Snow, Redwoods, and the World I Thought We Had Lost

Finding the parts of me that are untainted by labels

The journey towards Mt. Shasta. Photos by author.

Yesterday morning, as I ate the last bits of my mom’s butter chicken, the air filled with culture and hominess, and I remembered — this is my parents’ anniversary. In other words, this is the day it all changed.

It was the month after my dad came back from Arunachala. Every single day after his return, we would chant prayers about the holy mountain found in Ramana Ashram. And every day, my father’s and my mind would go back to one anniversary. Because today, we celebrate much more than a marriage. We celebrate the day we found ourselves.

And it all started when I was little. Little Rohan would run across the lawn, pointing to the mountains. My father would laugh and call me in for dinner. I grew up with butter chicken, and my mom cooks it with perfection. Butter chicken was right up there with the mountains.

I ate it up, wearing a big smile, with a childish, unwavering resolve to reach the bottom. Licking my lips, I looked at the mountains outside and glanced hopefully at my dad.

Little Rohan knew who he was. And one day he would return.

What mountains meant to me as a kid

I’ve always loved the mountains. Something about their stillness, their beauty, their commanding presence has always been a place I could heal.

The world can be cruel. It is full of labels and hard times. Perhaps we all have a label that defines us. It’s what I grew up believing. There is one label that changed the course of my life — psychosis. I got thrown into hospitals and spent two years in a treatment center. I really didn’t have a sense of where life was taking me.

Where I live, the mountains stand on all sides, and I swear, they whispered things to me. They beckoned me to come and find solace in their grass fields, in their high-rising lakes. To leave it all behind and find who I really was.

Am I still that kid?

So … who am I? Am I psychosis … or am I the mountain-loving kid who felt the hills whisper?

In seeking out adventure and thrill in life, I hoped to experience a transformation. It wasn’t that I didn’t accept myself; in fact, it was the absolute opposite. I knew who I was. Through all the pill bottles, all the funny looks, I knew someone was waiting. A kid who loved the mountains. A son who adored butter chicken.

Reaching for the kid in me

We drove down a long, empty road. There I was, just me and nature. Finally, the way I wanted it to be. Nature can’t label me. Mountains can’t put me down. They can only raise me up into their snow-capped peaks and whisper for me to be strong. To climb out of the label society has given to me.

The entire time, the radio played devotional songs about Arunachala. My dad was at the helm, and whenever a stop light was hit, he turned to the mountain and folded his hands into a Namaste gesture.

In front of us was a mountain. It is called Mt. Shasta. My dad told me it had the energies of Arunachala, Bhagavan Ramana Maharshi’s abode. Some call it a Shiva Lingam. The Native Americans have called this place home for millennia. It is believed that there is an advanced civilization of the people of “Telos.” It felt like science fiction at first, but as the vibrations carried me up through the trails, nothing felt more real.

I could feel the vibrations. The air had changed, and it blew away any thought of being called “psychotic” or “sick.” I folded my hands into a Namaste gesture, and my mind connected to the mystical energies of the commanding mountain, which was waiting to heal me.

Doing Namaste in front of Mount Shasta, the Arunachala of America. Photos by author.

It was my father’s journey too

My father followed suit, whispering “Arunachala Ramana…” My father has a deep connection with the Arunachala mountain in Ramana Ashram. It is his dream to retire there and feel the mountain’s grace. I want that for him. In the midst of a fast-moving life, both of us yearned for stillness.

My father praying to Mt. Shasta, which carries the energies of Arunachala. Photos by author.

So we both prayed for a peaceful, transformative experience.

Lizards and flies, which would usually bother me, gave way, allowing us to be immersed in the energy hub of the universe.

My family and I trudged through mud, snow, and waterfalls, and they complained. Me? It was the best feeling. I truly felt connected to the nature around me. My dad? I could see him smiling, and knew he was thinking of Arunachala. It truly was a dream come true for both of us. The snow-capped peaks couldn’t label. They could only heal.

This anniversary would be one to remember.

Me and my family in the hills of Mt. Shasta. Photos by author.

Finding the energy hub of the world and realizing who I am

We hiked through the rocks, with the occasional slip and slide. There was a clear path ahead — a path out of the label-filled mess I was in. The redwood trees wore a motherly smile as my family and I gazed up at the sky and the mountain that scraped the clouds.

The moment the first snow appeared was when we knew we were gaining altitude. It took me back to childhood, my family and I curling up snow and throwing it at each other, laughing and grimacing joyfully as the snow hit our jackets.

Finding the snow — Photos by author.

How much I would pay to be a child again — carefree, joyful, and most importantly: no labels. No one had the heart to point their finger at a kid and go, “He’s different.” Today, I know with certainty I am different, just not in the way I had thought. Today, I know a lot of us don’t feel the urge to swim the waters back to our childhood selves. We are just too caught up in the rip and roll of life to take a moment to ask, “Did my true self get lost in a world full of labels?”

And Mount Shasta showed me the child I once was. As I kicked snow off my shoes and stuck my hiking stick in the ground, it was the first time in at least ten years that I felt like myself. Sure, I have a diagnosis. But that’s not all I am. There’s more.

I gazed with wonder at the majestic mountain and realized: this is not all.

Who lives in the thickets of this magical place? What drew me into the hills’ welcoming arms?

It felt like home. So many questions unanswered, yet so many were handed to me. This mountain gave me something I was looking for all along — a home. If only I could lie here, feel one with the lizards, one with the redwood trees … I don’t need anything else. The teenager surrounded by labels wanted nothing more, nothing less. And to emphasize — my father wanted nothing but this in his life.

There was a moment when my dad and I were sitting on a rock, gazing into the lake. The lake, still as ever, mirrored my mind — a body of water looking for silence. I could see fish swimming patterns in the water, just like me — swimming towards hope. Towards myself. My dad’s eyes were full of wonder.

What drew me to heal in these mountains? Ever since that trip, something has changed. Some part of me has come back, and I have become whole. The kid who felt the mountains whisper will never leave again.

Ever since that anniversary, October 30th became something bigger than a marriage. For my dad, and for me.

The lake reflected who I am. Photos by author.

Who I am now

Mount Shasta changed everything for me. I will never go back to the labeled teenager I was because I have become something else. I have gone back to the kid who wanted to be in the mountains.

And that is who shall remain.

I still take my medication. I still see my therapist. But Mt. Shasta gave me back something no pill could: my sense of self.

My father got something he had been waiting his whole life for. A chance to connect with Arunachala. An opportunity to feel the energies of Bhagavan Ramana.

It was his dream to experience that. In return, he found his true self, hiding in the rocks of Mount Shasta.

My father found himself in the rocks of Mount Shasta. Photos by author.

Mt. Shasta didn’t erase the diagnosis, but it erased my belief that the diagnosis erased me. It didn’t break my dad’s cycle of Samsara, but it gave him the best chance to find who he always knew he was.

We must keep the light burning, seeking out ourselves in a world of labels.

The light shall remain. Photos by author.

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