my thoughts found me again as i sat at our camp site overlooking the Bhote Kosi river. again, it is the rushing river that does it to me. and am i any closer to understanding myself now? it is one year, almost exactly, since the Parvati river undid me on a sunny afternoon just like this one in Kasol. so how do i measure the distance between two rivers? i think about it, i look for words, i shuffle through feelings. but nothing forms. i don't know the answer.
but also, i don't make one up. that is different. and i don't make myself any lofty promises. that is different too. and no hopes, for once, for the first time in two years, rise. it is just me, accepting my questions, sitting in the mountains at this rushing white river. alone.
but not. because there is one thing i know now that i didn't before; there is one thing that this past year and the road and the yoga and the mediation have been whispering to me in deep chorus; that despite my loneliness, despite my fears of ageing and death, and despite my palpable sense of being to myself failure; that i will never, ever, ever be alone.
the bhote kosi river from above
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