Paul Brunton: Hermit in the Himalayas
Weiser, New York, 1984 (original: 1937)
Cover of Rider & Co. London Edition (1969)
Here I am at last, perched on top of a narrow ridge, the dividing barrier between two deep valleys. My first view
is of the forest, my second of the snows. It is a striking and superb scene. My bedroom possesses a back door which
opens out to the north-east, and to sight of the grandest heights of the globe. There, above the tops of the fir and
deodar trees which literally grow within a few inches of the door, and which are rooted down below on the
mountain-side, the long and rugged barrier of snow-covered peaks and pinnacles which separates Tehri State
from Tibet towers high above the whole countryside. Some of these slopes are too steep evn to afford hold to
the snows and these show grey against the prevailing white. (p. 27)
And finally the mountaineer must love solitude, simplicity, tranquillity and the scenic beauty of Nature or these
unfrequent heights would not attract him at all. So must the aspirant love the same four things if he would one
day receive the sublime gift which the soul of Nature keeps for him. And what is the inner significance of these
Himalayan expeditions? Is it not that aspiration sings through the hearts of all worthy men like an under-motif in
music? Is it not, too, that pilgrimmage abides in our nature and that stagnant self-satisfaction is a sin? (p. 129)
The sparkling pinnacles which jut up above the flat face of our planet and glitter high in the Himalayan sky
above deep clouds must typify for us the race of superior men who shall be the crest-wave of evolution. Nietzsche's
dream of Supermen shall surely be realized, albeit not in his crude and cruel picturing. A solitary few even now
exist. They shall be both goal and guide. In the illumined Sage and the powerful Adept there is a present picture
of our future attainment. (p. 129)
Florentine Dante put his Earthly Paradise upon the top of a mountain, just as the Japanese painters set the abode
of their gods high upon the lovely snow-clad peak of Fujiyama, the highest of Japan's many towering heights and a
now extinct volcano— the Mount Kailas of Japan, visited by pilgrims from every corner of the country who return
to their respective villages inspired with deep reverence by its physical beauty and spiritual significance. (p. 129)
Beyond and above us all, mountaineers or plainsmen, shines the silvery glory of the white summit raised
by the Creator for our climbing. It is eternal, and it will silently call us throught the aeons. We, too, be Everest
climbers. Shall we be cowards and keep to the comfort of our homes? Or shall we take staff in hand, put
determination into our hearts, and set forth on what is, after all, the most wonderful expedition which this
world can offer us. (p. 130)
Why do I love these mountains? Is it not partly because they tangibly reflect something of that stillness,
that beauty, which I find in my intangible meditations? Thus it is that to look out of my window each morning
becomes for me a veritable act of worshio. With each glance I give my matututinal homage to Himalaya and
enter into a mood of reverent adoration. These mountains stand in symbolic relation to our race. These snow-
covered colossi, like stupendous pointing fingers, indicate for me the lofty aspirations which must ever keep
man from sinking into the grovelling existence of the gutter, whilst their unsullied whiteness beckon him to
a purity which he has yet to attain— not that childish ascetism which the canons of a conventional morality
have set up, but that purification from all personal taint which Jesus enjoined upon those who could understand
that the highest wisdom is "not my will, but Thy will be done". Only those who have dwelt awhile with such an
horizon, filled with an array of shimmering white snowpeaks jutting clear-cut against the sky, can appreciate
the intoxication that comes with early morning as one gazes upon it. (p. 174)
Put into a small packet, the ultimate message of Himalaya is SILENCE, that silence which carries the breath
of God in its hush. In that Silence mankind may find its proof of the existence of God, of the reality of a universal
Power behind Nature which is ever-present and ever-working. To me life shall ever after be bigger and nobler
because I have lived here. I think the final news which I shall bring away from these peaks is also extremely
ancient— that of God's reality. The higher Power is no mere article of belief to me, but a verity— authentic,
undeniable and supreme, even though It be so hidden. (p. 187)
I think too that I have learned the highest wisdom is to find and then surrender to this Power. But to discover
It we need to go into the Silence every day for a little while, retiring from the outer world to enter the inner
world wherein It abides... When I sat in my mountain sanctuary, I felt myself being lifted at times out of my
body and floating gently upwards into the air. I could see all the landscape around, all the familiar sights and
scenes of forest, ridge, ravine ad snowy summit. I was not asleep and I was not dreaming, yet once, when a
servant came to call me, I was unable to move hand or limb although I heard him. I was incapable of speaking
or moving, yet I could quite clearly observe my surroundings in a totally detached manner. My body was as
dead, yet I was still alive. This convinced me that I shall survive more than a thousand arguments for it showed
one how it is possible for the mind, the inner man, to move in and out of the flesh at birth, sleep and death...
Himalaya taught me so. I would like, as a last line, to rewrite the
Psalmist's sentence and word it thus:
"Be still, and know the I Am— God!" (pp. 187-188)
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(5-17-2018)