Summer gave way to a cold, dry fall. Max had long ago run out of his meager rations. Now the shoots and roots he had been living on began to wither away as well. He ate less and less, but one day he knew he couldn’t hold his body together without more food. Max forced himself to stop meditating and reluctantly make the hike down to Gangotri village, disappointed that the body’s petty needs once again were interfering with his quest for transcendence. After a few hours of scrambling down the sharp ice, he reached the established trail. He sensed human presence some miles away. Images of an Indian couple, a tall guide wearing a hat, and two young porters swinging ice axes flashed through his mind in quick succession. The idea of meeting tourists with their questions and conversations overwhelmed him. He walked swiftly for the next hour in silence, encountering nobody. When the images started flashing quicker and became more sharply defined in his mind, Max slid off the narrow trail and down the steep precipice, forcing the prana into the bottom of his feet so the heat would make them stick to the ice.
What do You think about The Yoga Of Max's Discontent?
