I glance over his situation. He has a stone hut 8 feet by 9 feet long. It is perched on a the only flat terrace on a broad mountain side at 13,200 feet. As I glance back he is smiling while he sees us on. He has nothing but a thick wool hat on, canvas pants darkened with mountain life, a smile that is as vast as the ocean. Running near his hut is a small mountain stream, his life line.
I look miles to the north, only mountains and tundra, the border of Tibet beyond. I look west, a great mountain wall looms. I look to my left, East. I see a small heard of huge beautiful yaks, his life's work.
I continue down and think of my life, our life in the United States. We need insurances to keep from getting sued. I have a mortgage which ways heavy. Monthly bills. Can our children walk to school alone as I once did? Time seems to be a chain. Can I move freely? We fight to keep our guns. If we need guns are we living in fear? I do not know the answers but as I witness this Sherpa living in a stone hut with the cleanest water and unchained time, I believe we are missing something. I can feel it in his smile.
I turn one last time and yell a "Nameste". He stands, the happiest man on earth and returns "Namaste".