This Is Home

High in the mountains of Nepal, we woke before dawn to make our way toward Poon Hill for sunrise.

It was still completely dark when we stepped out of the small guest house. The night air was cold, and the warmth from the fireplace we had gathered around just hours before quickly faded as we began walking.

The trail was narrow and quiet.

At first, only a few of us moved through the darkness. But gradually, more footsteps joined in. Soft voices, occasional laughter, and the steady rhythm of hiking boots filled the early morning as travelers from different places merged onto the same path.

Some walked in silence.

Some chatted softly.

All of us were moving toward the same destination.

When we reached the summit, the sky was beginning to lighten, but the mountains were still wrapped in shadow. People quietly spread out, each searching for the perfect place to watch the sunrise.

I found a spot near the edge and stood facing the Himalayas.

Then it began.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tip of a distant peak caught the first light of day and turned gold.

In that moment, something shifted inside me.

I closed my eyes.

What happened next is difficult to describe.

The voices disappeared.

The crowds disappeared.

Even the mountains seemed to fade from awareness.

It felt as though I had stepped into a transparent bubble suspended in the middle of the Himalayas. I could still sense the world around me, yet it no longer reached me.

There was only stillness. A complete and astonishing stillness.

And within that stillness came an overwhelming longing for home.

Not Nepal.

Not California.

Not any physical place I had ever known.

Just home.

The feeling was so strong that I found myself silently pleading:

Take me home.

And then, from somewhere within that silence, words arose.

Gentle.

Tender.

Almost motherly.

“I am you, and you are me. We are one. You are never alone. This is home.”

The moment I heard those words, tears began streaming down my face.

I made no attempt to stop them.

I don’t know how long I stood there.

Minutes.

An hour.

Perhaps longer.

Time seemed to lose its meaning.

Until I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.

When I opened my eyes, I felt strangely disappointed.

Something precious had slipped beyond my reach.

It took me a moment to realize that it was our guide, gently letting me know it was time to leave.

The sun was already high in the sky, and most people had already begun their descent.

Later, back at the guest house while packing, I overheard one of the other travelers speaking to his friend through a thin wooden wall. He mentioned seeing an Asian woman standing near the edge, quietly crying.

What I experienced may have looked entirely ordinary from the outside.

A woman standing alone, watching a sunrise.

But within, it was something else entirely.

Even now, years later, I still remember the stillness and the longing.

And I still remember coming down that mountain with the strange feeling that, for a brief moment, I had touched something familiar.

Something I had been searching for without knowing it.

It felt as though I had briefly remembered something I had always known and then forgotten again.

First light touches the Himalayas near Poon Hill, Nepal.