This is Chapter 5 in a blog series. If you’re new to the series, visit the series homepage for the full table of contents.

THREE TEACHERS

Within the walls of this house in Pokhara, things begin to settle and I fall into the flow of living. There are 4 am rooftop sits until sunrise and fruit salad and peanut butter toast breakfasts in the mornings. There is time to clean the kitchen, write in the living room and hang the laundry. We embark into town for food and supplies, meditate and rest and write again. As the sky darkens, we eat kazza and dinner and drink green tea then chant on the rooftop beneath the stars before sleep.

I could expand on the mundane but there is more to be said of the goings-on here, what I’m learning from the subtle interplay between those to whom I’m interconnected. More specifically, I have three teachers.

Bradley

Much like my prior journeys, it’s Bradley who brought me here and for this I’m grateful to him. I owe him that and so much more. But though we walk the same path, the two of us came into this space with different minds and different ways of walking it.

For the past three years, Bradley lived full-time at a mediation center in pursuit of enlightenment, sitting and serving and managing. I too attended these courses and found benefit in them, but also pursued my mundane life in Austin, spending my time writing about our hiking experiences into a book.

Sajana notices our differences in the first moments of our meeting. They are in our questions, conditioning and expectations.

Bradley enters the home with a mind and body that concerns Sajana. She feels Bradley’s shoulder and arm and it is like stone, she says. She tells him his body and energy is weak and to eat and drink water. She says that for Bradley and what she feels of him, it was not good to do course after course, as too much of anything is not good and he’s only created more tension for himself. He has really become closed, she says, to other paths and other ways of thinking and like a one-track mind has only focused in one way. It has happened for too long a time, and he’s created boundaries around himself and his definition of enlightenment. This is the nature of the mind, she says.

Bradley’s eyes sink to the ground and shut. He slumps, nods, and I can tell he is shaken, disappointed and humbled. From that day onward, his ego falls soft and quiet. He is coming to grips with himself and reality. It is a storm, and it’s a lot for him, for anyone, to manage.

Nevertheless, he nods. He tells me he’s beginning to see how he’s become dependent, lost his individuality among the collective, and forgotten to listen to his intuition. At one point I hear him say, that for the first time in his life, he’s unsure of who he is.

Sajana nods and for this assigns him the duty of opening up. Opening up and nothing else.

All at once Bradley is leaving behind his practices, patterns and ego. And I see a new Bradley begin to emerge—someone who is open and ready to begin again. Someone ready to follow his heart.

Bradley is one of my teachers, my experience similar to his yet subtler as I was not tied so tightly to an outside source or environment but rather to a practice, the technique itself.

When I first began to experience the benefits of this technique, I took this as truth, truth for not only myself but for others. I began to think of this tool as the best tool, the right tool, and judged those who were unequipped. It was about five months ago that this began to change. Naturally and slowly over time, I started opening to new techniques and new ways to grow that felt right for me. Because of this change, I stepped into this space open and ready to learn.

My coming here, and what I’m learning from sharing with Bradley, reaffirms what’s happening to me: a softening of my stances, opening to new ways of thinking and feeling, and shedding the belief that only a few walk the path rightly. Giving this up has made me lighter, more accepting, still imperfect, but free to explore what I feel is best for my heart. Bradley is teaching me this—how to open, how to shed a past that no longer serves me, and that no matter how deep one’s conditioning, new environments, loving support and proper guidance is sufficient to transform and awaken the mind and body.

Sajana

Then there the woman in Pokhara—Sajana, and I am surprised by how much I’m learning from her.

I feel like a child, tired most of the day, learning new lessons in school. I nap in the afternoons. My mind and body are trying their best to process and absorb her words.

Her messages resonate with me.

As we plop down and sprawl across the living room couches, she speaks of nature and how there is no separation between nature and humans. They are interconnected, she says. When a baby is born, it is born into nature—the air it breathes is from the trees and the space it occupies is the space of the earth. We cannot live without nature, and because of its essential quality, it is part of us. We are nature and we must learn to be in ourselves, connect to it, and to love, care and share with each and every beings.

She takes us into nature to learn this, and the memories come rushing back to me, the memories of all this place has taught me of myself. There is so much space here, and wind, water, air and fire, too. I once spent many months in this place, six months of hiking many miles each day, but since my writing began, I’ve forgotten its importance and become unbalanced. I see how I take things to extremes and wear myself out. Six months of hiking many miles each day, three years of writing without frequent visits into nature, ten day indoor meditation retreats without writing or movement—the balance is missing. I find myself thinking of the future, wanting to integrate this balance into my life. I’ll integrate these things together to build a life that I feel is best for myself and others. The balance is returning to me, naturally.

Here I learn to sit in nature, too. Outdoors, that is. I question the duality of man vs. nature, but there is no doubt sitting outside brings different feelings than sitting indoors. I find it good to sit in both, to remain adaptable, and to connect with the elements.

