Enanika: Visionary Fiction—The Roof of the World

In Chapters 8 and 9 of Enanika, Anu is drawn far beyond the quiet streets of Milkwood into one of the most ancient spiritual landscapes on Earth — Tibet, the roof of the world. At the Hermitage of Ling-Shi-La and later at the Sanctuary of Zamsar, she encounters a living spiritual lineage that once shaped, and still shapes, the energetic evolution of Earth. These chapters move between worlds — Milkwood and the Himalayas, present and past — revealing doorways into the sacred. While the Hermitage offers transmission, the Sanctuary offers a love story.

Chapter 8: The Hermitage of Ling-Shi-La

Anu’s day in Milkwood had been simple: a short shift at the cafe, a quiet walk home, and the soft murmuring of Fat Cow Creek as she settled into bed. She didn’t slip into sleep. Instead, she slipped out of her body. 

The heaviness of Earth fell away. The rolling hills of Milkwood faded into the distance. She was astral travelling, moving through layers of light — a thin veil. The air thickened again. Weight entered her limbs. Her feet struck solid ground. She inhaled sharply and felt cold air. 

Her body had reformed on a narrow path carved into a cliff face. Below was a drop so deep the bottom dissolved into haze. Huge rocks jutted outward, shielding her ledge from the worst of the icy hurricane gusts. A voice rose from the cliffs below, steady and calm. 

“Downwards, child. Not upwards. The path is here.”

She leaned out carefully and saw a man, two hundred feet below. He wore a thick homespun cloak suited to high altitude conditions. His hair and beard were long and silver. His face glowed softly.

When she climbed to his level, he quickly gave her a coat and boots. 

“I have been expecting you, Anu,” he said. “Many of your kind travel this way in their astral form.”

Anu wondered which “kind” he meant — human or Nanik?

“One, long ago, came to me on an arduous physical sojourn,” he continued. “His name was Murdo — a Scot — and he arrived here in the mid-1930s, the first Westerner to physically cross these mountains into my valley.” 

Anu recalled that, while on Enanika, she had learned about spiritually significant humans in her Earth studies. One of them was Murdo MacDonald-Bayne (1887–1955), who travelled across the roof of the world, Tibet, seeking and finding his teachers.

“I am the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La,” said the man. “My hermitage is protected because travellers take the high path where you landed, and the mountain there is impassable.”

When Murdo visited the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La, recalled Anu, the Hermit was already very old. Yet here he is, close to a hundred years later, still looking just fine.

They walked single file along the narrow ledge. The Hermit moved with effortless ease. The mountainside cut away, revealing a valley shaped like a green bowl in the centre of the high white world. The valley floor shimmered with pale-green grass as though light lived inside it. Wildflowers flashed brilliant colours. A lake reflected the snow-capped peaks and the valley’s softness. In the middle of the lake lay an island, and on the island a house built from perfectly fitted stones that looked as though they had grown from the earth itself.

They descended the remaining path. Wild yaks grazed calmly. A pair of donkeys looked up at Anu with mild curiosity. At the lake’s edge, a small boat waited. The Hermit stepped into it with perfect balance. Anu followed, feeling the weight of her physical body as she sat. He paddled them across. The oar barely disturbed the water. It was as if the lake moved aside for the little boat.

The island was even more beautiful up close. Lush grass, palm trees, and wildflowers in delicate blues and purples that filled the air with sweetness. The house itself was simple — stone walls, a bamboo-thatch roof, a smooth sandstone floor, and woven bamboo furniture. 

The Hermit lit a fire with flint and steel. Dry palm leaves caught quickly and soon filled the room with warmth. 

“Some who come here need words,” said the Hermit as though the teaching had officially begun. “My dear Murdo liked words,” he added with a smile. “I will not speak words to you.”

After some time, he motioned towards a narrow path between the palms. 

“There is a pool. A hot spring feeds it. Go.” 

The wildflowers brushed Anu’s legs as she followed the winding path to the hot springs. The warm spring water mixed with the cold lake water in a natural stone basin. She stepped in and flopped into the irresistible water, floating on her back. Heat travelled through her muscles and into her entire nervous system. Since taking on human form, Anu noticed how much strain the human nervous system carries from day-to-day life.

A break in the clouds let a shaft of sunlight slip through, touching her forehead. She felt its penetration, gentle and precise. With her eyes closed, she drifted through warmth and brightness, between body and breath. The vibrant peace of the island, the Hermit’s energetic presence, the valley, the sky, the timeless knowing — all of it travelled through the water into her being.

