and say go ahead, I’ll probably sit this one out.

Sajana soon arrives, we chat with Goma, and learn more about her family. Sajana’s kin stretch all over the world with brothers, sisters and children in Australia, New Zealand and California. She tells us they are likely not coming back but every couple years to visit as their lives are established now in other countries. Many young people are doing the same, she says, a message echoed by the town’s study abroad in Australia billboards. There is little opportunity, poor education and few jobs here. English is only taught in private schools. The system is corrupt and only benefits the few at the top. It is a caste and class system, and some people are ashamed to work in the fields or get a poor job. Women too are unequal, needing the approval of their husbands for dress and leaving the house. But everything is changing for the better, ‘slowly, slowly,’ Sajana says.

I will see only photos of her distant relatives but become most familiar with her family nucleus, many of whom live in the home at which we are staying—our home, she calls it.

Night comes and we cook a dinner of spaghetti, salad and leftovers. Soon the others arrive.

First is Shiva who sits at the head of the table with his patented silver dish in which he eats all his meals. Shiva is Sajana’s light-hearted, fast-talking husband with an infectious laugh who loves doing dishes and feeding noodles to his dog Sahor.

Arranged marriages are the norm in Nepal and the two were married at age eighteen. At first, Sajana wished change for Shiva, but instead of expressing this to him, she created the conditions to make these changes possible—that is to say a loving and supportive environment.

You can’t force others change, she says at the dinner table. Since there is no separation between humans and nature, she offers a different strategy: if you want change for someone, then you change the nature. Only then change might come.

This resonates with me—the interconnectivity between nature and nurture, environment and individual. So often I wish change upon the loved ones in my life, but execute the poor strategy of dispensing advice and judgment. Perhaps it’s in loving and supporting them, creating the conditions for change, that change becomes possible. And thus, it’s not them but me who needs to change—to become more loving, accepting and sharing, qualities that cultivate the environment of change I seek for myself and those around me. May I embody these qualities as I move forward. Slowly, slowly.

Also joining us at the table are one of Sajana’s three kids, Nanu (loved little one for girls), and one of her brothers, Sarad, or “Babo”, which means loved little one for boys. Their family is different in Nepal as boys and girls alike are raised with equal treatment, something they say is uncommon here, and I’m happy to be in the home of a family who transcends their environment.

My belly is at near-capacity when dinner ends and has been for most of the day. I’d like to eat less in the coming days. And learn more from this wise woman who lives in Pokhara.

Part II: The Talk

I hardly slept last night due to the vomiting and diarrhea. I will spare you the details. It had been some time since I’d been sick and it felt like something deep inside was leaving me. Perhaps too much food, the local water, or buried anxieties and worries. I settle on a shared contribution of the variables and continue my rest.

Despite this, Sajana brings me water and tea and says to drink. I skip the morning meditation and I‘m feeling better around 9am.

I join everyone in the living room and listen to Sajana speak. She often gives these mini-discourses, and it will be the first of many. She’s open for questions at any time but we are only now starting to take advantage. I feel hesitant to speak as I don’t have on my mind the sorts of questions Bradley has on his, but I listen attentively to her responses.

She speaks gently, calmly, with understanding, sometimes with eyes closed, and without thinking. The words flow from her lips as water down a stream. They keep ‘flowing, flowing,’ she says. It is one of the qualities I find most interesting about her and at times it is captivating.

Today she speaks on the topic of balance and opening up. There is an interplay between the two, she says. After opening, we must balance. If we’re in balance, we can work to open. This is one of her foundational teachings.

It makes sense to me. Too much sense, and I wonder why I hadn’t heard these two concepts used in tandem before.

I interpret opening in many ways. There is the explicit sharing of feelings, the openness to new ideas and situations, and the acceptance of emotional states and bodily sensations. She calls this feeling the nature. When we feel, we’re connected to the nature, and thus to ourselves, allowing us to open. But too much opening and we can lose ourselves—destroy ourselves, she says—to negative emotions and situations. For this, balance is required.

Balancing is the act of stabilizing, recalibrating, and rooting in our foundation. It’s reconnecting with ourselves, feeling into our bodies and listening to intuition. Without balance, we might open so much that become lost, forget to take care of ourselves and deplete our energy levels. We are then susceptible to closing, shutting down, distrust, and become unable and unwilling to love ourselves or form relationships with others. Every decision is a trade-off and knowing when to open, close and balance requires self-knowledge and intuition.

You are very open, she says to me. Now you must learn how to balance.

Sweet, I think, that sounds good, and it confirms my own thoughts and feelings, but my rational mind wants answers into the how—the practicalities and strategies. Knowing I’ll be here for 30 days, the opportunities will come.

Next she speaks of nature. There is so much we can learn from nature, she says, as it is always trying to teach us our true inner-nature—impermanent and unconditionally loving. The elements come and go, arise and pass away. None stay for each and every moment, and each serve us in necessary ways. Nature does not judge itself when there are clouds in the sky, she says. The clouds and the sun and nature’s way of balancing.