By experiencing the outer nature and observing my inner nature, I learn about loving, caring and sharing—foundational pillars of her teaching, it seems.

There is nothing to hold onto, she says. It seems for a moment there is something to lose, but one day this body will pass. So what is there to lose? What to gain? What to attach to? What to fear? This is why we love unconditionally and share with all beings.

The teachings feel strangely familiar, reincarnations of the values taught to me in preschool. They are simple—too simple, and I feel confused at times if I am missing something.

The human mind makes things so complex, she says and I nod. I wonder why her words speak to me and I remember the way I feel when sharing, spending time in nature and loving myself and others.

After this, she talks about feelings. Everyone’s nature is different, she says. Each person has their own perception and feeling—but what’s important is yours own heart, because you cannot control others feeling. It’s important you feel, love and share your own.

I think about the times I’ve prioritized other’s feelings over my own, hiding the things I want to share and missing an opportunity for others to learn and to express myself fully.

The more I listen to her, the more I find her message as practical, one for the 21st century. She knows of psychology, speaks of attachment styles and about the critical periods of childhood development. She is well-traveled and thus attentive to the nuances of environment and culture when offering her thoughts. She is meditative, understands the complexities of the mind and it’s habit-patterns to attach unhealthily to the things outside of ourselves, and of our tendency to outsource wisdom to others. Mostly, she speaks of universal love without conditions, without expecting, equal for each and every being.

What’s impressive to me is that her teachings go beyond words as it seems she embodies these qualities in every moment. She is constantly serving others, makes herself available at all hours of the day and gets little sleep yet stays fresh. Friends and relatives call her, some sick, some sad, some in pain, and she counsels them with fast-talking Nepalese and chanting. She types away at her iPhone, laughs and says Christian is writing me, then gets back to offering her latest introspective bit of support. Sometimes she does this while simultaneously delivering a heart-felt message of universal love and I wonder how she’s able to do so. One afternoon, she recibes a call, a relative crying out in pain from a hospital bed, fearful that today might be the day her body leaves her, and after a ten-minute chanting from Sajana, she is calm and quiet. This happens several times in the next few days and I’ve said nothing of her daily university classes and the children’s home, a group of ten to twenty kids who the family supports.

Meanwhile, she herself is in pain. She says it feels like there are pistols firing in her head and her back feels of fire spreading across her body. Her father Devendra arrives, tells her to lay down and gives her some exercises that help. She sees a doctor but the medicine is making her head feel so much hot. She delivers her nightly discourse and chants lying down on the couch, still occasionally laughing how there is so much of pain, yes, but there is no added suffering layered on top.

Still, she is imperfect. There are times when her stories seem to meander, her English difficult for me to understand, and I’m wondering what the point of the story is and if she’s testing my attention. I am no god, she says, how can I be a god with this human body?

I bring things back to myself. When I ask what else I should be working on here and how I can improve, she says yes, let’s discuss, and we move to the living room couch.

What time are you waking up in the morning? Five I say. She shakes her head. Four is best. In your journey, you need these early hours. They are full of peace and quiet, and bring different feelings, which are necessary for you. Four to six, you meditate. I think this is best.

I scratch my chin and feign a smile. It’s earlier than I’ve ever woken up before, but as I work my way to 4, I find she’s indeed right.

You and Bradley are very different, she reminds me. For you, you are already open. Yes, and for this you need balance. Balance between opening and closing.

So here I am, working to balance. And this is my final teacher…

Myself

All in all, I sit and eat and walk, normal every day things, and I learn from Bradley and Sajana. But I begin to practice one thing more than most—I observe and listen to myself, and I learn who I am.

The environment is perfect for this, set up in such a way that allows for introspection and feeling my feelings. It is quiet and clean, without televisions, and the only music that plays is the sounds of next door construction, the chorus of neighborhood dogs, and the occasional soft chantings from the speakers of a smart phone. I’m given freedom within structure, a basic routine, enough that I must take advantage of my time, to pursue my interest of writing, and figure out, with great flexibility, what my days should look like.

When I say I am learning who I am here, by this I mean I finding the answers I’ve long sought through books, traditions and teachings in my moment-to-moment feelings and thoughts. These tools are my greatest teachers and give me answers not pertaining to the future or the past but to the present moment. And this is all I need, as the past and future are tied to the present, and I realize they’re answers I’ve had with me all along. It is a practice of living a normal life, listening and feeling into my body and mind to make decisions. It is a practice of learning how to live.

In past phases, I might have outsourced this wisdom to others for fear of having to bear the consequences of my own decision-making. But I can no longer tolerate anything less than the guidance of my own heart. Even if my heart leads me to fail, I’m ready to follow it wherever it takes me.

What this looks like for me is in the way I practice living—the way I think, what I choose to listen to, and what I choose to set aside and let go.

Whereas once my living was rigid, it is now soft and free and flexible—custom-tailored to fit the needs of my own mind, subject to change, dependent on circumstance.

Currently, here is what I do.

I work in the way I feel I am best progressing.

