I did not embark on this journey in search of enlightenment. I was not a seeker in that sense, nor was I particularly the religious type. Yet, the Himalayas have a magical way of pulling people toward something other than self. Perhaps it was the immensity of the mountains and the way they rendered everything else so trivial—our problems, our ambitions, even our identities. Or perhaps it was the very people who went there living out their days in sweet solitude, lovingly rejecting the din of worldly affairs.
I knew not what I was looking for, but I had to go.
Packing minimally with essentials notebook, a camera, and an open mindset forth. The journey had begun in Dharamshala, the haven for Tibetan monks and exiled sages and seekers from all corners of the globe; from there, I would have entered into the depths of the mountains, moving from one monastery to another, listening, observing, hopefully learning something I could carry with me until death.
The Monks Who Spoke Without Words
The first monastery visited was the Namgyal Monastery, in honour of whose name the Dalai Lama had himself set foon. The monastery was perched on top of a hill overlooking the valley spread far and wide. Silent in its corridors, some monks in maroon robes wandered into oblivion, their faces serene and the power of their very slow movements like those of tortoises.
For hours, I could hear them in quiet meditation-unmoving. It struck me: how could anyone sit for so long stuck in thought? Or perhaps beyond thought?
With curious eyes, I looked at a boy monk not more than sixteen years of age. He smiled at me. “Would you like to try?”
I hesitated for a second but nodded. He led me to one of the quiet rooms, in which a few monks were already seated. The scent of incense filled the air. He gestured for me to sit and close my eyes.
“Don’t control your thoughts. Just let them pass like clouds.”
I tried. I did. But after a few minutes, distractions came flooding into my mind: memories of the past, plans for the future, questions about what on earth I was doing here. The silence was deafening.
After what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes. The monks remained utterly still, immersed in some profound, unshakeable peace.
“It takes time,” the young monk commented, almost reading my thoughts. “The mind is like a river. Let it flow.”
I didn’t quite understand it then; however, something in those words stayed with me.
The Mystic on The Mountain
There was an old mystic, Lama Norbu, whom I met in a village just outside Spiti Valley. He was said to live in a cave connected only by narrow paths above the monastery and away from the world. The villagers had very deep reverence for him, claiming he had not left his solitude for decades.
When I climbed that hill for an audience with him, I found him sitting outside, observing the clouds as they came in. He was a skinny man dressed in old robes but with very keen, piercing eyes.
“You have questions,” he said before I could say a word.
I nodded hesitantly, unsure of what my questions were.
“You travellers come here searching for answers,” he continued. “The truth is, you already know.”
For a moment, I was baffled. “Then why do so many people come here?”
His smile was enigmatic. “Because the mountains help you remember.”
Silence ensued. I watched the prayer flags being tossed about by the wind, the distant chanting of monks wafting through. Only then did I feel that silence could stand empty, unfilled with the sound of my chatter.
Lessons from Tenzing Dolma, A Tibetan Nun
Yet one of my most profound exchanges was with an aged Tibetan nu named Tenzing Dolma, who had been at a nunnery since childhood. Her life was one of discipline and devotion.
Did she ever regret it, I asked her, wishing somewhere back deep in her heart that she had taken another road?
She expressed a gentle smile. “Regretting means wanting things to be different from what they are. Peace comes from accepting what is.”
I pondered that for quite a while. How often do we sit around regretting past choices? How often do we fight against reality, trying to bend it into our conception of how things should be instead of just letting it be?
Finding My Own Answers
When I left the monastery, there was no enlightenment, nor did I become a monk. Just something else—less noisy, but just as powerful between the two.
I learned that spirituality was not about rituals and prayers. It wasn’t about renouncing the world. It was about acceptance, presence, and awareness.
So, I had gone looking for answers, but the mountains had given me better questions. That, perhaps, is enough.
Descending from the peaks, I realised something: The mountains do not change you. The mountains do not bestow wisdom or peace or enlightenment upon you.
The mountains merely uncover all that you had inside you all along.
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