Second day of the Gosykunda Lake Trek

                                                    

On the second day of the trek, we made our way up the last three and a half to four hours of the elevating trailhead. We ran into two or three returning hikers. And saw the two hikers we had met in the teahouses on the first day as they made their way up the step.

It was a cold morning for me. I woke up at 5am to use the restroom and was stunned by the stars. I ended up laying down on the benches, bundled up and under dressed, however, was treated to a breath-taking spectacle of shooting stars and bright constellations that seemed to be blown up and close enough to touch. They twinkled in the dark morning sky, and as I saw the tinge of morning light over the mountains in the east. I went back inside to curl up under the nearly useless thick matress and saddle blanket, fully (yet, still under) dressed. The blankets up in the tea house aren't even really like blankets, but more like heavy down mattresses with a fleece blanket on top. It is definitely better to bring a sleeping bag, to have under with those thrown on top, because the material does not really contain or trap any of the heat coming from your body, the way insulated, below freezing sleeping bags do. The same thing goes for clothing. Insulated-down thermal clothing is dire and crucial for your health, as the cold just seeps in, and within seconds all of the heat of your little sleeping spot escapes from the covers, the moment you leave the bed. It is very cold going under the blankets, but after a few minutes, with your hot breath and little wiggles, you fall asleep for a night of strangely contextual, relevant dreams, ha-ha, it is like not really being asleep at all. 

When my friends knocked on the door the next morning, I had been awake for hours, listening to the other teams prepare to leave after watching the shooting stars and rotating constellations foralmpt half an hour in the freezing cold of the early morning. My friends had drunk and smoked cigarettes and spliffs all night, however, I went to bed early. I find that it helps to retire early in order to avoid the awkwardly passive aggressive conversations that come with talking to intoxicated people. It seemed to be getting more stressful, to be honest, between me and the boys, so I felt that my time was coming to separate myself from them. Though I've lost access to my WhatsApp account with their number, I know one day our paths will cross again, and I may meet their babies and their wives. That morning of the second day, we set off into the grey, foggy morning, climbing the Rocky slope, and enjoyed a lovely sunrise of orange and gold. It is what gets hikers through the most difficult part of the journey, when the sun comes up. 

At the stoopas, the Tibetan prayer flags bellow in the wind as you would see them do so in a serene Mantra or meditation video on YouTube. I sat with the crows, by the seated Buddha statue, and meditated for a small time while my friends smoked their cigs, dutifully. I left a small orange as an offering for the Buddha statue, and for anyone passing, or any of the locals visiting the stoopa. I was enjoying the moment, and tossed a slice to the happy and healthy ravens that were inhabiting the spiritual space. One didn't seem to be interested in its flavor and took it from its spot of the ground and placed it perfectly balanced on the handrail, which I found amusing.

Then we were off again. I knew when I passed this stupa again, in the grassy mountain top of what seemed like a barrier to the Tibetan Plateau far up north, that I would be blissfully alone. When we made it to the guard railed mountain pass that went directly along the mountain to the 3 lake steps, I decided to climb up the face of the grassy hill to walk along the edge. I underestimated how steep it was and did the length mostly on my hands and knees, and as I was afraid of slipping and gaining speedy as I slipped down, I followed along the grooves and rocks, side shuffling at times using finger holds, as if I was on the rock gym wall, and I successfully made it to the Ridge. It was a dream come true, to walk along the Ridge where two step hills met, and as I climbed higher and higher, training kicked in and became very mindful of the meters in which I was elevating. It was so invigorating to see the mountains from that high, and to be able to walk towards the lake while also being able to see on the other side of that mountain Ridge. 

For a moment, I felt my friends concern as they had lost sight of me, and at the same time, I felt free and fearless, with a twinge of self-preservation keeping me cautious. I saw the Gosykunda Lake from that high up and thought of meeting my friends there by taking the high pass. Instead, I made it to the second highest peak I could see, then began taking the crevasses and landslides down, sliding down the dirt and hopping the boulders until I made it to where my friends waited for me by the Ganesh alter at a resting point on the trail. 

We passed the first lake that resembled a trident, and my friend explained that this lake was like one I knew about in Guatemala called Chicabal. This lake cannot be swum in, because of a vortex created by the mountain lake that would drag the swimmer in, never to be seen again. My friend told me this lake was to worship Shiva, and in reverence, one did not look at it as they were walking away from Gosykunda Lake, back down to the base, upon return. 