I see how I can apply this to my own experience. When storms arise internally, in our minds and bodies, it’s best to take a lesson from nature, to open ourselves to these negative feelings and refrain from judgment. This is the body and mind—human nature—trying to balance itself and teach us lessons.

I think about how the storms in my mind are made of desires to be and be seen as someone who is productive. They arise daily, and when fed, send messages to myself that my worth is tied to my output rather than my being. The work is to watch these storms come and go, and to love myself unconditionally amid the winds, thunder and rainfall.

Tim brings up the Ganges River in India and how he will swim in it when he arrives there next week. I heard this river was too dirty to swim in, I say, and he says it is but he’s swimming farther upstream. Sajana mentions it is not the Ganges that is impure but man who empties his negativities into the stream that has caused this, and yet we judge the river as being dirty. It’s an interesting thought.

I eat little food today because of last night’s sickness. I consider fasting but Sajana recommends light eating: yogurt atop rice, yogurt again, and yogurt with fruits for dinner. This makes sense to me as I’ve heard it’s a probiotic, promoting healthy gut bacteria, essential organisms to revive since I’ve wretched my guts clean.

When Bradley and Tim head to Lakeside, a tourist market area located by a lake, I stay behind to rest, lay down and eventually make my way to the living room where Sajana is chatting with her younger sister Prativa, a teacher who is filled with passion for her career. She explains to me the benefits of Montessori teaching and the pain-staking effort she takes to develop individual lesson plans for each of her students. Each child has their own nature that needs to be taught to, she says. I hear the inspiration she finds in Sajana.

Prativa heads out and I am alone with Sajana. There are many questions arising in my mind, so I come out with it—

I have a lot of questions for you, Sajana, I say.

She laughs. Yes, go on.

I clear my throat. I’ve had glimpses and moments of experiencing wholeness or oneness, but when you speak of it, of things like the interconnectedness of all beings, it really sounds like you’re coming from a place of knowing, not from the intellectual level, but from direct experience.

It’s not a question yet, but she nods before I attempt to make it one.

Yes, for me, it has always been like this.

Ever since she was a child, Sajana was loved by others. The name itself bares this meaning. Quiet and listening. Rarely speaking. And loved by everyone, she says many times. She remembers the story of her friends taunting a young boy born of a different village. He is a strange boy, but she asks her friends to rethink their behavior—he is from another village, raised in different nature, she says, and maybe this is why he is different. We shouldn’t treat him poorly because of this.

I find the story resonate in me. I sometimes like to think of individuals as being the same—all operating with the human condition. To some extent perhaps, but we are not separate from our environment. Each of us is unique with a different upbringing, exposed to different natures and with our own in-born qualities. We each have our own perceptions and I should consider this in my treatment of others. How can I work to better understand the way others think and behave? How too can I understand my own habit-patterns and cultivate self-compassion to be a happier, more accepting person? I store these questions in my mind for the nearing opportunity.

Her story continues.

As she grows older, it seems she becomes more and more in touch with nature. One day, she develops a fire sensation in her feet rising up through her legs. It is painful and spreading quickly. She spends most of the day lying around in a heap, but still takes time to meet with those who wish to see her and hear her teachings. The condition worsens. Her family takes her to medical doctors and spiritual doctors alike but no one has any idea what’s going on and none can help her. One doctor accuses her of faking, a cry for attention, and she says if she could, she would leave here and does not wish to be this way.

Days pass and the doctors say her body will soon go. Her family brings her outside for the body to be exposed to nature before its passing. She wonders: why do they think I am passing away? My body is in this condition, yes, but I know my karma and it is to spread love to all beings. At once, she awakens in a sweat, her arms fly wide open and she sees light everywhere, no darkness, and Buddha in everything. She dips into the flow of nature, connects to feeling its energies, and knows it’s her path to spread love to each and every beings.

My eyes are watering when she finishes speaking and I press my fingers into my eyelids to wipe away a tear.

Thank you for sharing, Sajana.

She nods and smiles.

The story is one I’m unsure many others have heard before. It’s moving—validated by friends and family alike, including some I will meet passing through this house. Whether or not it is some form of enlightenment, I do not ask and is unimportant to me. If anything, she’s a powerful presence on the far end of intuition with pure intentions, acting an example for how to love, care and share with everyone.

Bradley and Tim arrive home and I shake my emotions free from the story as my mouth opens. Bradley is a noticeably different person—five years younger with the help of a clean shaven face and a tight buzz cut. I laugh and try to register who I am looking at. It’s a big change that reflects his internal experience.

The conversation turns and we discuss the elements. Bradley’s element is water, she says. Tim’s is earth. And mine is space, which she endearingly pronounces as “es-paysh.” I ask what she means and she says it’s open air and nature and wide open areas where you can see the sky. I like this. So often I spend my days indoors then feel bad because I don’t get out. Even backyards are not enough. I need the wide open plains to run, tumble and send frisbees. I’ll seek and create more space in my life.

