So here we are, hundreds of days in to the adventure, thousands of decisions, and a million-and-a-half moments to experience something new. And if I’ve learned anything so far, it would be that you never stop learning. I’ll draft a quick catch-up, but then I’m diving headfirst into the idea of the island, the notion of the mountain.
I don’t love India. It’s something that I’ve been trying to pretend isn’t so, and something that I’ve been trying to change my hardest. But when it comes down to it, India and I have fundamental differences which I don’t think could ever be alleviated. I can live with the hygiene deficiencies, the noise, the food, and a whole host of other struggles. What I can’t handle is the way I am treated. And by that, I mean I am treated entirely too well. People are (almost) always willing to help me out if I’m lost, make special concessions for me, and help make the most of my journey. However, this doesn’t work for me. Instead, I find myself feeling as if I’m occupying the status that I’m seeking to avoid – that of a wealthy westerner. When traveling, my primary focus is to soak myself in a culture and learn from that. The only way I can make that happen is to take off my personal predispositions that I wear on my person. Instead, I find myself unable to permeate the cultural sects that I have come across in India. India is the first place that I have been to where I have been unable to truly immerse myself in the culture, and I find that to be troubling. It’s quite possible that I simply don’t know how and because of that have kept myself from my desire, but I’m still not sure.
I’ve met so many incredible people and I can’t express how much that delights me! Left, right, and center, I’ve been lucky enough to come across fascinating, hilarious, and entirely delightful individuals. This has absolutely been the highlight of my India trip.
I made my way from Rajasthan to Agra and then all the way to Darjeeling. Darjeeling — a hill station in the Himalayas — is everything Rajasthan is not. #1) It’s cold here. We’re talking barely gracing 15 degrees (~52f), #2) The people are not pushy in the least; if anything they try to make you not be too touristy! #3) The food is delightful; I find myself rarely worrying if I’m going to end up dying.
However, the very greatest thing about Darjeeling is its location – the footbed of the Himalayas. And here’s where my mind gets turning.
Currently, I’m sitting on a cafe on a cliff face drinking lemon tea, eating ginger biscuits, and looking off into the nothing. And I say the nothing because that is how it feels. Unfortunately, the views haven’t been the greatest due to an excess of clouds, but it gives the world a brand new feeling. Instead of looking off and being silenced by the intricacy and immensity of the world around me, I’m struck by how separate I am.
It’s as if the world simply ends.
My mind is drawn to ancient words from John Milton. He claimed that “no man is an island.” Milton, in my opinion, was trying to reassure us that although sometimes we may feel alone, there is always a bridge of some sort connecting us to those around us. And therefore the island cannot exist due to the simple existence of the bridge.
But I’m not so sure.
And I want to be sure. I want to know that we are all connected. But I wonder.
I wonder when I see the people who have nothing.
I wonder more when I see the people who have everything.
When people have little, they often focus on meeting THEIR immediate needs. They look to filling their belly, finding some place to sleep, sparking a fire to stay warm. And there then exists the possibility of seeing others as means to an end. Others become the possibility for fulfilling those needs. And I want to say that looking to others for help — whether the quiet service or the guilt-laden giving — creates a bridge. But there’s no permanence to it. Maybe there’s the foundation for the bridge, and every once and a while a real bridge can be completed, but I’m quite convinced that there instead exists a one-way game of catch between islands. Someone is always giving from a distance, and the other thanking the heavens for raining down what is needed. Attribution is mislaid.
The possibility of an island. The reality of a mountain.
When people have everything, they forget that there is a possibility for nothing. I admit, I’m horribly guilty of this. And I picture the island. And instead of picturing a heart-warming excess of bridges spreading from the island, I instead see an island cluttered with stuff. And it’s easy to forget that there are other islands when your own view is obscured from the copious amounts of ‘stuff’ sitting in front of you. We exist in a world where people no longer exist as flesh and blood. Instead, people are viewed as presets. Preset to interact with us. Preset to meet our needs. Preset to hold our hand when we’re scared in the dark. And we become an island. No one can build a bridge to us because they aren’t even sure anyone is alive under the clutter we allow to impede on our lives.
I believe that we’re becoming a world of islands.
However, I think there is a possibility of something better. I think that I’ll paint a new picture. I think I’ll paint a new idea:
The mountain cannot be denied.
And I think in this there can be found a common understanding. Instead of trying to build bridges of our own accord, if we were to agree on the indisputable — the idea of the mountain; the idea of the palpable; the idea of the prominent splendor; the notion of excellence — then a common kindness could be reached. If we set the mountain to be exactly what it should be — hope, possibility, wonder, silence — and all agreed that we could see it, then there could be such a connection between us. Instead of trying to brave the waters to a temporary possibility for a permanent bridge, we could find ourselves setting our community on something definite. And I think that this requires a massive push. A push for people to want something more than the mechanical world we’ve built around ourselves.
We can be so much more. And it starts with a simple realization – we are alive. There is blood coursing through our veins; our flesh is warm. We were never meant to lose ourselves, our beings, our purpose to something that can’t breathe. We were never supposed to lose hours, days, years of our lives to the island. What we do now, standing in common understanding of what is really of importance, is what is going to shape who we are going to be tomorrow. We can choose to operate in a world where we see everything and everyone as presets placed here to give us what it is we want. Or we can choose to brush aside the clutter, build that bridge, and gaze in wonder at the life around us.
I’ve been blessed. I don’t deserve to have as much as I do. I’ve had opportunities that most people will only dream of. My eyes have seen mountains, oceans, deserts, and a litany of other wonders. But if it’s taught me anything, it’s what really matters in life. And sometimes, in the silence, when the world rises up all around you, when the snow glistens in the sun, and when you feel utterly and entirely small, you start to understand. You start to understand that every breath has the potential to be a revelation. Every moment is a new possibility. Every hope needs action to become reality. And I’m finally, after far too long, starting to realize how to live. I’ve been operating under so many presets for so long, that it’s hard. It’s tough every single day. It’s tough to remember that life is beautiful. It’s tough to remember that tomorrow is a brand new day. It’s tough to remember that I want to live and love and let my life be everything it can be. And it’s only when I stand in silence, breathing in the cold air, the mountain in front of me, that I remember what it means to be human. What it means to feel so small but so full of possibilities. What it means to take a deep breath, feel the air inflate your lungs, and let your eyes grow wide with wonder at the world around. And it doesn’t have to be a mountain. It can be a gentle sky stretching out overhead, it can be a smile from a loved one, it can be tearing yourself away from the screen in front of you and closing your eyes and letting everything wash over you. Life is stunning and we can’t afford to forget that. It’s tough, there’s no doubt. But I picture people pushing aside the hoard of clutter keeping them from seeing others and starting to build that bridge. I picture people standing hand in hand, silence-laden, at the foot of the mountain, feeling the same hope, the same possibility, the same wonder. And I realize that it’s only with our lives hand in hand that we can ever expect our lives to be anything more than being the masters of our own island.
You don’t own something if you can’t leave it. That’s called being owned.
So whether it’s a beautiful symphony I’ve had on replay, a view into the nothing, or simply too much tea, this is where my thoughts have been. I sit here, half the world away for most of you, thinking about you, wanting to be with you, to hear you laugh and hear you struggle. I find myself just wanting to be with you. Whether I’ve known you for a million moments, or for far too few, I wish we could stand hand in hand, eyes locked in front of us, mouths unable to express, feet frozen in the instant, watching the possibility of the mountain.
Isaac Marsh 