Taking It To Heart

Serenity now!

In the wake of my National Day vacation to emei shan (Mt. Emei, the holiest of Taoist mountains and located two hours southwest of Chengdu, China) and Leshan (home of the world's tallest seated buddha with toenails bigger than me) I am left reflecting on the balance of life. This seems appropriate and obvious (perhaps appropriately obvious) given the spiritually Buddhist sights I visited. Emei shan rejuvenated me with how it challenged me, with its beauty, with its spiritual essence that enveloped each of its hiking pilgrims much like the low-lying clouds that wrapped and permeated the mountain's sloping and sub-tropical forest; I returned lightened and having come to terms with pressing questions in my life--more on these questions later--only to encounter a burdening pain.

That is waterfall fresh laundry

I know I would fail in describing the climb up the mountain; I know as much because of how complexly beautiful Emei is. Since I feel like this excuse is more a cop-out disguising laziness, I will not use this lame reasoning to withhold  details of my experience on Emei. Instead, I will ask for your understanding given my struggle to find words while my thoughts are so helplessly scattered in the face of some personal and heavy-hearted trials.

A few stray descriptions and reflections will, I hope, suffice.

Battling thousands of Chinese people for a seat on a bus from Chengdu to Emei redefines "holiday travel." Imagine going to O'Hare airport on the busiest travel days surrounding Thanksgiving or Christmas; now, imagine that your airline has issued you a ticket to a destination but has not specified the time of your flight, the number of your flight, or your seat on the flight. The airline just sells tickets to passengers, thus allowing them to do whatever they feel is necessary to make sure that they get to their destinations in a timely manner.

I waited five hours with other sardines in Chengdu's bus station; it took me four hours to move twenty feet. I was elated that I did not have to use the restroom at any time during this experience. I was not elated that many Chinese people firmly believe that body odor is a "western problem."

I doubted I could endure that line. I did. Within one hour of hiking Emei, I became glad I did endure.

Tens of thousands of stairs

I again thought that I would not endure during our hike: the 42 kilometer climb up emei shan is entirely stone stairs. For all you whiz kids, this is just shy of a marathon of stair climbing. At several points I recalled childhood Sundays and Bronco's games with the nondiagetic soundtrack of the whir of the Stairmaster in the living room as my dad climbed small mountains during the first half, showered during halftime, and fell asleep before the end of the third quarter. We watched a Bronco's Super Bowl winning season in this manner.

Climbing emei shan is like being on a Stairmaster for 16 hours. Instead of the whir of the machine, I heard bird song and waterfalls. Every three hours, I was allowed a break as I found myself in the courtyard or foyer of a monastery or temple. Here, the sound shifted to Chinese people whispering out of respect for mostly unseen monks, the calls of incense vendors, and the occasional ringing bell that made bells seem like they had always had the fullest and roundest sound of any instrument.

If I didn't carefully ration my water, a macaque would try to steal it.

They live in a gully with small bamboo and fir structures connected by swinging bridges over a mountain creek. Their gully is a tourist traffic jam, unlike the rest of the mountain's quiet solace and frequently afforded solitude, and many tourists do not hesitate to hand food to the surprisingly hefty creatures. The monkeys are crafty; they know how to steal. They also know how to intimidate; unfortunately for the macaques, there is a big racket in bamboo sticks cut (and sold at kiosks near tourist hubs) with the intent of monkey-swatting.

Banditry at its cutest.

After I snapped a photo of my hiking buddies (Ryan and Matt, two fellow teachers and roommates in Shenzhen) posing with two macaques grooming one another, the monkeys demanded a toll. They simultaneously went for my water bottles. Each monkey jumped for a bottle in open pockets on each side of my pack. One encountered success as he peeled away an empty bottle; the other struggled to free the full 1.5 liter bottle. He got frustrated, let out a short growl, and gnawed at the back of my leg. I calmly ignored the problem and continued walking. Luckily, this was a good move. I felt the sharpness of his fangs, but he did not break skin. Unfortunately a woman ten feet behind me did not receive a mere love bite; the monkey chomped hard on her arm before her partner could swing a bamboo stick at the vagrant.


I never sat for too long lest I wanted my sweat drenched clothes to start freezing to my body in the thin, autumnal mountain air.


Fog ebbs and flows up the mountain side; clouds cover and peel-away from surrounding peaks.

I measured my progress by approximating how high I was in comparison to other peaks. Sometimes, this backfired: I realized how far Iwas  from attaining the same elevation as those summits, I realized how tired I was, and I realized how much taller emei shan was than those inferior peaks.

I staid at a temple with an elevation higher than any surrounding peak; the temple was only half-way up emei shan.

The lock on my room's double door was a sliding piece of wood that reminded me of a drawbridge in a movie like "Lord of the Rings" or "Beowulf." With sunset came bedtime. At 4 a.m., I woke to the sound of monkeys scurrying across the ceiling. I stayed awake to listen to the soul soothing bells and morning chants of monks beckoning the sunrise. I watched a sunrise from the holiest mountain in Taoism, and I knew that this moment would be indelible. I appreciate it for all its nuance and uniqueness.

Emei Shan

Charlie-horse was ignored, especially when it created the thought that [at the time] I wished was only fleeting: "I am not going to make it." I seriously doubted my abilities. This was not the tallest peak I had climbed; nor was it the most technically difficult. I packed too much (of course) and had to endure the harshness of stone steps.

I found a routine in a mantra of sorts. I counted to sixty. Over and over.

1-2-3...Watching every step to make sure that I don't slip on the slick, misted stone...26-27-28...Anxiously eyeing another hiker feeding a lone and brave macaque near a rest point on the trail (in the form of a pagoda), I hope the monkey is alone...58-59-60...I switch muscle groups from calves to quadriceps and take a brief one-minute break to catch my breath. I soak in the cascading mountain ranges or the lush cliff-sides or the sounds of mountain retreat.

I had time to realize how many questions I had yet to answer in my life:

I know not where I am going or where I want to go. I know not who will accompany me, if anyone, on my life's journey. I know not what will bring me happiness as I have recently found so much of what once brought me happiness no longer does. I know not how to face the distance I feel from so many of my youthful peers who can revel in their youth while I feel a heavier morality (not neccessarily a more just or more right one) that alleviates me at times (when I feel spiritual connection or when I give back to those around me) and burdens me like Marley's shackles at other times (when my peers participate in age-appropriate revery that I cannot abide, and when they think that I am passing judgement on them though I am merely struggling with my own feelings of isolation from time, space, and mentality).  I know not how to face my then girlfriend whom I still consider to possess all the qualities of "home" for me though she needs a distance to develop and grow in ways that I can understand and I encourage.

I thought I had some identity issues

I found that I did not know the answers to these questions, but I found comfort in being aware of them. I am awash in life. I am aware of my experiences. I feel connected to myself, my time, my environment. These thoughts brought me back to life and to a love for all in my life.

The summit was a relief despite its sub-freezing temperatures. Clouds billowed off of a distant and unreachable temple's peak; they moved fast enough to remind me of fire that is not hot enough to consume wood and must bend around it.

The giant buddha and six-tusked white elephants brought out a certain sadness over my ignorance. I wished I knew more about religions and cultures; I wished I could remember more from my tenth grade "Eastern Civilizations" class that I had generally regarded as a blow-off class because of how easy it had been and how loopy the teacher had seemed to be.

And a final thought on the experience at Emei and Leshan: Buddha apparently had some nappy hair.

Now that I have returned, I must flesh out how to continue loving while my love is denied, rejected, distanced, and dismissed. I am facing some tough, heart-wrenching times. Now more than ever, I could use familiarity. And now more than ever, I know I will learn about myself. Through adversity we familiarize ourselves with our essence. Thank you to my family for observing my resourcefulness and encouraging productive reflection. I think it is that kind of support, my resourcefulness, and my tenacity for connected involvement that will help me endure. The pain feels intollerable, but the memories of my soul's recent uplift are fresh. I am aware of life's balance.

I am taking all of it to heart.