When we arrived at the teahouse, I was aware that the team I had seen climbing up, an elderly French woman and her Nepali, French speaking guide I had met at a tea house earlier the previous day, and had heard leave that morning, were there relaxing in the sun with the teahouse's owner. The woman who owned the teahouse looked young, like she was my age, but still a child. I immediately felt a connection with her. I removed my heavy jackets to embrace the sun and feel my form in the long sleeve and t shirt in the slight chill. I was slightly sweaty. Then my friends' moments after arriving were ready to perform puja. 

We hiked down the stairs from the teahouse to the lake, and my eyes stayed trained onto the big, fitted square stoned that comprised the road it took to reach the lake. I knew it was going to be cold. I was feeling weak. It was difficult to find the resolve, except to let it go completely, withdrawing from my body together, and by going deeper into myself I felt the moment of time extend forward ahead of me into nothingness and in doing this, I knew when the moment I took that freezing cold plunge, my strength would be revealed. My spiritual devotion to the Lord, to my friends whom I had travelled up there with, and had shown me their devotion to Shivaism, would be given honor to, and that I would be able to give testimony to my own strength of faith, and depth of devotion.  We arrived at the platform of stone where the nanda and alter were at the center of a beautiful step, just before the frozen edge of the ice. I vaguely thought of the thin ice being sharp enough to cut one's leg if they tried to walk into the water and directly into it. Our tall friend Vajra broke the ice, showing much strength, and was the first to step into the freezing, crystal water. He pushed away the ice as if wading into the Bahamas. His body became very defined, right before my eyes, as his skin tightened with goose bumps. I vaguely remember him fighting against the urge to curl up, and I recognized the brightening of his normally casual facial expression. His chest was tight and his fists balled up, which I thought was funny to notice, as this I took in all while barely regarding him at all. I felt as if I was him, experiencing the cold, almost in near dread of knowing that I would follow, however, dreading more that, as a woman alone with my two new, young male friends, that I was like an older sister who needed to respect the sanctity of their sporitual experience, for themselves and their future lives. For their families and the holiness of their devotion as disciples of the Lord Shiva, I witnessed the experience as their sister. 

