Day 24 already.
Crazy.
The view of my room.
That's one of thousands of mountains here.
Nothing special here.
Yet probably higher than whole Europe.
Breakfast.
Leaving from Lamayuru.
Together with Angmo.
One of the daughters.
We shared a portion of the way.
Taking a lift.
She for work.
I for peace.
Heading to Ringzon.
"How long will it take this time to find a lift?"
We wait for a while at the street.
Angmo jokes again "no problem, I go, you stay".
At first I think, "wait what ... ? How egoistic."
Then I think "okay I understand, she gotta go to work, I have time."
Then I realize what she was actually saying: "They want me to stay for one more night."
Tempting.
I'm flattered.
But - I am not here to meet girls.
I'm here to meet myself.
The source.
God.
However you wanna put it.
That's why I move on.
I find it interesting how relaxed everything is.
She works at a bank.
She surely will run late.
But it seems to be totally okay.
Taking a lift is so embedded in the culture, everyone understands when you have to wait a little longer until you catch a ride.
Regarding taking a lift, the locals developed a seventh sense.
Angmo calls it: "This one will stop."
A truck appeared on the mountain road on the horizon.
A couple of kilometers away. At least.
It takes some minutes until it reaches us.
And...
Stops.
"Wow."
For me it's the first time in a truck.
And I immediately fall in love with it.
So much space.
So chill.
We take a chai break.
Angmo continues.
The truck driver Shabir, and his Dad, have breakfast.
I pay for it as a sign of appreciation.
Then we continue.
Shabir says he drives for 18 hours straight.
Maybe with 2-3 hour sleep in between.
Then next day 18 hours back.
Then one day off.
Totally insane.
Maybe that explains his red eyes though.
We exchange phone numbers in case I wanna go to Kashmir.
Two more hitchhikers along the way.
Shabir smells a business opportunity.
He mumbles something about 1500 INR.
He looks me into the eyes.
I look back. In surprise.
Let him decide.
"Will he stop?"
He does.
We let them in.
One cabin.
Five people.
Three huge backpacks.
No problem.
As it turns out, both of them live in Germany.
We talk.
I give them the details how to meet Dalai Lama.
They recommend a rather unknown monastery.
"Rizong monastery".
Another time.
Another confirmation.
That's exactly where I'm headed right now.
We continue to talk.
We forget time.
I almost miss my drop point.
We exchange contact details.
We agree to meet later onwards, in Leh.
Shabir stops.
As last words they try to reduce my expectations though:
"You'll like it...
if there are monks there today."
Fun.
That was how I met Helmut & Jun.
The Hike
It's noon.
I stand at the street.
Some small shops selling biscuits and everything.
I'm good.
And start.
Not alone.
On my hike I had a companion.
Bello.
It is a rocky hike.
I climb up the mountain.
Just to reach a point with which I have some experience by now:
On top of the hill.
Without the GPS showing a trekkable path.
I have two options.
Either create a way where there is none.
Or go back, back down and follow the street.
I connect with myself.
And I'm simply not ready for another free hike.
Especially since this time I'd have to somehow climb down actual rocks.
It would be a really steep one.
And I'm no goat.
Or monk.
Both skilled in climbing anything.
I decide to return to the street.
And You know what?
That's okay.
Or in the words of one of Ladakh's infamous street signs:
Better Mr. Late than Late Mr.
I have time. Rizong did not expect me.
So why risk it?
So I walk back down.
Thirty minutes.
Join the street.
Make my life easy.
And something feels strange.
The backpack heavy.
My body weak.
'Weak' is actually not the right word.
The further I reach into the mountains, the more ... distant my body feels.
Hard to describe.
Last time I had something like this was during Covid.
I still remember that feeling.
I was on the way to meet up with Fabi and Lukas for a walk.
In the car still, I felt how I was beamed out of my body.
As if a comet has hit me.
That was exactly what I felt.
My sight was blurred. My head dizzy. My stomach off.
From one moment to the next.
A couple of days later I got Covid.
Which knocked me out for a couple of months.
It was a spiritual experience.
And something similar I feel here.
Just that it doesn't hit me all at once.
It feels as if the closer I get, the more distant I feel.
"Will something similar happen to me here?"
I asses the risk of what this does to me this time.
Knocking me out for months - unlikely. Changing me for my lifetime - very likely.
My thoughts crumble.
My goals turn simple.
United.
Reach Rizong.
A monastery, said to be secluded, protected, welcoming.
Whatever it looks like.
Without knowing whether someone will be there.
It feels right.
Too effortless, too often arrived it's name on the plane of the journey.
Not in the internet.
Not in the local agencies.
From my guides.
Locals. And local travelers.
Eight kilometres.
Five hundred meters in elevation gain.
My mind sets a target.
My body follows.
And between those gigantic pillars of stone I look at my hands.
I look at my body.
It gets slightly magical.
It almost dissolves.
