Kathmandu airport is still old style: get on a bus, rolling out to the plane, lug the carryons up wobbly stairs. But Jet Air, a private Indian airlines, is quite swift and clean, although we spent an hour sitting on a non-busy runway and we could smell an amazing breakfast waiting to be served. I had ordered semolina and a sandwich of lentils and cheese or something similar. What Jim pointed out to me was those red and green things were chilli, which I found out the hard way. And there went breakfast. He said, don’t forget where you are now. India is the land of spicy foods.
New Delhi is a surprise. I had visions of beggars and legless people on the sidewalks, but it is way beyond that. The people are extremely cosmopolitan. The streets are wide, paved, smooth, and without potholes. Three-wheeled green and yellow taxis stop for passengers lined u


So how do I feel now that I’m out of Nepal? First, I must be honest. I admire Hillary Clinton’s staying power. It’s hard when people let you think you have no chance to accomplish your goal. During the long days of my painful struggle to get to Base Camp, even some of the Sherpas didn’t think I would make it pass Namche Bazaar. They told me yesterday. I had moments when I didn’t want to make it myself. Too much agony. But Jim, the principle guide and encourager, saw that in the morning I had new energy even though in the afternoons I was close to death - and so each day we set out to see what could be done. He is the one who reaches down into your spirit and pulls out what he thinks you want to have pulled out. He knew how important hanging those flags was to me. So we didn’t stop, turn around, back down, or give up. And look, we were winners. When things are looking their darkest, there is always some light to cling to.
Today must be Pentecost Sunday since next Sunday is Trinity Sunday in the Episcopal Church. Today is a red day, next Sunday back to green. I’ve been asked what I think about the Trinity after these head-knocks with Buddhism and Hinduism. I must admit, I’ve always curious who I'm supposed to pray to - God, Jesus or the Holy Spirit. I think this is an interesting dilemma. Mostly I pray to God the Father because He Is. And if He is, He is not just ours but everybody’s and This I do believe. Whatever your faith, we are all seeking the Master, who is God, and some sort of heaven to which our souls/spirits transcend at death and some reason for having been here for a lifetime. After watching the Hindu cremations, I realized, although I already realized, how wasteful is the body and how powerful the spirit/soul. I love Jesus, wish I could be like Him, and believe that as deacons our calling is to do just that - Pass Jesus onto the poor, hungry, homeless, tragic, imprisoned, devastated people. We are to love those most difficult to love, even those who do not love us. We are the passer oners, Jesus being the light in our hearts and the hope of our souls. The Holy Spirit is in the Wind - thus I cottoned to the idea of prayer flags I so proudly hung from our Memphis folk. I know the Holy Spirit is our conscience and speaks to us.
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Hindus, I don't know. It's a lot wierder. After greeting everyone with Namaste in Nepal, here in Hinduist India, you don’t. It’s plain old English "hello". In some areas the word "jule" is used for hello, goodbye, thank you, etc. But that’s not particularly Hindu. All those strange figures with multi arms and multi legs, and bulls and elephants, and so forth aren’t very inviting. I don't mind the animals being smudged with red or yellow dots powders as are the people, and they do use prayer beads. I'm sure their Nirvana and Enlightenment (Buddhism) are on the same train as our hoping to get to Heaven. But I feel such comfort in our One Solid God and when I am exhausted and crying I just start in on the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary because they are on the tip of my tongue always. I don't have to remember anything but that and I pray and pray until I find a peace. When I was out there pushing the next foot up on the next scarey boulder, all I thought about was GOD. Please Help me, give me strength. Don’t let me let anyone down. And that was the same when I was in the radiation room fighting breast cancer, holding my prayer beads and feeling a strange peace around me.
Photos: 1) We're in India At Last. 2) Jeta's girls with the fruit torte. 3) Hindu holy bowls made of a kind of magnolia leaf.
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