Message from Lynn

"I flew into Katmandu, Nepal, coming from Hong Kong. I was exhausted. I don't travel well, and jet lag always gets me. I came in the afternoon, over the rolling hills of Nepal and the Himalayas, snow-capped and austere. I was so excited to be in this country and to see Ani, the Nepalese hill woman who is a member of the Sisterhood of the Shields, who are my teachers. We had met only briefly and she had asked me to come. She had said, 'I want to teach you about the ways of the windhorse, which is the final state of work, of experience before you move into a state of enlightenment.'

I got off the plane with many young men who had trekking gear, who were exhausted and needed sleep as badly as I did. When I walked into the airport, my eyes opened wide. I was unprepared for the sights, smells, and the cacophony of sounds emanating from the streets. When you see pictures of Nepal, you don't think of noises and smells and heat. The cab drivers in Nepal never stop honking their horns. Cows wander through the streets. I could look out the doors of the airport and see the sacred cows of the Hindu walking across the street outside.

As I turned to get my luggage, I saw an old woman standing in a corner in the shadows of the airport. There was so much noise and so many different kinds of people. There was a strangeness and an excitement in the atmosphere, like being on the edge of war, which unbeknownst to me at that time was true. I couldn't take my eyes off the woman standing in the corner. She was thin, tall, and draped in turquoise and ancient silver and pieces of coral. She wore several different fabrics overlapping one another, giving her the look of tradition and a quality of timelessness and beauty. Her eyes glittered like the silver that hung all the way to her waist. Her face was like the ancient bark on a tree, lined and crevassed with age and humor. Her hair was long and tied back. It was a cool morning, and she had a turquoise-colored pashmina shawl draped over her shoulders. She stood so still that cobwebs could have grown between the wall and her and never be broken. She watched me. Her face didn't change, but her eyes very slightly lit up. I thought maybe she was waiting for me, but she made no move toward me except with her spirit. I felt cocooned by her intent. I had been very tired. Now there were surges of energy moving through my belly. I was so excited.

I picked up my bags, and as I started to walk toward the front door with the sound and the dust and the racket outside, I felt the old woman's eyes on my back. I moved to the side as the trekkers rushed by me. Then I turned, and the woman walked toward me. It was not Ani but a woman who was in her own way beyond compare, a shaman woman of the mountains, of the Himalayas, of the valleys. I could feel the rhododendrons and the fuschia beautiful within her. I could hear the wind when I looked into her eyes. She placed her hand on my arm. Her hand, like those of most of the women in the Sisterhood, was brown and weathered and very strong. She searched my face for a moment as if looking for something. It intimidated me, and she nodded, seeing that inside me. She wanted me to feel comfortable and safe."