20 August 2009

Last night I walked alone along the busy evening streets of Dhasa.  I met my “brothers” on the top of Tsongka, my favorite restaurant.  The roof has a spectacular view of the city and the peak that towers over the valley.  At dusk, when the city is in shadow, this peak gets the last drops of sunlight, a pink and gold glow against the rising stars.

Where else can I sit at a bar with seven or so who hardly speak the same language, and, over shitty beer get tipsy to a conversation that contemplates the meaning of human life—it’s complications, its difficulties, its happinesses?

This is part of why I feel alive here, awake rather.  Because people here are awake to life—to family and community and spirituality—to simply living.  It was here I found the importance of those things, so much that I returned back to America to search for them there.

One is faced with life here in the  simplest of tasks.  One is involved in the task, there is very little to separate you.  Buying meat- you choose from the whole which part you want.  We use our hands instead of toilet paper.  There is no shower head to wash away the chore of staying clean—we heat and pour and scrub the water over ourselves, connected with carnal nature.  Money is to survive rather than be rich.  Money is to get back to The Land of Snowy Mountains, to get back home.

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