At the Top of the World by Jacob Gregor

As I sit at my table here in Lhasa, Tibet, I can hardly even begin to fathom that tomorrow I will begin to move into the foothills of the Himalayas. Everything seems surreal to me; it is almost as though I cannot figure out which is the dream and which the reality. Having lived for several years in New Hampshire while I was growing up, I have always held mountains with a tremendous fascination. As a boy, I remember running up and down the White Mountains: Mt. Lafayette, Mt. Cannon, Mt. Adams… at the time, they seemed so enormous. I never would have imagined that I would ever be here, preparing for the daunting task of climbing Mt. Everest, with 29,028 feet of stone and ice before me (Hammond 50-51).

The very thought of Everest sends chills down my back, chills that contrast sharply with the warmth of the rice in my mouth. My pleasant meal, combined with the sight of the loving face of the ever-present Lhasa Apso keeping watch at my feet, is a constant reminder to me of the generous hospitality I have received here at the hands of the Buddhist monks. I could never thank them enough for the food, supplies, and bed they have lent for my use. In preparation for tomorrow’s exertions, and with a full stomach, I will presently retire.

A crystalline forest shimmers with finger-like rays of light stretching through the window of my room, and the gentle dancing of the digits across my face tickles me out of my sleep. Such a peaceful awakening does not seem to perfectly coincide with the intensity of the day ahead of me. Walking through the halls of this incredible monastery to take my breakfast, I suddenly remember that it is the Lord’s Day, and I have planned to stop halfway between here and Mt. Everest at the Church of Yerkalo. As I bid the monks goodbye, I express to them my deepest gratitude and prepare my bags to leave.

Drawing up to the church in Yerkalo, I become aware of a deep peace slowly descending over my whole self. The edifice is constructed in traditional Tibetan style: the outside is simple, made of heavy, dark-stained timber, while the inside is carefully painted in varying hues of green, pink, and gold. The flowers adorning the altar, so painstakingly brushed on by a love-driven hand now forgotten to history, wisp my mind away from this frigid land and into the warmth of the heart of Christ (Charbonnier 339).

           

With the final blessing still ringing in my ears, I depart to complete the last leg of my journey before beginning the actual climb. Now the sun has risen to a glorious height, with its luminous yellows and oranges blending beautifully with the sapphire-blue sky, complementing it with perfection. Now Everest has come into view: The earthy mass of stone, coated in gleaming snow and ice, creates a kaleidoscope of prisms as the sun beats down upon it.

At the foot of the mountain, I meet Sherpa Avalok, my guide to the top of the world. Donning my heavy pack, I already feel weary, as though I have been climbing all day. Our group begins the monotonous repetition of steps. Slowly, the pattern of rising and falling utterly overtakes me, settling my mind in a tranquil peace. I wisp a prayer to God, thanking Him for the sheer beauty of the world around me and begging for the strength to reach the top.

The sun begins to set over the surrounding mountaintops. I have forgotten the world I knew before; the eternal quality of the view around me has shattered any notion I may have held before of my own importance. But yet, surrounded by the flaming shimmer of the dusk peaks, in the silence of the hills, I hear a voice in my heart: “I created all of this for you; after forming these hills, I said ‘Behold that it is good,’ but after forming you, I said ‘Behold my very image and likeness.’” That is the paradox of the beauty of nature: On the one hand, it reduces us to an astonished humility, while on the other it reminds us of our infinite worth.

As night falls and we approach our cabin for the night, I realize just how exhausted my legs have become. A chicken is boiling in a pot on the stove. The mere scent of the cooking flesh stirs up within me an appetite so immense that it forces my weary body into a chair. As I see the chicken, with its flesh boiling off of its bones, I finally have a worthy analogy to describe my own legs.

Having been tickled awake once more by the morning rays of the sun, I am suddenly aware both of how thin the air has become and how near I now am to the summit. Breathing has become a real chore: No matter how many breaths I take, I never seem to have enough air to satisfy my lungs. “Today,” starts the sherpa, “today we need air tank”(National Geographic Society 93).

           

With my mask on my face, I am now within paces of the summit. My exhausted flesh is fighting my every step: Since I have lived in sub-zero temperatures for so long, my will is almost as frozen as my body. I must employ every ounce of determination I can muster to even begin to take a step. My thighs are so utterly exhausted that every step feels as though I am slicing through fibers of my muscle, right down to the bone. My eyelashes are heavy with the frozen tears of determination and pain. I can count the steps I must take to arrive at the summit: three, which ever so slowly and painfully becomes two. Two; my heart nearly splits itself apart as I try to reduce the count to one. I have come to the final step; exhausted, I collapse. Grasping the peak with my hands, I inch ever nearer to the top of the world. The view rejuvenates me; the blood begins to flow once more. I have done it; here I am.

Works Cited

Charbonnier, Jean-Pierre: Christians in China (Ignatius Press: San Francisco, 2007)

Hammond Inc.: World Atlas (Doubleday: New York, 1970)

National Geographic Society: Nature’s World of Wonders (Special Publications Division:         Washington D.C., 1983)