Finally, finally, I was on the road to the Valley of the Flowers, high, high up in the Indian Himalayas. The spectacular mountain views, the warm sun on my face, and the surreal effect of low oxygen at high altitude all contributed to a feeling of dream-like well being. After years of searching for the elusive spiritual truth, I was physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, but now I was embarking upon what I hoped would be my final pilgrimage, climbing the ancient Himalayan trail to the legendary Valley of the Flowers.
I had set out on the same expedition two weeks earlier but I was turned back by the hazardous road conditions. The monsoon rains hit heavily on the Himalayan trails that season, and most of the high roads had been washed away and were utterly impassable. I call them roads but they were little more than narrow, rocky shelves cut into the sheer face of the mountain, and easily destroyed by the downpour.
By the time I made my second attempt to reach the Valley, the army had blasted a new groove into the rock face. The way was cleared for my tiny box-like Indian bus to slowly chug its way over the damaged mountain paths, reminiscent of the fabled exploits of my great childhood hero, ‘The Little Engine That Could’. The bus carried me as high as the roads would go towards the Valley of the Flowers, and from that point, it was a two-day hike to the destination of my pilgimage.
Before I tell any more, I should explain the notion of pilgrimage. When you embark upon a pilgrimage, you travel on two distinct paths. There is an outer path and an inner path. You offer the journey to God, and He guides you along the two paths towards your goal. On the way, you encounter all the challenges, obstacles and assistance you require in order to reach your destination. The outer goal may be the top of a mountain or some holy site. The inner goal may be God or peace or happiness or anything. The path is a path of self-discovery, and ultimately life itself is the true pilgrimage.
And so, in the spirit of pilgrimage, I found myself climbing steadily along the trail to the famous Valley of the Flowers. I didn’t know what lay ahead, but that is the great thrill of the pilgrim road. My journey was in God’s hands and anything could happen.
Somewhere along the walking trail, I came upon a group of men struggling to push a huge fallen rock off the path. They were almost able to get it to the point where it would drop off the edge but they couldn’t quite make it. I put my bag down and added my shoulder to the effort. The experience of struggle was familiar to me. A lifetime of struggle to find meaning, and to find God, had brought me to India and to this very path leading up to the Valley of the Flowers.
Just as I joined the endeavour, a cheerful young Indian man coming down the trail did likewise. Between us all, we easily turned the rock over and sent it tumbling down the side of the mountain. While the others watched the rock disappear into the distance, I picked up my bag and walked onwards. The cheerful helper shouted something after me, and I turned back to salute him. His hands were raised in triumph and he was proclaiming gleefully, “United is power! United is power!”
Was it a message from God or just a random occurrence? You could never be sure on these pilgrimages. God speaks in many ways and He likes to have his fun. I would need to be alert and aware.
I stayed overnight in a small settlement called Ghangaria and the next day I pushed on towards the Valley of the Flowers. For countless generations, the Valley of the Flowers was talked about in Indian stories, and it was said to be a mythical place where the yogis and holy men of legend went to die. However, in the nineteen hundreds a Scottish explorer “discovered” it, and now even amateur yogis like myself can easily have the chance to visit.
It was another two-hour walk up there from Ghangaria, and when I arrived, the most amazing sight lay before me. The mountains stood aside and the beautiful Valley of the Flowers stretched out before my eyes. The soft earth rolled left and right, caressing the slopes on either side, like waves lapping up against the sacred shore of the other world. The birds’ song was exquisite and the warm breeze on my face was like a kiss from God. There was something very light and very holy about the place. I walked around in absolute peace for an hour or more.
At some point, quietness came over me. I sat silently and I drew breath from the calm of the valley. As I gazed up at the high mountains around, an inner voice spoke to me. It said, "You want to raise yourself up to reach God. Don’t you know that God also wants to raise you up to HIM? His desire and his capacity to do it are much greater than yours. So let HIM at it." Then there was silence again. And I walked slowly back down the mountain trail.
A couple of days later, I travelled further into the Himalayas and I reached the breathtaking Neelkanth Mountain, which sits majestically above the remote pilgrimage town of Badrinath, close to the border with Tibet. As soon as I laid eyes on the holy mountain, I knew it would be the last destination of my final pilgrimage. It drew me like an irresistible magnet. After a day’s climb, I reached a glacier cave halfway up, and I stopped there. I sat quietly alone, deep in the presence of God, and the meaning of the message from the Valley of the Flowers truly sank in. I released myself into God. I let go of the endless struggle of searching for what I suddenly found was now in me and everywhere around me. I experienced a happiness at that moment that no story could ever convey.
After a few days, I returned to my base in the foothills and I was still very much in the mellow state of having been touched by God. The experience had changed me completely but I hadn’t tried to put words on where it left me. The answer to that question came a week later, as I was talking to an Indian priest about the places I had visited in the Himalayas. He asked me, “Are you on some kind of spiritual search?” I said, “It’s funny you should say that because I’m not. If you had asked me last week I could have said ‘yes’ but now my search has ended”. “Oh”, he said, “then you have faith.”
His words rang true. Faith was exactly what I had. It was not the religious belief that sometimes passes for faith. It was a deep inner knowing that God was everywhere, all around me, working all the time to bring me closer and closer to Him. It was the faith that ends tiredness and sadness and fear and anger and separation from God. My journey wasn’t ending at all. It was only beginning. Faith was the new beginning, the new adventure, and the new pilgrimage.

Shay Moran
November 2005