Tiantai, China…

12/13/08…Father my heart is sad…it is as if I feel their pain, their searching, and I so much want to reach out to them, and hug them, and tell them look no further, your quest for meaning is over.

Father, they traveled thousands of miles to Tiantai, China in a quest to search out the cave of Han Shan, the great Taoist hermit and a Buddhist poet in the 7th century. The tale of the journey came into my possession by a loving aunt who sent me a copy of this mini-novel written by her son. What aches my heart most though is knowing they are of my blood. At my cousin Larry’s request, his 26 year old daughter April accepts this quest to Tiantai, China. Why, because the words of Han Shan were still embedded in her mind from long ago bedtime poems read to her by her father. And over the years as they conversed about spiritual matters, Larry tells those who are reading his tale that April and he have had many discussions and he said they, “exchanged comments about the pearl of the mind, that alignment of nature, spirit, will, and glow that transcends any mechanical construct of the physical and social world.” I learn one object they wanted to procure on this trip was in his words, “a pearl, the overarching symbol of Zen enlightenment.” Father I see through their words, I see in desperation they are formulating their own religion, and yet never able to pull all the pieces together. And in a continuing search for meaning they travel on a pilgrimage to locate the cave of this 7th century revered Buddhist poet, all for one brief moment of looking out of the same cave he looked out of…for an answer to a question. I read their 18-page tale and hung on every word to see what would happen. Through many detours, dead ends, language barriers, and confusion, they finally locate this hallowed place in the serene cliff mountains of Tiantai.

And this is where my heart pours out tears for them. I think back to a time when I had no idea who You were and I was searching for the same answers as them, yes I even bought a book of Zen, because I became enamored with finding an answer to my emptiness. But the book of Zen provided no answers, only words for storage in a hollowed out rotting log, me. I searched it in movies like the “Last Samurai,” a movie I still love to watch but its Zen themes could not translate into redemption. I searched in nature in the solitude of the Appalachian Trail at one point even debating to leave the world behind and hike the 2,170 mile trail as a pilgrimage to find myself. Nature became my retreat but I failed to see You in it. In a similar quest as Larry and April, I sought out my own hallowed ground, the start of the Appalachian Trail. My long search took me up a remote mountain to a secluded spot 8 strenuous miles from civilization, where embedded in a rock, there was a plaque signifying the start of the trail. For anyone who has ever hiked in isolation or who has walked for hours on end in blistering heat or bone chilling wind, they can appreciate the few who make the Mecca from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Katahdin, Maine, so to stand in the same footsteps as those before me was somehow a religious experience. And I remember standing there and seeing the plaque with the white dash, and then looking up and viewing the mist covered blue ridges as sunset settled in. The soft hue of dusk somehow soothed me. The distance seemed to have no end. It was so worth the effort to make the trek because in that moment I felt something beyond myself. But. But when I left, this feeling did not come with me, it stayed behind. Father, there was an aloneness, an isolation of my soul that desperately wanted this feeling to stay by my side instead of remaining behind. Oh how I ached. But the feeling did not accompany me back to my car, back to the road, back to my home, back to my life. Instead the feeling remained behind because You were not in it…

And here they are Father, Larry and April, looking out of the cave set high atop Cold Mountain. If I close my eyes I can almost picture them marveling at the rocky outcroppings of the Tiantai mountain range as a cold wind numbs their noses. They see angular cliffs in the distance boastfully jutting above the low cloud cover. As they stand on the same ground where Han Shan stood centuries ago, Larry and April take their hands and softly move their hair away from their face as tears overtake them. As their senses are heightened by a splendor that I am sure left them speechless, I imagine it was indeed a religious experience that lifted their souls to new poetic heights. But. But my heart breaks for them when I realize how far they traveled for this feeling, and knowing this feeling will not accompany them back down the mountain…

“Born Thirty Years Ago” by Han Shan

Thirty years ago I was born into the world.

A thousand, ten thousand miles I've roamed.

By rivers where the green grass grows thick,

Beyond the border where the red sands fly.

I brewed potions in a vain search for life everlasting,

I read books, I sang songs of history,

And today I've come home to Cold Mountain,

To pillow my head on the stream and wash my ears.