I almost look through it.
I see it's nature:
And realize:
I am pile of moving dust, between mountains of towering rocks.
One moment.
One view only.
Changing my perception.
I see it clearly.
The mountains itself speak of a eventful past.
See all those layers?
They were horizontals once.
Not even those mountains are made for eternity.
Even they change all the time.
No matter how hard they try to stay the same.
No matter how hard they try to stay put.
Whatever they are now, they will not be tomorrow, Whatever they are now, they were not yesterday.
When even something that monumental cannot resist impermanence.
How shall we?
We call ourselves a developed society.
How developed are we though?
We try to make everything last.
And go against one of the most fundamental laws of nature.
And... ironically, even fail miserably:
Our waste lasts longer than our buildings.
And still refer to our lifestyle as "developed".
Funny isn't it.
People that life in harmony, but maybe in less comfort, we call "backwards".
There I stand, asking myself, just myself, daring to step out of the group thinking.
"Is that smart?"
Nature changes.
So do I.
So does my body.
We cannot make anything last forever.
What I heard countless times in Ladakh about Impermanence really hits home.
I connect the dots.
Everything we own changes.
"Having" it demands our attention.
To keep it up, we need to keep it up.
The moment we stop, it starts slipping away.
"Having" more doesn't necessarily free us.
It can also bind us.
That's why there are schools of thought that renounce material possessions.
But clearly, only someone, who has had "enough", can come up with it.
It's a privileged thought.
Inaccessible if you're hungry. Or your kids. Or your wife. Et cetera.
Silently, one innocent thought taught me something relevant.
The seeds which have been sown into me spring open.
We come. We go.
Everything else joins in.
Nothing is permanent.
Nothing has value, except the one we believe it to have.
So...
Why invest so much energy into something which doesn't last?
Perplexing.
The next question hit me right there.
What lasts?
Silence.
I cannot answer it with certainty.
The learner in me is tempted to repeat what has been taught:
"The Immaterial"
But what is that?
An answer, someone else came up with.
Not me though.
I cannot blindly believe it.
I mean, is it, even?
Questions over questions.
For another day.
I walk.
In uncertainty.
Is there someone to welcome me?
Can I sleep there?
Will there be food?
It strikes me once more, I walk into the Himalayan mountain ranges.
With nothing except faith.
Following an intuition.
Trusting myself.
Trusting the beyond.
Trusting the call.
Smart? Recommendable? Predictable?
Heck no.
Thousand reasons to not do it that way. One to still do it: Faith.
I push myself with music.
I load my playlist and fire "Ai Ai - You Got This" from Lydia Fellinger. To listen to it click on the following link: https://suno.com/s/ktxRnKYqO4BELHtL
I dance.
I jump.
I'm empowered.
And surprised.
By the car which stops next to me.
"Ups."
I feel a little embarrassed.
He must have seen me dancing.
I have no clue why I feel embarrassed celebrating life.
But I do.
But there's one more important thing:
I like what I see.
In the car:
A monk.
Asking to give me a lift.
I said to "Rizong?"
"Yes."
Even though walking there feels increasingly like an overwhelming task, I decline.
"No thanks, actually... I prefer to walk."
He smiles. Agrees.
Goes on.
Knowing that there is someone today at the monastery is enough.
The rest, I want to earn.
But at some point I cannot anymore.
I need rest.
And find trees.
And a river.
Making for a heavenly spot.
I take my poncho.
Lay down.
Sleep a little.
Wake up.
See dark clouds.
Know I have to get going, to avoid rain.
But again, as if the mountains had some magnetic effect on me, I was really struggling to reach there. As if there was an aura protecting the place. Letting only certain people in.
My stomach feels bad.
My head hurts.
As if something wants to leave.
I don't really understand because nothing I ate was risky.
There is something else at works here.
I get slower and slower.
One step.
Follows another.
And take a shortcut.
I know what I want.
But I didn't know what to expect.
And when I eventually turn the corner.
And see the monastery for the first time...
To be mindblown.
I thought, it's small?
Maybe one or two houses?
But instead... it's... like this?
Why have I not heard about this place? Why is this not recommended in the internet?
I bet because of what it is:
The most peaceful place I've seen in Ladakh up to this point.
I am attracted to this place. Almost want to shout "Julley", but somehow cannot. I came here to grow spiritually. I knew I had to become not louder, but more silent. To explore silence. And somehow that was exactly what my body was doing. The impulse to speak, just reduced. With each passing day I became more and more inwards oriented. And this place, was the absolute peak.
There was just one thing. Peace.
I continue to walk. And stumble upon the following beauty:
That's maybe the oldest non-oldtimer car I've seen.
I climb.
I climbed.
And climb.
And then I just sit there.
On top of the monastery.
Looking at the mountains.
Feeling the wind.
Listening to the silence.
Absorbing the peace.
Waiting for a monk to welcome me.
Roaming around.
Waiting for a monk to welcome me.
Discovering something very interesting:
A mandala. In 3D.
Still waiting for a monk to welcome me.
That naturally raised one question: Are all mandalas supposed to be 3D?
I remembered some video I've seen about it, that mandalas are actually magnetic patterns, or sound waves, or something. I'm not sure. I don't claim to be correct here. Somehow I just remember that there was more to mandalas than simple 2D arrangements of sand, ink, or whatever.
I'm not doing very much better.
Still, still, waiting for a monk to welcome me.
It's not as if I'm hiding.
It's my first monastery where I try to stay the night. I have no clue how to behave. The monks who are there don't bother and follow their routines.
"Welcoming?"
I don't feel that way. But I also feel the peace inside me, and know, for certain, that I fit in.
It's slowly darkening. Which forces me to force a decision.
If I have to leave, I need to do so now.
On my way back I'm lucky enough to encounter a younger monk who speaks enough English.
I ask "is it possible to stay here for two nights?"
I think he understood. But his English was also not really good. He said "sorry" indicating he is not the one deciding here.
He disappears.
I wait.
How much time passes?
I don't know.
All I know is that I start to become more and more uncertain whether they forgot me, whether they do not want me to be here after ignoring me for a couple of hours, or what on earth is going on.
I simply look into the mountains, standing there.
He returns.
No words.
He shows me a room. That was the room Helmut & Jun spent the night in.
It was not good enough in the monk's opinion.
He leaves again.
Returns again. Quicker.
And gives me the key to the guest house.
I ask "dinner"?
"Now. Come."
It is seven, I'm surprised. That is super early for dinner, for Ladakhi standards. Usually it's at 9 PM.
I have no orientation.
Don't know how to behave.
And opt for polite silence.
It's my first time where I'm actually part of a monastery.
The kitchen crew are no monks.
The two monks who are there with me are very old.
Not only do they not speak English.
They don't even hear properly anymore.
It is silent.
Someone else enters.
A non-monk.
He takes the place next to me.
2 meters away.
He notices that I'm lost.
And instructs me how to eat.
In English.
And that's how I met one of the dearest and to me most impressive persons of my entire Ladakh trip:
Tenzin Tsewang
He started as my guardian and guiding angel.
But we became brothers, united by maybe the ultimate, esoteric quest.
More on him, tomorrow.
Leaving the dining hall, it is almost night.
He invites "what about cold coffee?"
"Is that what you normally do after dinner?" Writing those lines I just realize that I'm really interested, and willing to join how other people life in order to expand my perspectives.
"No. But Europeans love coffee, right?"
"True. Not me though. I wanna be free."
"Oh."
He realizes, if he didn't already, that I'm different. His curiosity rises even more. Silence.
I am about to leave for my room to get some rest.
But something stops me from doing it. It's something I notice inside Tenzin Tsewang:
The wish to hang out with people.
From the first moment onwards I noticed how calm he was. How calm he talked. How calm he walked.
It doesn't take long and I see the light in Tsewang. A special person, having special thoughts.
I guess that's what happens when you live more than a year at a place that doesn't seem to exist. Locals might visit for thirty minutes, take pictures, and leave. Guests though, spending the night, especially solo travelling ones, are super rare. According to him, the last such one came here a couple of months ago.
No wonder he wants to hang out.
It's only natural.
He is simply curious.
As I learned later, he wonders "what does the world have to offer?"
Guess what.
The world just came to him.
We don't have to travel far, to travel far.
So he is curious.
Something I am by default.
A clear match.
Because one thing was very obvious. I did not need much exposure with monks to learn one thing. If I want to learn more about this place, and Buddhism, I would not learn it from the monks. At that time I don't know yet that monks don't practice English. Only later I also will learn, that they also don't speak Hindi. That means, even Tsewang has a language barrier between them. He is not from here. He is from Manali. 600 km further south. He doesn't speak Ladakhi. Or Tibetan. So basically he is alone.
With one person: Dawa.
His student. His only student.
Until I arrived. I would be his second student.
Tsewang is one of two teachers at the local Buddhist school.
Perfect for me and my 1000 questions.
If this place was a big question mark. Tsewang would be the answer.
And instead of leaving for my room. We move to the school yard.
At dinner it didn't seem like anybody wanted to interact much. By now though I saw that was not the case. They are just insecure.
As Tsewang opens the gate we talk about monks, lamas, and their quest to free themselves from attachment to ultimately get enlightened. A funny question comes to my mind. Funny, because it's so obvious.
Does it work?
"What?"
All their mantras, their rituals, their renunciation. Does it work? Do they get enlightened?
For millennia, monks eagerly practice the same holy rituals. He thinks, waits for ten seconds and replies:
"I don't think so."
And that was enough for me.
Then... something doesn't work, right?
We talk for hours.
And don't even realize it.
More about it tomorrow!
Good night!