The puja was done ceremoniously, diving into the water, three times with vigor, embracing the submergence as an act of sacrifice, sacrificing ignorance, comfort, the very warmth that kept you alive. Vajra looked directly at me when he returned from the depths of the shallow water, and his eyes were bright, fully awakened. He seemed like love was embodied in the honesty of the experience. Being cold is a way of embracing life, like returning to a state of a child of light. It was if I had known him for eternity, recognizing the happiness as a mother does, completely detached, and at the same time, like I was meeting my self for the first time, again. As if I would fight off the evilest bears, an army of soldiers, or tigers to protect the happiness that was generated from within these two young adults, and it did not matter how different we were. If I didn't smoke chiggers, or drink alcohol. They had become brothers, my bhai, but also, something more, that I could not deny. Suzan and Vajra had become my teachers, and I had to humble my self to that. I will never forget the love I felt for them in that moment, though, I did not feel it for myself so much. I felt at ease with my self. We had eaten noodles and high carbs and fats, so I was feeling self-conscious and shy, as I was accustomed as an ashtanga yogi and renunciate to be thinner and more defined in my features. The creativity as a photographer, showed me myself as I am seen. As I am. I gave everything to honor my bhais. Suzan followed. Suzan had joked at the teahouse in Dhunche to his wife on a facetime call that he had found another wife. He suffered for this joke. I waved at her reassuringly, I would never disrupt a young mother and new wife from her karma with her husband. I did not even look at Suzan the whole way. The whole hike, I ignored his jokes, his words. I forced myself to not even think of his suffering. The mountain would show him the way, and I simply would be a benign witness to how it shaped him, how it ultimately shaped me. I knew he suffered by his pace and breathlessness. I knew he was pained with every agonizing step up in elevation. Vajra was stronger than us. Although at times I outpaced them, because I did not smoke and drink, and I was lighter in bag and body weight, Vajra led us most of the way, which we both, Suzan and I, surrendered to the path. Vajra had hiked it before, again, much more aware of the steps it would take to reach the goal, Gosykunda Lake, and the Shiva temple. To this moment, I miss my brothers. I know in this time of Nepal; I will not see them again. I have lost contact with them as I have lost contact with my original number (in a desperate attempt to clear space in my phone I reset all of my apps, including WhatsApp, meaning I had to renter with my phone number, and the phone with that phone number in fact I lost at the New York city airport in the terminal just before i boarded the plane to Doha). I know we will meet again. I knew them when they first spoke to me in front of the lunch house on the stop in the middle of the 8-hour bus ride up to Langtang. I knew them both, by face. I loved them instantly. They are my brothers. Ma didi khusi chu surya anand. I am a sister, blissful and happy in the Sunlight. These were like my own brother, strong and full of character. Full of innocence and knowledge and wisdom. Full of life's struggles, and God's grace in humility. Both were so young and innocent, yet strong and wise in their maturity. They took me in not as if I were their elder, but as if I were actually the little sister, which inspired me to be the protector even further. I sat perched on a large rock, only glancing at them as they bathed, to pay homage to my peers who showed courage in the face of discomfort. In the face of sin. Washing themselves of this world's corruption. I followed suit. I lowered myself from the rock and began to undress into nothing but my underwear and my tank top. I felt naked, but as if I wear a child, with my brothers to be there to protect me. It was the purest form of devotion. They protected me indeed. They moved the ice and witnessed as I submerged into the water. The cold hit me like a blanket, suffocating my body. Not allowing me to move. It was as if my whole body and locked and frozen. My breath was taken from me. I loved it. It felt like warmth. Like fire and heat. I tried to fully submerge my head. I knew I could not stay in for long. My head did not fully go in. I was afraid I would suffocate and drown by breathing in the water in a gasp of shock. My senses lit up, as if I were breathing for the first time. They shouted, "You have to go in completely!" Like a child wanting its father, I turned towards them to leave the water at once, but I obeyed their instructions, and fell to my knees again on the rocky pebbles. I splashed my hands into the water. I felt the water reach my face, my cheeks, and my scalp was blissfully cleansed by the pure mountain lake water. I convulsed and stepped out after three plunges, bobbing like a dying ox. I stumbled out, crawled into the sun on the concrete platform, sitting with my back to the Shiva Lingam, and shivered, in a ball of vulnerability. Again, vajra sat by me, and tears came into my eyes along with laughter. This Vajra was my friend. I blessed him and his future wife. Suzan stood behind us, a father figure in his youth, already with a 5-month-old baby. Vajra had seen me in tears when we first saw the expanse of the Himalayan mountains, all three of us together. He captured a moment of it on camera. The sheer beauty struck me, and tears just left me. Were they for myself? No. They were not of sadness. I had never experienced such awe. I cried, cleaning myself from within like the river cleans the rock bed. They felt as cold and purifying as the lake water. Crystal clear from where they flowed from within me. I shook it off and begged for my towel, ready to smoke from the chillum, and to be warm again. I wanted to die in that moment, for all of the sinful thoughts that attacked me. I wanted to be reborn again in the Lord. I was offered a scarf by Suzan. I felt too naked to move. He directed me to the rock. I was a helpless child, to admit the truth. I needed my friends. I stripped the freezing cold panties and tank top and left them plopped on the ground in a splat before me, at the bottom of this huge rock, sheltering myself from the eyes of my friends, and from the on-lookers above in the teahouse. This whole time they had watched us, and this gave us strength, in their bearing witness to our sacrifice. With warm clothes, wet hair, and a beanie my uncle gave me in New Jersey, we did Puja. We offered rice to the alter. We chanted Shiva's name. We walked in a circle, stepping together. We warmed in the Sunshine, together. We smoked the pure Nepali weed together. We sank into its depths together, with God. Knowing that it was only just for a moment. That one day, we would sink into the depths of nothingness, as we had just before plunged into the freezing, pure waters of Gosykunda Lake.