Bradley and I hang our laundry from the rooftop clothes lines. It’s a nice cloudy day and our belongings dry in 20 minutes. We talk about what we’re learning and how we’re softening into and accepting this experience.

That night we sit in the temple, a small room out back the house. Before the sit begins, it is only Sajana in the room, and there is a question that’s been on my mind. She says of course and I sit down in front of her chair.

Nightly Temple Sits.

What do you think I should be working on while I’m here? I ask.

I wonder her response. Could it be body scanning mediation? Loving-kindness meditation? Anapana or breath meditation for improved concentration?

She looks at me and says: Mmm. Yes, your writing. Focus on your writing. This is your karma. Your speech. It might seem like it is just words but it is much more than this. It’s love and it’s reaching other’s hearts. I won’t give you a topic, you know this already, but I have a feeling I know what you’ll write about. The spiritual journey. Yes? I think you’ll write this.

I laugh. It’s exactly what I’ve been doing. Yeah, I say. I think that’s right.

It feels good to hear this from her. She knows so little of my work, not even having read a word, but she knows this and sees it in me. I’ll focus on writing while I’m here, and I’m beaming inside knowing I’m somehow stumbling along a path that brings happiness to myself and others.

As I go to bed, in the moments before sleep, I think about how quickly things have changed. Bradley and I stepped into this place for different reasons and already each are shattered. We imagined 30+, 10-hour days of silent meditation. And now here we are being taught to open. To balance. And I’m being told to write. I could not imagine more perfect conditions, and I sleep grateful for what’s happened and the days ahead.

Part III: Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls

I spend most of the morning writing and picking up pieces of a broken roof from a previous night’s hale storm with Bradley.

We sit in the living room and chat for a bit before our day’s adventure. Before we leave, we summon up the courage to ask permission to write about Sajana, a question we’ve wondered about much. Sajana smiles, laughs and says yes this is fine, you can write whatever you like. It makes me feel better about sharing all of this.

We are surprised when she also says we can record and film her nightly discourses. It reminds Bradley of SN Goenka, a teacher of Vipassana, and a student who pressed him to film his discourses. For a while, Goenka said no but eventually gave in, and these discourses would later become the foundation of the teaching, allowing it to spread. If the recordings pan out, they could inspire many.

Mid-day, we depart to “the waterfall” via taxi, and as the town slips away to rural villages nested in the foothills, I realize we are getting local treatment and feel grateful for this rare opportunity.

Bradley on a business call.

A friend named Amit joins us, his brother Sumit at the wheel, and we exit the taxi where the road ends. There we climb up the mountain passing small village homes scattered along the path. There are yaks and bison, wheat and maize, elder and younger villagers. We clasp our hands together, nodding and smiling at the village people with a Namaste.

Tim hauling the goods for lunch.

We hike higher into the brush away from the villages into the dense, green jungle until we reach a creek and begin climbing boulders with the stream underfoot. My Jesus sandals slip and slide along the rocks and I use my hands to lift myself to higher ground.

Soon the forest opens and there lies a majestic waterfall, long and tall, falling from a high mountain ledge and into a small pool.

Each of us bathes and stands under the falls for a nice cleansing. It’s cold and hard to catch my breath, which feels good. Leeches stick to my feet and toes and drink my blood. I rip them off with a special leaf that Amit gives me and says the leeches don’t like, but they’ve already had their fill and blood flows down my feet. I am slightly concerned but Sajana says they are harmless, and if anything, purify the blood. I thank them and return to the water.

Bradley opening, David balancing.

David, I hear, and I turn around. It is Sajana and she is holding a pair of scissors. When I had shown interest in a trim the day prior, she smiled and I knew my fate was sealed. She calls me over, sits me down on a rock, and says my hair holds habit-patterns—I do have an attachment to this mane, which has grown exceptionally large and long.

I sit as the cuts slice my hairs—she is merciful in her cuts—and then surrender the locks into the water.

Amit selfie w soft smile.

On the hike back, we arrive at a green plateau with spiritual vibes and temples built by locals. It is a special place discovered by Sajana that the villagers hadn’t known about. She didn’t know of it either, but she saw it clearly and felt it, she says, drove in taxi and made the climb. The people here thank her every year and ask her to speak. She cares little to do this but is grateful the space now brings together multiple villages where for once a year they share food, chat and meditate. It seems like a special place indeed.

We head home and as night falls and my head hits the pillow, I feel myself sinking into a routine. In the coming days, we will continue our adventures in exploring nature and our surroundings, but I also look forward to the internal work that lies ahead. There’s more to share, more to learn, and everything is changing. Slowly, slowly.

I hope you enjoyed the read. If you did, please share it with a close friend and consider following the journey:

Wishing you well.

Love,

David

PS — thanks to my patrons who support my work.

PSS — you can purchase my hiking memoir, The Trail Provides, on Amazon and Audible today.

Finally, I highly recommend checking out Bradley’s blog and companion post to this one titled “A New Home and Adventure” that offers untold stories and insights on this experience:

Read the next chapter in the Nepal series: