Readers will perhaps wonder why I sent this story to SikhSpectrum. Well, somehow I do too! I’m not a Sikh and had never met one until I went with a friend on a motor bike tour in the Himalayas. During my travel I met many Sikhs and it was a positive experience for me. Staying close to Sikh people let me experience a beautiful and gentle energy, and I felt that I was staying with people of honor.

I must admit that I met and connected with Guru Nanak on this tour. I feel a deep connection to him through the stones, all made possible by the Gurdwara we visited outside Leh. I am grateful to the Sikhs for honoring the Guru in this beautiful place, and for giving access to visitors to learn about him, blessed and protected by these stones. The Sikhs have found a place in my heart and your motto about truthful living being higher has found beautiful resonance in me.

Who am I? I am a Danish woman, 52 years old. I left my home five years ago to travel the world in order to find my truth. Though it is inside me, I have felt the need to observe people in other cultures and use their beliefs to identify my own. I wanted to live without having a home, to make it easier for me to be at home in my heart. I have started writing about my experiences, and this story is my first attempt in writing to a magazine. -Marian

A tent camp in Sarrchu

We were in Kashmir and having left the Muslim dominated area we now saw many temples around. The road was winding up a mountain once again. Turning left and then right in a long winding loop. About halfway to the top of the mountain I saw an open shed built right on the sharp curve. A man was sitting in the shed; an old man dressed in bright orange radiating beauty, peace, and harmony. The shed had only three walls, so we could see every corner and all the little sacred things stacked there. There was absolutely no other building or people around except this beautiful old man sitting patiently on a table, and looking out at the winding road.

My friend stopped the motorbike and said he wanted to say hello to the man. I stayed outside, enjoying the view. I saw my friend in the little candlelit shed talking to the beautiful person. I felt at peace. He called my name and said that the man wanted to meet with me. When I entered the room I noticed that he was invalid; all he could do was sit on the wooden table. His eyes were deep and amazing – a place to dive into another world of love, the kind of love where no promises are needed. I felt connected to him right away. He looked intensely at me, and without taking his eyes off me, asked my friend where I came from. My friend translated the question to me, and I heard him say Denmark. A long conversation started between the two.

Not understanding anything, I had no idea of what was going on. Translation could wait, I thought, looking into the eyes of the old man. The whole situation seemed so familiar, and I felt a strong bond between us. There was no need to know what they were talking about. After a short eternity they stopped talking and my friend told me what it all was about. On being told that I was from Denmark, the old man replied that he had been there. And that was too much for my friend’s sense of reality. So he questioned him about how and when, whether he had been there in or out of his body. He asked him if he could describe how it looked etc. etc.

“But he couldn’t give me any satisfying answers. I believe that he was talking pure nonsense, and maybe just trying to be friendly” he concluded. I listened to what he said with only half an ear. Almost all my attention was in the strong bond of wordless communication and belonging that was going on between this old man and me. How could I tear myself away from this and explain to my friend that the old man was right. That he has been where I come from. That he wasn’t talking about Denmark or any other physical place on Earth. I had no need of clarifying this point too. I smiled at the old man, bowed and greeted him with a “Namaste”. Both of us knew, and it was a beautiful feeling. A short and a very happy meeting in a shed halfway up a mountain in Kashmir. The old man was Hindu.

During my stay in Ladakh we went to Nubra valley where we spent the first night in a nice little place with a wonderful vegetable and herbal garden. I was pretty tired of cooked food by that time so I was eager to explore the fresh vegetables here. The young men running the place found it amusing that I was so interested in their garden and allowed me to take whatever I wanted. I spent a long time going through every single herb and plant with one of the men from the kitchen. When I came back I saw my friend talking with a monk. They were apparently waiting for me.

The monk was responsible for maintaining the garden, and wanted to take me to the “real garden”. Before I could even say hello, he got up and started to walk fast. With my mouth, still open with a hello, I hurried to follow him. He walked out of the gate, down the road, and suddenly disappeared into the hedgerow. Trying to catch up, I started to run. There was an old gate, almost invisible from the road, and as I entered through it I found him waiting for me in a huge garden. They grew vegetables here, and right now it seemed to be the pea season. We decided to pick peas. A strange and different afternoon had just started for me as we spent at least an hour together in this beautiful heavenly place. The monk didn’t know one word of English; he only spoke Ladakhi and a little Hindi. We had no way to communicate with words. And yet we spent the hour talking and having a wonderful time. He taught me his words for sun, moon, earth, rain, and the willow tree – and he gave me his name. I told him about my mother, about my beliefs, about my love for the earth.

It was an incredible moment, beyond the world and beyond time – and we forgot all about picking peas for dinner; we ate them instead. Love made us communicate - love for the plants, love for the trees, love for the earth. Like a pitch from a tiny silver bell, ringing in this other vibration we were lifted, nurtured, and loved by a feeling of oneness. The connection I felt to this monk was just as beautiful and special as the connection I had made with the old invalid Hindu. Yet, it was totally different, but like the old man he too had found a home in my heart. He was a Buddhist.

Glaciers Valley in Sonamarg

Sonamarg is the place with eternal glaciers, a place of immense beauty. We went for a walk in Glaciers Valley to get close to these vast glaciers that never melt. It is a walk of about three kilometers, and it was the perfect time of the year. All the snow from the winter had melted, and the new snow had just begun. We took the bike to the start of the valley, and decided to walk. The energy in the valley was very different and I wanted to listen to it in stillness. We didn’t walk together. I wanted the stillness and climbed down into the stone river. It had been calling and calling out for me.

I saw my friend in the distance surrounded by three girls begging for something. He stood there talking with them until I made my way to them. He asked me if I had a painkiller to give to one of the girls. She had a terrible headache. I had of course none. The girls didn’t speak English, but who needs words to heal. I approached the girl and gently laid my hands on her head. She got afraid and retreated about ten steps then stopped and looked at me. Knowing that I looked very different from the people here, I sat down on the ground to look smaller and less threatening. I smiled at her and showed her with my hands that if I had a headache I would lay my hands on my heads and the ache would go away! She looked at me with concentration while I did my little performance. Soon walked back to me.

Once again I placed my hands on her head. She tolerated it for about 10 seconds and like before she once again ran away in fear. I asked my friend if he would explain to her that I wouldn’t do her any harm, and I was helping her get rid of the headache. My friend did not agree and asked me to be very careful. He told me that these nomad people were very superstitious, and that I could be accused of witchcraft, putting things into her head and it could get me into trouble. He wanted me to stop before the situation became too serious. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could anyone perceive this as wrong? But I gave up and we continued the walk to the glaciers. We reached the end and turned around to go back again.

I didn’t feel like catching up with him as he walked fast ahead of me. I wanted to walk slow and connect to that amazing place when I saw a man walking down the mountain. He was headed directly towards my friend and I got a funny feeling inside. What if my friend had been right? I felt clearly that the man came there because of me. What if the man came to accuse me? Well, the only way to find out was to be there, so I started to walk fast to get to them as soon as possible. If I were to be accused I definitely wanted to be there from the very first minute. When I was only a few meters from them my friend turned to me and said that this man wanted his help to contact me. I couldn’t talk with him because of the language but my friend was willing to translate. I greeted the man and asked him to talk. He said that he wanted me to help him. He told a sad story about himself.

He was 45 years old, although he looked 75, and hadn’t had any sleep for several months; he hadn’t even been to the toilet for several months. Because of fatigue his fingers had started to turn black. People had tried to help him, but in vain. He had been to hospital; he had taken lots of medicine, yet nothing had helped him. He showed me the prescriptions and asked me if I would help him heal. He was the father of four girls and had trouble in providing food for his family. He couldn’t work like he used to – and within a week they were to pack down their temporary camp and start walking towards Jammu and warmer weather. The snow was soon to come, and the whole area would soon close down. What a strange situation to be in I thought. How could I help him?

I asked my friend to explain to him that I had no cure for his disease, and I could help him strengthen his body hoping that it could fight especially the sleeplessness. I told him that I would have to go to my room and find some remedies to give him. In case he had difficulty to spot me when I returned, I would wear a bright red jacket so he could see me from a distance. I found what I wanted to give the troubled man and drove back to the valley with my friend. I knew my friend was very tired after the first walk and persuaded him to let me walk alone into the valley while he waited for me in the car park. I had brought pen and paper with me and had already figured out how I could make myself be understood. I brought three natural remedies for this tall skinny and sick man. I started to walk the track thinking on how to communicate most efficiently when words cannot be spoken.

After a 20-minute walk I heard voices behind me - two young guys were yelling at me. I had met one of them in the morning; he stayed in the same hotel as us. I waited for them and they asked me if I would join them on the walk to the glaciers. Having been there already, I was not too keen to oblige their request. We talked and walked together till we came close to the mountain where I had met the sick man. I saw him coming down towards us. The man was Muslim and wore a little embroidered cap. He was tall and very skinny, a long beard and tattered clothes, radiating humility and dignity. He looked more like a rush gliding in the wind.

There comes my appointment, I told my fellow trekkers who looked at me strangely. They thought I had them on; the situation was really absurd. When we met with the man he opened his mouth and said to me “May my God give you a long life”. He pronounced every syllable carefully like it was something he had learned by heart how to say. The two young guys almost stumbled over each other in surprise. No way were they going to the glaciers. They had seen them last year they told me. They definitely wanted to stay there with me. I told them that they could stay, on the condition that they would translate our talk. They did a wonderful job, I felt certain that they were not only translating correct, but actually translating with the heart as well. The troubled man told me that he couldn’t pay me, and I told him that I had been paid. It was an honor to be asked. And I asked him if he would allow me to send healing to him, a wish that he granted me as we parted. He too has found a home in my heart. I still think of him often and send him love.

These three stories are my experiences with three different men from three different faiths and we had only two things in common: One that we had no spoken language to share and the second that they had found a permanent home in my heart.


Copyright ©2005 Marian Larsen. About the author