We walked back to the path and along the lake's edge to the Shiva Temple there, below a spring of water where we washed our face and swished our mouths, and there I felt alone with the Lord. The bells rang with loud clangs, rippling in the clear air, sounding a bhajan, an orchestra of spiritual vibrations that were masters themselves of awakening the mind. The sounds spoke to one another, they spoke to our mind. I watched as Vajra and Suzan entered the temple. That's when Suzan invited me into the temple. I spoke Dean's name the first night I had met them, and they offered me to smoke home grown cannabis. I know James and Dean would have. When in Nepal, Hash and Grass are prasad. It was a memory I knew from what felt long ago, and it felt alive again. I chiefed on the chillum like I had been taught by so many of my elders, my fathers, my brothers and kin. I chiefed like my ancestors, like the saddhus and ascetics of the stories I have been told by my own friends and renunciates. I chiefed like the goddess Kali had no hold on me, but that I was her servant in the name of the high most, loving and merciful Lord. As I entered the temple, I felt this presence. I was afraid to show no humility, and in my fear, as I turned my back, I felt the love and presence of the Lord within this small temple. It was my mind who created the temple. It was home to the Gods. The goddesses had shown me the way to enlightenment. I became deified. Shiva spoke to me in such gentleness, I felt dizzy, and a little bit sick. I sat down, afraid to offend my friends. I looked at the paintings on the wall. I left my body, and my friends there on Earth. All I wished to do was sit in the Sun, and never leave the place in which I sat. I began to do asana. Stretching as I had on the concrete platform, Opening my muscles completely in full expressions of forward bend, of warrior, in my own novice way. I was lost again, but I knew I had been blessed. My friends left in shame, they left confused. I never returned to them. I had committed a sin that I would never recover from. They returned for daal bhat. I did not eat with them. I sank into delirious depression. They were ready to move. I was too sick to go. I attempted to return with them, but as the golden sun sank further into the horizon, leaving this world yet again, the cold in my bones brought me to sit and eat three oranges. They were fresh as the sunlight setting on that day. They were sweet and juicy, like the flower petals of the rays shining above the mountains. My friends tried to press me on, and like an old woman, I refused in frustrated anger at their inability to push me on further. I gave up, and I would regret this all night, as I suffered the cold and headaches at 4500 meters above sea level. I lost all faith, all trust. They called to me to continue, and I waved them away, promising and lying to them that I would see them in Kathmandu, though I knew I would not. I contemplated continuing or going back to the teahouse. I wished to go back. To see the familiar European faces of those who had passed us just as we left. I wished to see the big sister who owned the tea house and learn of her secret ways. 

That evening, as I sat by the fire, and I knew I was cold. When I first arrived back to the tea house, I tried to order food, however, I didn't know how hungry I was at the moment, but I also didn't know what to eat, so I didn't. The symptoms were beginning to set it. I saw watching the sunset with my mind's eye, lowering over the mountains. I enjoyed the last warmth of the sun as it set, maintaining my body temperature, trying to conserve some heat so that my body did not toil to maintain homeostasis in just a few degrees. This didn't help much while lying in the cold mattress without a sleeping bag, however, I balanced on the bench outside of the teahouse where my friends and I had sat, still impacted by that moment when I felt Shiva in the temple, and simply sat in this awareness in half lotus, possibly full lotus, and I felt the other hikers walk back from the mountain and pass by me. I felt like a fixture of the teahouse, itself a fixture of the mountain. I sat there for a good time, and something about the hollering of the mountaineers I met gave me the confidence to rise, as I was trying to stay very calm in being aware of the fact that I was physically not doing well, and that I did not want this to affect my mental or emotional stability. In those moments, how calm someone can stay will begin to determine the consequence of life and death. I went over to the other mountaineers, and they were making jokes. They sat on the bench by the front door of the teahouse where I had sat down with the teahouse owner when I first arrived back at the teahouse. She had told me to sit down by her, in which I stepped over the pile of long rebars and dropped my bags. I was being kind and friendly when I first arrived but was a bit spacy and so I believe she knew the right words was, "Sit down, relax". She asked me my name and where I am from and showed me TikTok video she had made earlier that afternoon of she and I and her mimicking playing my ukulele. It was very cool. To share a moment in the Sun with her. It helped me in realizing that others share the experience of awareness and will go the length to show you their concern and help with accepting the reality of the life experience you share together. 

