Joe: "Where are we going next, dude? We don't need to catch the waves--just gotta be a new place to be at peace in and spread love."

Chad: "What do you think about trekking the Himalayas and checking out Tibet? Maybe we can scope Shangri La!" 

That’s how we ended up in Tibet: three brothers, one sister, and a super game tour guide. I managed the logistics, having traveled here twice before, and everyone pooled their resources to cover the costs--although Chad’s contribution was much bigger. The man is selflessly generous. To be honest, it makes me question my choice of voluntarily forfeiting my riches. Perhaps with more resources I could spread peace and love faster and farther? It was an easy call to make several years ago, scorning access to millions made on the art of violence and death. And is faster and farther even necessary? Or does that become the antithesis of peace? If my calling runs me ragged, it also starts to counter one of the ways of love: love of self. I would then become a hypocrite on both accounts in an effort to make the world a better place. If there are answers, I am yet to find them. And that’s okay. But I know where Chad is coming from, when I see that internal conflict in his eyes as he pulls out his wallet.

Navigating the paperwork for our group could have taken weeks, but this awesome girl named Rgya Mtsho at the Tibetan travel agency hooked us up. Soon I got my new brother and sister the right gear and then we were on our way, starting with an easy two-day backpacking trip: Mt. Kailash Kora, Ngari. To build up their stamina, I planned rest days in hostels in remote villages in between trecks. Everywhere we went, we made friends with locals and travelers like ourselves. Chad seemed to overcome the language barriers even easier than I tend to, a sign of his pure spirit of brothership with humanity. I love that guy. Eventually I picked up enough Tibetan to get around due to full immersion and long, daily conversations with our English-speaking guide. As we walked and hiked, Sally taught me some about the supernatural, especially voodoo. Until two months ago, I knew only of the natural--medicine, science, and the like. But these past two jobs, the powers of Pacifism within me that have unlocked as a result, and now these lessons from Sally are opening my eyes to a more beautiful, richer, and far more violent reality.

I wasn’t the only one learning. I tried my best to teach the broship how to survive in the great outdoors, starting with the basics like meal planning, mapping out a trail along water sources, hygiene strategies, and how to properly use their gear. Turns out, Jared is a great backpacking chef!

All of us have something to learn and teach. All of us are experts in something as a result of living life, and those somethings cannot be compared. It is humbling to be on this journey and an honor to share it with them.

The universe saw it fit to let me be alive and well for a while longer, by the powers of friendship and peace. But the continuing journey has been laden with pain and tears.

I was chatting it up with a new friend, a fellow international backpacker, when I learned that his precious Fluffy went missing. A lost child! We stopped everything and went searching for her. When I found myself near that crocodile-filled swampland, I realized I saw something a few days ago--something resembling Fluffy in the tall grass near the water’s edge. I immediately collapsed to my knees and wept, grieved by the inevitably violent designs of the natural world and Matt’s impending heartbreak. In my internal tsunami, I didn’t notice the several crocodiles approaching. Channeling my sorrow into brief anger, I drove two back with a primal roar. One was undeterred though, and it solidly chomped my ankle. Thankfully, Sally and Chad were suddenly beside me, and (sadly) the reptile assailant was soon no more. 

Joe: "I'm sorry dudes, I just got so overwhelmed with the feels. Fluffy was lunch for one of the crocs, man. But you guys came in clutch. And I'm sorry I made you hurt it, Sally. Thanks though, man, like a ton… Don't worry about me." Joe winces in pain. Oddly, the pain is all over him, not just where the crocodile chomped. "The peacemakers are blessed--I'll be good soon."

Chad: "Remember, Bro, peace comes from within. YOU taught me that. It hurts me that Fluffy is gone, too, but it's in the nature of crocodiles. It isn't their fault... We should go tell Matt. Good lookin' out, Sal. Appreciate you, girl."

We broke the news and the three of us--Matt, Chad, and Joe--wept for a long time. Matt stuck around with us for several weeks after that, during which we walked and sat with him in silent solidarity. Sometimes he shared stories of Fluffy. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he seemed to feel nothing at all. No matter what, we were there.

After a few days of what I immediately diagnosed to be chronic pain, while meditating in the early dawn and listening to the world slowly awake, I achieved peace within myself. I could feel the familiar warmth of the sun balanced by a cool, salty ocean breeze from head to toe ... and then the pain was no more. All that was left was a tattoo spanning in various spots from my neck to my toes. It looks like the rippling effect of sunlight shining down through water which, I discovered that evening, faintly glows in the dark. Totally righteous, man.

Sadly, there was a second goodbye this trip. In the small but growing town of Lukla, a popular spot for climbers to pass through on the way from Kathmandu to the Southern Base Camp, Chad and I were discussing his desires to come with us (something which I feel he was not ready for). And suddenly something clicked. Then Chad and I had a long talk. It was hard to express this growing feeling that my brother from another mother had a different journey to go on--his own journey to spread love in the unique ways that only he can. His company had been divine, but I knew in my core that we both were destined to shine brightly in this dark world and our lights so close together would soon stifle each other. I knew in my core that something was beginning for both of us.

Chad has stayed behind in Lukla. Squirrel, Jared, Matt, Gyaltsen (our tour guide) will push forward. Before we began the eight-day trek to the basecamp--the first stage of our hike up the mountain--Chad and I tearfully bid each other farewell. Ride your wave, dude, and peace be with you.