Back from Bhutan

Hard to believe a journey can be completed and yet know it has just begun, but here I sit back in Calgary with that knowing. I've had so many thoughts rattling around in my head during and after my trip that its been difficult organizing ideas in a coherent manner for a blog. So I cracked open a bottle of wine to help. I reckon I'll get smarter and more eloquent as the wine is drank....

Bhutan was both pilgrimage and retreat. A place to walk and allow my thoughts and feelings to be expressed. A country where the teachings of the Buddha are alive and well. Being in the mountains hasn't been easy for me since Colin's death. I was going there to hopefully sort some of this out. Maybe, find a home for some of my grieving, a place where suffering is understood.

There I went, purposely alone (with assistance of a guide, cook and horseman) I kept getting told I was "brave". I never felt brave, in some ways I felt a bit desperate. Perhaps bravery is found in people who feel they have nothing to lose. I don't let go easily and yet I know that holding on to the past and my attachments to "what was" doesn't serve me. Distractions abound in my life, pleasantries that enable me to stay busy and avoid the issues that continue to swim below the surface. I knew on some level that Bhutan was the place I could go to start taking stock of where I was at on the inside.

If I think of the aspect of my grief during this trip, then at the start I have to admit to being disheartened at the continuing depth of my sadness. Tears flowed easily and often on the trek and I was thankful for my too large, very dark Oakley rip-off sunglasses purchased for $5 in Kathmandu. I also accepted that I wasn't a beauty queen on this trip so looking like shit was perfectly ok. There were many afternoons and evenings of mini-melt downs in my tent. I was taken aback at my feelings and the judgement that would creep in and whisper "You're not BETTER yet Lise, when are you going to get BETTER? People are expecting you to get over this you know" I told that voice to shut the fuck up, sent her packing with a swift kick in the ass. I gave permission for tears to swell, sadness to come.

One thing I have realized during my journey since Colin's death is that with the tears comes a softness in my heart. A softness that allows me to relate to environments and people in a different way. Whether I like it or not there is a lowering of the shields and for moments my vision clears. I see other individuals as fellow travellers who are suffering or celebrating their own life circumstance. I see each of us as souls inhabiting bodies and moving through this life doing the best we can. I relate with an unguarded vulnerability and openness, even if its only for brief moments, but I connect with a deeper, more wise part of myself. The awareness of compassion and caring within, for myself and others is humbling and amazing all at the same time. It doesn't last for very long but long enough to know that place exists and maybe, with time, that area can be accessed without the trials of grief. Maybe I can find a gentler trail to follow to get to the same place. With the softening, I relate to the natural world in a different way. A form of shamanic ceremony that takes away the resistance long enough for me to be teachable again by nature. The wind feels different on my skin, carrying the whispers of Grandmother earth. My ragged breath while walking up a path at altitude, reminds me viscerally of how alive I am, as the sound of my heartbeat reverberates in my ears, aligning with my footsteps in a timeless rhythm.

When tears fell I asked Bhutan to accept them, I asked her for passage along her high altitude ridges and through her muddy valleys. I asked for asylum for my grief and in boldness asked if I could leave parts of my sadness behind, in cracks, crevasses, the water and on the wind.

When I entered a monastery I felt the peacefulness of the Buddha and the multitude of Bodhisattva's that appeared after him. Individuals who attained enlightenment but have committed to reincarnating until every sentient being reaches enlightenment themselves. I would pray to these deities that they assist me in dealing with my own grief and suffering. There is power in asking for help, in the acceptance that others have assistance and are willing to give it. I'm beginning to understand the strength in surrender and accepting help.

Some of my nights were not easy, adjusting to the altitude, dealing with a cold that made breathing more difficult and the awareness of being alone. I would wake up in distress, not able to breath and with the choking feeling of claustrophobia, panic would rise. I would begin to chant the ineffable Buddhist mantra Om Mani Padme Hum. (I will leave it up to you to find out what it means) I would relax and the night terrors would retreat while I focused on this mantra.

Each morning I would wake up and do it again. Walk, marvel at the beauty, cry, walk some more. At the highest point on my journey I reached the top of the pass at 5003m. I found a new strength as I slowly ascended the rocky slope to the top of the pass. With each step forward I found more aliveness within myself. I had the feeling of elation at the top and was surprised that I didn't feel the effects of the altitude. At that point I truly felt like a part and participant of the Bhutan landscape, not simply a tourist passing through. It was the elusive feeling I've felt in my own mountain home, the Rockies. The innate sense of being exactly where I was meant to be and I now know that during those peak experiences I am truly experiencing the present moment.

I realized that what I wanted to do was build a cairn for Colin. He would have so loved it on that windy and snowy ridge underneath a brilliant sky. As I found the right rocks I felt a damn burst and if I could have I would have dropped to my knees as tears coursed through me with shocking force. The BIG melt-down as opposed to the mini-meltdowns I had been experiencing prior. I remember Jason telling me how he was overcome with emotion at the top of Aconcagua and no doubt this was similar. I build the cairn through blurred vision as tears coursed down my face. I built it under the colourful flags sending prayers enthusiastically through the wind. A spot for Colin to visit now that he can go where ever the hell he wants. While I was walking down the steep descent trail there was spot for two to walk side by side and I felt Colin's presence. Hell who am I kidding, I looked over and saw him making his long strides. He smiled at me and we enjoyed that moment as we have many times before. The feeling of accomplishment and relaxation as the difficult part is over. I laughed at the thought that the only time he joined me was on the descent when I could keep up with him. I enjoyed his company for much of the steep walk down into the valley. I still walked and grieved the rest of the trip but some of the intensity had dissipated.

I realized that Bhutan had heard my prayers and was willing to let me leave some of the sadness where I experienced it. The tears were absorbed into the earth and the wind took the rest. My prayers floated along the coloured flags that bore the intent of so many sentient beings before me. Beings who may have had similar prayers and needed the same refuge from their suffering as I did. There was so much solace in the mountains, the small prayer chortens along the trails, the monasteries and the people of Bhutan.

I know I'm not "better" but I've also given up the expectation that I should be. When difficult times come I now have the sacred places to draw strength from, I can feel the wind on my face, I can kneel before the tall and majestic Buddha's in the monastery, I can hear the prayer flags fluttering with the wind. I can see the burgundy robes of the monks and remember that there is a country where prayer and acceptance of the vicissitudes of life is not special, it is as life should be.

Om Mani Padme Hum. Thank you Bhutan.