Altitude
Eyes closed, Deborah Kerr kneels before a crucifix below an open window. Sunlight and shadow jump and flicker across her face. Hands held in prayer, her mind shifts and thoughts drift to another time. A time in her youth when she wears glistening emeralds as clear as water and bright as her eyes; when she races on horseback next to her lover across lush, verdant fields; when she stands waste deep in a loch fishing in an orange gingham dress. As she comes to, her fellow sisters stare at her sidelong in suspicion and wariness. The purity of her habit contradicts her memories. High in the thin air of the Himalayas, she loses herself. Her mind is not her own.*
High in the Himalayas I have lost myself. I have lost a sense of time. I do not know what day it is. I have not bathed in over a week. I have not seen my reflection in almost as many days. I have let go and embraced a scruffy existentialism. It is a liberating feeling, really. I am experiencing a level of freedom I have not felt. Only one other time in my life came close. I was driving in my Jeep heading north on California highway 395. With the eastern slope of the Sierras on my left, I was alone. No one knew where I was on that day. I knew no one could find me. I felt free and only responsible for myself and the road before me. With all windows open, the warm air swirled around the cab as I drove north. Desert flatness turned to alpine cool as pine shadows stretched across the highway. I could have drove on and on and on in my solitary, in-the-moment frame of mind.
In late afternoon, we reach our goal. Months, years of looking toward this destination have come together. Everest Base Camp at over 17,500 feet. We are alone on this trail. The only sounds are our crunchy footfalls and a light wind blowing across the ridge. Our path meanders among boulders and skirts the Kumbhu glacier of spiky ice formations. It cracks and shifts like a living thing as we hike. Sounds of falling rock echo and dot the landscape. I imagine that I am walking in history, sharing the same steps as Sir Edmond Hillary and Tenzing Norgay on the first summit of Everest some 57 years before. In my light headed disconnection, I sense the ghosts of bygone days and the dreams of reaching the top.
Against a clear blue sky Everest shows its pointy top at over 29,000 feet over the shoulder of Chuptse peak. I think that there maybe people up there struggling to breath, hearts beating with excitement and fear. I know definitely that the bodies of many climbers are there as well, vanishing into the frozen rock and ice. We only spend about 10 minutes at base camp. Enough time to take the required photo posed in front of the camp’s marker. I sense this is the tourists marker since tents can be seen pitched some distance away—the real camp. We head back with the sun setting and moon rising perfectly staged next to Everest. The snowy peaks turn pink then slowly fade as we stumble along the rocky path until reach the lodge in darkness.
The thin air around me has slowly caught up. My head feels big and temples throb easily. My stomach churns and I have no appetite. Canned pineapple is the only thing I can stomach. My sleep is active with dreams and restless with wandering thoughts of other memories. I have to pee what seems like constantly. I do sleep but don’t feel as if I had. I am aware that I’m experiencing a slow, physical shut down. Both Chris and I wake in the morning feeling terrible. I am unable to eat. My temples are pounding and there is a dull ache at the back of my head. I know this is bad and Ngima confirms this. “Ache at the back of head...serious.” We had hoped to climb Kala Patar. A small peak with spectacular views of the Everest and the surrounding mountains—a general must see for all who make this trip. But it has snowed in the night and morning clouds had moved in anyway. Descending was necessary. I really didn’t want to be helicoptered out.
So we make our way down to better sleep and healthier appetites. The clouds have lifted and morning sunshine sharpens my pounding head. I feel a little sad not wanting to let the moment and sense of place go. Having reached a goal, what is the next step? As miserable as I felt, I didn’t want to leave my goal behind. I wasn’t ready to make my way back to a crazy world and give up my scruffy existentialism.
I have understood the concept of letting go but never truly experienced it. For someone as vain and self-conscious as I am, this is an achievement. In losing a sense of time I became connected only to where I was on a particular day; and in forgetting what I looked like, I was more aware of how I felt. This was however only a physical letting go. The spiritual would have to come another day. Perhaps another lightheaded journey to higher altitudes is required. It was glimpse though. Enough to get a sense what that really might feel like. To fully lose the weight of self-consciousness, give in and go with it. To completely lose my mind.
*Scenes from the 1947 film “Black Narcissus.”
