Alison Wright - Learning to Breathe: One Womans Journey of Spirit and Survival

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Table of Contents

With love, to Andrew, Claire, Hannah, and Erin

And to those who were there to help me that day without you I wouldnt be here to write this book

THE DALAI LAMA

FOREWORD

To make our lives meaningful takes courage. The heroes of Tibetan Buddhism, Bodhisattvas who work to develop compassion and wisdom, their hearts set on achieving enlightenment for the sake of all sentient beings, have it. Many of the Tibetans that Alison Wright has befriended inside Tibet and in exile, struggling to maintain their identity and heritage, have it; and she says their dedication has inspired her. And finally, the author of this book herself, who suffered shocking and potentially disabling injury in a road accident has displayed remarkable courage. Alison Wrights story of her recovery and eventual pilgrimage to Mount Kailash in Tibet make clear that if you have courage powered by the resolute determination to never give up, you can achieve what others consider to be impossible.

December 20, 2007

INTRODUCTION

ne step at a time, one breath at a time is my mantra as I struggle up the snowy 18,700-foot Dolma pass, icy wind whistling around my head and searing my lungs. My stomach churns and my head aches from altitude sickness, but my spirits are buoyed by the Tibetan pilgrims who trudge with me on this sacred thirty-three-mile circumambulation of Mount Kailash, the holiest peak in Tibet.

Despite the cold and the blinding snow, I stop at the crest of the pass to rest and have a warm drink. Pungent incense wafts through the thin air. I join my companions in adding to an array of prayer flags, which whip so hard in the wind they sound like horses hooves drumming the ground. Each color symbolizes an element: earth, fire, water, and lung, or wind. We tie the flags to the lines strung up at the mountaintop, so the prayers will blow to the heavens. Kneeling, I make an altar by propping up photos of Claire, Hannah, and Erinmy three young nieceswith the colorful hand-painted rocks they gave me to leave at the pinnacle of my pilgrimage.

Both Buddhists and Hindus believe Mount Kailash to be the center of the universe. It is considered so powerful that simply visualizing loved ones here will bring them good fortune. Circling it is said to cleanse ones karma: each circumambulation inches you closer to nirvana and washes away a lifetime of sins. As I plod along, I can see pilgrims scattered along the path far ahead and far behind me, some of them creeping along one prostration at a time. It is humbling to be surrounded by such unwavering faith and devotion.

Even as my lungs labor and my legs protest, I feel a huge wave of gratitude wash over me, a prayer of thanks that Im alive and that Ive recovered the strength to make this journey. Many Tibetans save for years and travel hundreds or even thousands of miles to perform the kora, this ritual trek around the mountain. But for me, this is more than the fulfillment of a fifteen-year dream. Every step is a celebration of the life I nearly lost and a symbol of the physical and emotional challenges Ive faced in my long, arduous healing.

I am a photographer. I have spent a lifetime immersed in other cultures, documenting the human condition in a quest to understand the world around me. Living in Asia has led me to insightful encounters with the Dalai Lama; Aung San Suu Kyi, living under house arrest in Burma (the politically correct name for the country that the military junta, her captors, have attempted to rename Myanmar); and Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk and teacher who for years was exiled from his country. I admire their courage and fearlessness.

I aspired to develop their attributes of wisdom and compassion in my own heart while documenting the human dramas and devastating social conditionsthe poverty, disease, and sufferingunfolding around me. I strived to find a way to balance my not-so-subtle yearning for a sense of inner peace while bearing witness to lifes atrocities and injustices.

Apparently, the universe felt I needed more than a gentle nudge. In fact, it took the impact of a one-ton logging truck to find it.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

BOYD PALMER

For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about
to begin... But there was always some obstacle in the
way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished
business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid.
Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that
these obstacles were my life.

ALFRED D. SOUZA

PART I

a dance with death

When we walk to the edge of all light we have
and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown
we must believe one of two things will happen
There will be something solid for us to stand on.
Or, we will be taught how to fly.

PATRICK OVERTON

CHAPTER 1

The air was heavy with dust and smelled thickly of burned rubber, of brakes and tires pushed beyond their limits. The midday sun was unforgiving. Birds screeched from the bamboo forest, seeming to echo the anguished cries of the injured. In the distance, I could hear muffled voices calling, My God, someone do something! This woman is bleeding to death!

I silently prayed that someone would help that woman, whoever she was. Time seemed to have come to such a grinding standstill that I turned my head to look at my watch. I saw deep arm-length gashes, open flesh that looked like it had been attacked by a shark, and a dark wine color rapidly spreading across the front of a light blue sleeveless denim shirt.

Thats when I realized the woman they were talking about was me.

Less than an hour before, I had been sitting quietly, looking out the window of a bus. I was on a mountain road in Laos, the windiest road I had ever seen. Each turn along the narrow switchbacks took my breath away. Rising from the deep dark valleys were green undulating hills adorned with bamboo wisps and surprising bursts of yellow sunflowers; craggy limestone towers emerged from their depths. We sped along, hugging the edges.

The bus had an extra row of plastic chairs running up the middle of the aisle to accommodate all the additional passengers who were picked up along the way that day, and for many it was standing room only. I had boarded early and was lucky to get a seat, although I am fairly small, so I still had to sit with my knees jammed up against the hard seat in front of me. The passengers swayed like drunks, back and forth with each curve.

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