Never before in my life had I met people who were fueled by pure gratitude and joy for what looked to me like such a meager life. It was the summer of 1999 and I was spending my time in the rural areas of Zimbabwe studying sustainable development. It was my first time venturing off the continent and my eyes were vastly opening my mind beyond any past experience. The village of Magabe: carpenter, farmer, mother, chief: amarula and mango trees dripping with fruit: crops desecrated by elephants, AIDS taking the strongest men and potential leaders. There were so many obstacles for the people of Magabe; yet they were overflowing with gratefulness. After spending some time with them, walking to the well - carrying water, sitting and talking, really listening - dancing by the fire well into the night, I came to realize that each person in this community practiced appreciation just for being alive and truly enjoyed life, and together as a community, this made them very strong. This village opened my eyes to what it means to be dedicated to living: living joyfully and fully, even against great obstacles.
Witnessing what I had come to know as the greatest animals on earth interact and living together over a great expanse of African wood and grasslands was simply awe-inspiring. The drums called my name again, in the slow rumble of elephants, the steady roll of little gazelle feet springing high into the air, the syncopated clap of the fire. The little things that you come to know, the way a giraffe spreads its legs to drink, the incredible likeness in socialization of baboons to humans. The grace and strength of a gazelle flying through a forest of birch trees. It still draws my breath away. There is something so raw about seeing life through the fresh lens of a new land. My mind had been forever opened, just a little bit more.
When I came back to America, I found a spark in me that I had to follow because I couldn't put it out; it was the study of community development. I had been shown something in that little village of Magabe, about the strong web of community that was created when people came together with positive attitudes. I had seen that with an open mind and heart, anything could happen. Following the lead of a great mentor of mine, I dove into the study of community development, grassroots organizing and policy work. Of course, to further my studies I needed more practical world experience. I had to go find the drums, the place where the spirits dictate the rhythms of life.
So, when it came time in my academics to take a leave for travel and study once again, I chose Southeast Asia: a place already familiar to me in story and cloth. My eldest sister having been born in the Philippines, my family had a background with the South Pacific. And so I went, to the Philippines, Thailand, India and Nepal on an adventure I would never forget that enhanced my life forever and captured me in disbelief.
Each moment in my stay in Asia was spectacular, even the frustrating and uncomfortable moments, they opened my mind to new ideas of the way things can be or can be understood. "Taking time out to travel and dive into different cultures during the course of studying in college was the best decision I have ever made."
There is no substitute for tangible experiences that expand your mind beyond concepts and articles discussed in a classroom. It elevates learning to a whole new class. It does not even seem like school anymore; it is more like learning to fly out of your own nest, the nest of your mind. While abroad on this journey and since I have returned, I have a profound sense of being a citizen of the world. Not just an American, but also a part of a vast community that spans the globe. I heard the spirits beat their drums in a different way, in the stars, and the rain and thunder. I knew this world community had the potential to be like Magabe, anything was possible, if we all shared a sincere appreciation for life.
And so I went, to islands, hills, beaches, deserts, lush rainforests and everything in between. I spent time volunteering in rural communities, doing projects from painting murals and school buildings to building sanitation systems and teaching lessons about brushing your teeth with no common language (a dramatized rap did the trick in the end); and lived with families that took me in to their way of life, and opened my mind like I had never experienced before.
One stop on the trail that stood out for me was in Northern Thailand, just east of Phayao, hidden in a green landscape, lies Mae Chai (pronounced maa-jeye). Sunsets were outrageous, the sun, a warm and pungent red over glistening rice fields: the house I was living in was right on the edge of the paddies, offering a compelling view. I liked going to the market with my host sister before dinner, I got to know all the ladies selling their foods and soon enough I could pretty much get along by myself. The smells of coconut oil, sweet black beans, sticky rice and fresh fruits, intoxicated my senses and beckoned me back every day for more. I learned to cook with my two host sisters who spent lots of time in the kitchen, cooking many small dishes for every meal, spoiling me beyond belief and offering me an experience of generosity that had been untouched until those moments. Thai culture is very gracious, polite and soothing to the visitor. It is easy to get along there, and in Mae Chai; it is easy to get hooked. I worked at a school, played sports with the kids, and learned a few northern folk instruments and some songs, even a few traditional dances. I wandered the surrounding area, mostly long empty roads, neatly paved that lead to hidden temples and monasteries.
I stayed long enough in Mae Chai to get attached, I knew I had to return, and I did in fact about three months later, I came and stayed again and deepened my sense of community in this small Thai village. My final send off included a party that ended by each family lighting a great paper lantern that flew high into the sky once lit and seemed to portray yearnings for goodwill rising into the heavens. It was a pure moment. Pure life, pure sensation, pure opening of mind and heart.
After I left Mae-Chai I needed a change of pace, something to let me catch up to all the experiences I had been having. So, I went to the beach. In Southern Thailand, off of Krabi, lies Railay Beach on a protected peninsula: pure blue and green waters, the warm touch of the Andaman Sea, quiet alcoves, limestone cliffs scattered in the distance. This was heaven.
I learned how to scuba dive, and swam in the water like I had always wanted. Deep in the blue, there is a world beyond books. The limestone cliffs that you can see above water come from the sea floor and around these rock formations live all kinds of creatures that I made new acquaintance with. Moray eels, tiger sharks, coral and fish so brilliant it was like being inside a rainbow kaleidoscope. The sun rejuvenated me and I slowly gained some focus through my new lenses of experience and understanding.
Several months later, after having traveled all throughout India and southern Nepal, I found myself in Pokhara, preparing for a journey of my favorite kind. I was to hike through the hill communities of the Annapurna region to Annapurna Base Camp, resting just above 14,000 feet. The next three weeks were to be some of the more spiritually cleansing and physically challenging moments I had endured in the five months I had been traveling. I had been very ill in India and my body was worn from it, so the first few days of trekking were quite an adjustment for me. However, I got into a rhythm and enjoyed nothing more than the continual relative permanence of the stairs founding the path before me, hearing the harmonized bells that let you know the donkeys are coming up behind you, the gentle stare of a water buffalo, and the vistas, always just around the next corner. The landscapes through which I walked were simply breathtaking. Rainforest, dry alpine shrub land, steep hillsides, terraced with precision, and eventually glaciers and snow pack that seemed all too familiar: this trek was perhaps the most cathartic experience of my entire seven months spent in Southeast Asia.
One day as I was hiking, up, up and away into the thin layer of clouds that hung like a breath waiting to be released, I met two girls. They were coming home from school; they were quiet, although their English was impeccable. Their schoolbags were carefully hung from their foreheads, in traditional Nepali style, their eyes, big and brown, beckoned to my love for children, my love for people of purity. I thought of those girls often as I made my way slowly through the villages, gradually higher and higher towards the snowfields that lead up to Annapurna Base Camp. I thought about them, walking to school every day together through that mystical section of forest, dusted with fog and uncertainty, past the vines that hung like swings, waiting to give a thrill. I thought of them and wondered what do they dream about? What do they think of when they look out into the fog and see only their own breath melding into the clouds around them?
In a matter of days, I found myself up at three in the morning, approaching the Base Camp with headlight and winter coat on, in disbelief that the whole area had been socked in with clouds for days. It was snowing and thick with clouds such that you could hardly see the person hiking in front of you. I was standing in a basin at 14,000 feet surrounded by the highest mountains in the world, and I was beginning to think I wasn't going to see them. This has to be a lesson of some kind, I thought.
Then, my prayers were answered for a short 30 minutes. I awoke at about 5am on the morning I was to descend from base camp, and I walked outside my sleeping quarters and almost screamed from delight. The clouds were parting, as if to make way for someone or something. I couldn't believe it. I ran inside and rallied my climbing buddies and grabbed my camera and walked towards the mountains. I was filled with such a satisfying sense of elation and contentment. I felt as if I was home, in my own Colorado, surrounded by all those stunning peaks, yet, I was half-way around the world, in a foreign land and yet I saw the same earth, the same soil, the same snow that I loved from home. I realized, this is the place where the spirits beat their drums, not here or there, but a place I am always in, right inside of me. The spirits beat their drums where I am present, when I am really living, when I am so filled with life, that all I can do is toss my head back and laugh.
As I remember those moments, my heart beats faster, hoping that I can remember enough to always hear the drums; they seem to be settling into a steady rhythm that sounds an awful lot like my heart beat. Where do the spirits beat their drums inside of you? Can you hear them? |
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