There is no better way to describe it, but for practical sakes, I’ll share with you some of the specific ways I am working:

My Practice

I sit and breathe. I do nothing. That is to say, I listen. I feel into my body. I feel my breath. It is everywhere—in my nose, face, neck, shoulders, chest, back and stomach. Sometimes I breathe heavy and intentionally, other times shallow and light until it nearly fades away. I breathe in accordance to what I feel is helping me grow.

I witness and observe everything. Nothing here is off limits. I explore the sensory fields, in no particular order, with no particular agenda, and with no particular goal.

I experiment. I give importance to feelings and stay aware and equanimous. I zoom out and I allow myself to notice what I notice. If thoughts come, I return to sensation and rest. I rest in awareness.

There is the field of vision, which although my eyes are closed, does not shut down entirely. There are things to be seen here that offer me grounding if this is what I feel I need. There are things here that offer me concentration, too. And sometimes I sit with open eyes. If I feel it is useful, I observe it, and for however long feels right to me.

Then there is the field of sound. Sounds coming from inside and outside my body. They are two different things, and it’s a lesson and opportunity for me to learn the differences between the two. This helps me intuit if the sensations are coming from me or something else in the outside environment.

Then there is the field of touch. Air and heat and cold pass over my body, as well as generate inside it. Smells too, outside and inside. All of these fields I use as tools to ground myself in the moment, to relax, to focus, and to learn more about the reality of my experience—whichever quality feels best for me in that moment. Amid these feelings, I just be. I sit back, relax and rest in the space of experience.

I spend a good chunk of time feeling into my body and releasing tension. Bodily awareness, one could say. I feel the pressure I am holding in my face and neck and shoulders, and send signals to these places to relax. I see how identifying with physical tension slows down my growth and hinders me from living peacefully and making proper decisions.

Equally as important to me are my thoughts. I feel how my thoughts are tied to tension, that all mental tension starts with my inability to accept then let go, and how I make stories out of people, imagined stories and situations that prevent me from seeing things as they really are. When I catch myself doing this, I do my best to peacefully bring myself back into my body.

At times, I might make a brief mental note of the things I think about. My thoughts tend to replay the same scenarios over and over again, so I’m able to identify the deeply engrained habit-patterns of my thinking, and more easily let them go, knowing I’ve been down that path before.

It also seems my thoughts tend to drift discursively, becoming increasingly less useful as the flow continues. Sometimes I let this flow continue with curiosity—is this useful? Am I trying to process something? Is there anything I can do about this right now in this moment? Might a better solution arise if I let go of this one and wait for another?—but mostly I find more peace in letting them go entirely.

I observe myself observing and the occasional question arises: What is happening inside myself? Am I looking for something? Am I trying to get somewhere? Am I trying to feel something different? Am I in balance? Am I in need of closing down or opening up? What am I not letting go of?

I do not come into sits with these questions in mind. They are subconscious and the ones that arise are the ones I need or I let go of them. The question appears and I do nothing but listen and observe the raw data of experience, pressure, vibration and temperature on the body. In this, I surrender, shed the excess and keep what is serving me.

I do not place much importance on pleasurable or interesting meditative experiences. They come and they go like everything else and it’s best I not cling to them as this helps teach me how to let go and return to the moment. Likewise, I do not fall too deeply into unpleasant feelings and experiences as this helps me to see the bigger picture and all I have to be grateful for. I lean into pain with curiosity, but not too much and not too little.

Most of all, I surrender all effort. I let go of these aforementioned tricks and tips, rules and regulations, assumptions and expectations. I sit and be. The less I do, the more benefit I receive and the more I heal. Abstractly speaking, I connect to myself, to nature and to everything.

This practice is continuous and unending, extending beyond the moments of sitting and into everything I do. As I walk, run, move, play and dance, the practice continues. I forget about the practice many times, but always return, eventually and naturally.

I also write, to sort myself out and make sense of things. I know what I’m writing is meant to be because it’s easy, flowing in the moment. If what I’m writing is difficult, I know it’s not coming from my heart, and there are more pressing matters at hand I am avoiding. Either that or I am trying to be seen a certain way, as a good writer. When I write, I am in myself. For my own benefit and for the benefit of others.

This practice extends beyond me. I offer this flexibility to others too, softening my stances and accepting their freedom to customize their life as they wish, rather than projecting onto them my own experience. I no longer have anything to prescribe—no tools, techniques or lineages—only love and compassion, and to listen to your heart and follow what you feel is best for your life.

All of this is to say, I am making my own practice and paving my own path. I can no longer say I’m lost or do not know; I know all I need to know through discerning the moment to moment nature of my own feelings. This power and the way lies within each of us—within nature. Listen to your heart, say my teachers. And to them, I am grateful.

I hope you enjoyed the read. If you did, please share it with a close friend, comment below, 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, please take the time to read Bradley’s companion blog post on the same topic. His transformation on his path of self-awakening is worth your time:

Read the next Chapter of the Nepal series: