Worth The Fall?

      To what lengths are you willing to go in order to experience or achieve or obtain a particular desire?  Generally speaking, the more difficult or strenuous the journey is, the more value we assign to the finish line.  And conversely, the more easily we can attain something, the less valuable it becomes.  Today's tale is the embodiment of this cliche.

      In hopes of diving even deeper into Buddhism, I set out to trek the Phu Wua Mountains.  There is a renowned mini-pilgrimage which offers eight shrines built up a mountainside; each of which are more sacred with altitude gained.  At ground level, I had the pleasure of meeting the monks as they mingle with the local Thais who attempt to sell teas, spices, and a few interesting lunch choices (I had the fish head soup) to the Buddhist devotees.  Monkeys and feral dogs are scattered about the grounds due to the food left behind by the loads of worshipers.

      The journey up the mountainside was one that didn't seem all imposing from the bottom but when it pertains to heights, is it ever?  The beginning of the hike consisted of large stepping stones, wooden stairs, and a complete metal railing.  Easy enough, right?  I should've taken a clue from the sweaty, panting people slumped over, dragging feet back to their vehicles.  I remember stopping to rest my burning calves and thighs, observing the lovely view above the treetops, and I wasn't even at the first shrine yet.  But I pushed on and after a few narrow paths of tip-toeing cliffside (I realized the importance of the railing now that it was broken or missing altogether), I had finally reached a shrine.  Wedged between two narrow cave walls was a statue so detailed that I spent far too much time questioning if I was interrupting a meditating monk.  This would be the first stop to begin praying along this actual and metaphorical adventure.

You can actually see the curvature of the Earth.

      Each of the shrines was uniquely dissimilar from the next.  There was the frightening statue of the monk.  There were carvings, flowers, and candles.  There was a golden statue of Buddha.  Books, framed manuscripts, and drawings cluttered another shrine.  And the path from each of these locales to the next degraded as I ascended.  The stone steps gave way to wooden stairs.  These turned into simple planks.  Soon enough, I was just struggling to find a foothold in the loose dirt.  I felt that being barefooted was my best bet, and I naturally received some stares due to this.  My justification was that it was better than falling to one's death.

      At the hike's finale, I found myself looking across the Mekong River into the country of Laos.  I entered into a cave underneath a magnificently large sedimentary rock overhang, the size of which was actually quite unnerving.  Decorated by crawling jungle vines and massive beehives, I couldn't have fathomed a more perfect place for a Thai Buddhist shrine.  Before me laid row after row of bronze statues – each of these depicted a prior local monk who broken the cycle of death and rebirth and had achieved nirvana becoming a Buddha.  I was in impressive company.

      Hiking down offered the opportunity to reflect on this sidewinding trail through the jungle and up the mountain.  It was physically difficult.  It was legitimately dangerous.  It made me question what the hell I was doing.  It was also completed on a daily basis by petite Thai monks along the same circumstances that I had undergone.  And it never dissuades them from tomorrow's journey.  How's that for a metaphor?

The final sacred shrine