The Veils Lift

A few days ago, a wise friend, who knows Nepal well, wrote to me, “Beautiful how the veils lift with grace and allow us a divine glimpse.”  This morning, suddenly and without warning, the veils lifted. Driving away from Pokhara for a few days of rest before the next long walk, the driver pointed behind him and said, “have you seen the mountains?” I turned back to what, for a week, had been a city of clouds, and everything stopped: breath, mind, words. There was Machhupuchhre, fully revealed. Behind and to the right, other towering white peaks. In that instant, through grace, I became present to this place.

When we say the veils lift, of course we mean in some measure the parting of the outer obscurations—clouds of all kinds that inhibit the divine view. But I could also feel acutely this week all manner of inner veils that probably affected my capacity to see clearly as much as or more than the monsoon’s white vapors. A holding back, a hesitancy, perhaps even a refusal. I came here from a place I love as much as—no, more than—anywhere in the world. How to arrive with an open heart and open eyes? A stubborn heart and a comparative mind and a deep fear of leeches sure can wreak havoc with the View. Being fully conscious of these classic hindrances doesn’t lessen their power over you, and may actually make things worse. The only real solution, at least for me, is prayer: a prayer to be able to arrive, appreciate, attend, respond.

I spent a good amount of time this week trying to talk myself into a state of appreciation, or at least receptivity. Many of the people I love most in the world love this place, and everyone seemed sure I would, too. The people I’ve met have been unbelievably kind and warm. The air is full of bird calls and everything is lush and green. Temples and prayer flags are everywhere and it is clearly a place of deep daily devotion. And the dogs: how could I not have mentioned the dogs? They are everywhere, and most—the ones that survive—seem healthy and well nourished. Not sure what their secret is, but somehow they’re getting what they need.

Mountains, kindness, devotion, dogs: it’s a darned recipe for all that’s right in this difficult world. But still, somehow, I couldn’t quite land.

The lifting of the veils today was a one-two punch—or maybe a divine slap upside the head that finally cleared my vision and defogged the mirror of my heart. About an hour into the drive, still awestruck from the mountain darshan, I saw a small round shelter by the side of the road, with about ten men in it standing in a circle. In the center of the cement structure was an iron pole, and about four feet off the ground, a shelf that went all around the pole in a circle. Standing on the shelf was a puppy, and one by one the men were playing with it, touching its ears, scratching its back. I saw it only for a moment, but I felt that unmistakeable cracking when tenderness breaks through a heart protected against … itself.

Tenderness and awe: The veils lift in myriad ways, mysterious ways, by grace and also by attending—watching, listening, praying for the capacity both to notice and to respond.