This actually became more prevalent when those two hikers began talking to me around the fire stove that night. I was very cold. However, I was not accepting it. My head had begun to hurt a few hours before, though I did not notice it to much, consciously, at the time. I had meditated in the Sun, fully believing that the warmth of the Sun would carry me to the next Sunrise without too much discomfort. In a way, it did. I believed that my body would not suffer so much if I just tried to maintain the degrees of warmth necessary to make it through the night. This meditation helped me clear my mind of thoughts that would be detrimental, from the danger that I might actually be in, but at the same time, I felt that if I did not dwell on the thoughts, then I would be able to actually the pain all together. Again, in some ways I did. The conversation between the two hikers led me to learn that they had been hiking in the Langtang pass for almost 8 days. They had travelled together all around the east Asian islands, from Indonesia to the Philippines. Just imagining the sun and the warmth from those names brought a little smile to all of our faces. I have never been to the Philippines; however, I imagine it is much like Galveston Island, or like the village hometown of my grandmother and my mom, Retalhuleu, and the beaches of Champerico that face the western, setting sun. I missed the Texas heat; however, the thought did not come to me in words, only my body learned for the high sun of a himalayan midday. I spoke to these hikers, and one seemed like he wanted to sit very close to me, as it is costumery among friends here in Nepal to share warmth. He seemed rather confused however, and a bit frazzled in his thoughts. I could see in his eyes the reason for why it is important to meditate, and to breathe while being sure to stay mindful of one's intentions and thoughts. But his hiker friend was a brother to him, spiritually, looking after his mate as his younger friend was learning about life through his own eyes. I did not judge our brother. His Spanish was remarkable for someone growing up in Sweden, and his friend was an older gentleman from Peru, who grew up in New York City. I saw this as a sing, that Dean, who grew up in Texas and on the east coast of the United States, though he was born in Peru, was watching over me closely in Heaven, as I neared the skies of the celestial heavens, by walking into the Himalayan Mountains. There, the spirits can hear us breathing, and they look through the stars closely at us, as we suspend ourselves in the thin atmosphere, more closely to dreaming than we are to even being alive, awake in the day, as we are in the night of sleep. I felt very excited to speak with them, however every word felt like shouting. I much preferred to recline into the pillows, staying silent, and holding my ukulele. They asked me to play, though I brought it out for them because I wanted to gift them with the generous distraction that singing would bring. I can barely describe the experience of playing music in the Himalayan Mountains. It's as if I go deeply into the left side of my awareness, a dark place that I secretly reside in, shy to emerge, except for when hidden high away in the mountains, or closely to the ground at home. I sang, hearing my voice ring clearly in the cold night air, and I heard my soul singing with great joy and reverence for the beauty that sang inside of their ears. I heard their smiles, seeing them in my mind's eye, and the suffering it meant being away from their homes, and those they loved. 

It was when the younger hiker mentioned his girlfriend that I could see what he struggled with. I allowed him to sit close to me without insult as I felt it was out of survival. His concern was brotherly, and also that of a lover. In these situations, the instinct of a person becomes the foregrounds of our behaviors. His concern for me was reflected by his guides, who were watching me and assessing my state with keen experience. They even asked if I could join them to Kathmandu, first as they were making their way to Surya Peak which was 300 m from where we were, but at the same time, I thought because they thought it would be fun for me to join, and that I also needed a group to be with. The younger hiker was the one who had funded the expedition, and it didn't seem reasonable for me to go with them I felt like, because I had so little money. I feel like if I had begged, it would have happened!! I wish I had, but, at the same time, I wasn't ready for the social nature of going with the guys for a few days. I wish I had shown strength, but it was good that I listened to my intuition... I believe I learned so much about being a hiker and am waiting for the next opportunity life gives me to become a more seasoned trekker. Anyways, the younger hiker gave me his jacket to wear for a little while, and it was difficult not to grow sentimental and attached, however it showed me how important it was to stay warm and to have the proper gear to stay warm. This whole night I was in pain, and quite literally holding my head in pain, and the pain was similar to a migraine in that it created this feeling of vertigo and nausea. It was clear how the cold sustained the internal struggle of functioning, and as the body experienced this shut down, it would systematically get worse the longer you stayed at a higher elevation. It would have wiser to have gone with my friends at least to the nearest teahouse, however, I did not know at the time how these symptoms worked. It took the experience to truly begin to understand the mountain life. To appreciate and honor the process of growing and learning, to gaining a respect for nature, and how precious one's life is to take care of. It was an epic adventure. 

This night, the shadows of my mind presented themselves, and it was only the promise of the morning that gave me the strength to neither dissolve into tears, nor to break down into a panic. I knew if I needed them, the guides in the other room along with their hikers would carry me down to safety. This was when I needed to show strength for myself. My resolve. my mind, could not be broken. As I had gotten myself up the mountain, sharing beautiful moments with my new friends, I would indeed get myself back down the mountain, sharing this beautiful life with myself. The love of my mother, her sweet voice, my brother and his noble integrity, my father who trained me out in the wilderness of Georgia. This gave me strength in my name. My name is Camila, and this is my first step towards becoming a true trekker of the Earth's highest and most difficult mountain; the Mountain within our mind.