* * *

In Milkwood:

Anu woke the next morning and was somewhat disappointed to find she was no longer floating in the hot springs of the Ling-Shi-La hermitage. She wanted to talk to the Hermit, but he, the valley, the Tibetan mountains, and the hot springs had all disappeared as the Milkwood sunrise claimed the day.

During her cafe shift, Enlan looked at her quizzically and said, “You look… far away.” 

She smiled and whispered, “Well, we both do come from very far away.”

He laughed softly. “That we do.”

Chapter 9: The Sanctuary of Zamsar

That evening:

It was the first time Anu had done a whole day shift at the cafe. When she lay down for sleep that evening, she felt really tired — Earth-tired. After the adventuring of the previous night, she assumed she would fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. But no.

At first, she thought she was astral travelling back to the hermitage. She could feel the cold rushing in. Wind cut across her face. But when she lifted her gaze, she was standing on a different mountain track.

A Tibetan family walked towards her — a father, a mother, and two grown daughters. A yak trudged beside them with heavy packs. The elder girl held its rope. Anu felt herself drawn to her at once. The girl paused and looked up. Her eyes narrowed as though she sensed something, although Anu was still not in physical form.

Instead of manifesting in a body, as she had at the hermitage, Anu felt herself being pulled into the girl, into her consciousness. She looked out at the world through the girl’s eyes. The girl was still the same girl, but Anu had identified so strongly with her that, for the moment, they were sharing one reality.

Anu sensed her name — Norbu — and its meaning — “precious jewel”. 

I know who Norbu is, Anu thought. I remember her from my Earth studies. She was the Tibetan woman Murdo fell in love with during his travels in Tibet. He first met her on the way to his teacher’s sanctuary in Zamsar. Though he was many years older, she saw an irresistible spark in him, as he saw in her. Their love had the teacher’s blessing — the teacher was not only Murdo’s but also her teacher since she was twelve.

Cold pressed against Norbu’s cheeks. It took Anu away from her recollections and back into the mountain air. The rope in Norbu’s hand tugged gently with the yak’s weight. Anu felt the girl’s steadiness, her affection for her family, her spirit.

Two men appeared on the path ahead. One was the teacher. He lived here, in the valley of Zamsar. The other was a stranger — pale-skinned, non-Tibetan features. A Westerner. It was Murdo. 

Ah, thought Anu, this is the meeting of Murdo and Norbu.

She realised that she had not only astral-travelled across space, but also across time, back to the mid-1930s.

“We have come from visiting the Hermit of Ling-Shi-La,” said the teacher.

“Two hundred miles,” said Murdo. “And loving every minute of it,” he added with an infectious smile.

Everyone laughed, knowing what a physically arduous two hundred miles it would have been.

Murdo looked deeply at Norbu. There was no doubt that she was a stunningly beautiful woman with the fine, chiselled features peculiar to her particular lineage. Tibetan women did not need liberating. They met life as equals to men. They were at ease with themselves, confident, and unafraid to speak as freely as any man. In family, in love, in work, in desire, they stood as equals — sometimes as superiors. 

After a friendly conversation, they all parted company and continued on their separate ways. Norbu glanced back. So did Murdo. Something unmistakable had begun.

Murdo and his teacher arrived at the teacher’s home, the Sanctuary of Zamsar. After a few days, it was arranged for Norbu to help with the domestic work while Murdo was there. Anu felt everything that Norbu felt — excitement, happiness, love, devotion.

Through the winter, Murdo remained at the Sanctuary, and Norbu remained near Murdo. She moved through her days as she always had — fetching water, tending the fire, cooking and cleaning, gardening, caring for the animals, singing, and playing her small wooden guitar in the evenings. She was allowed and encouraged to be part of the teaching conversations between Murdo and the teacher.

Norbu blossomed. She blossomed in every way. 

Only once did the teacher correct her. It was the evening before Murdo was to leave the Sanctuary to start his journey back to the West.

Murdo said to Norbu, “I so wish I could stay here with you and our beloved teacher.”

“But you can,” Norbu replied without hesitation.

“Norbu,” the teacher said — one quiet word, gentle but unmistakably firm.

Norbu understood at once. Her thoughts shifted. She turned back to Murdo and said with the truth and love of one far older than her years, “There is no separation. You do not leave us. We do not leave you.”

Anu felt it all. Love not as clinging. Love without possession. Love not as loss. Love as awakening — eternal and unbound.

* * *

The next day:

Milkwood Organic Cafe and Store was unusually quiet. Enlan leaned on the counter, giving Anu a curious look. 

“You look even more distant than yesterday,” he said. “What have you been doing?”

“The night before last, I went to the Hermitage of Ling-Shi-La in Tibet,” said Anu rather matter-of-factly. “And last night I ended up at the Sanctuary of Zamsar — two hundred miles from the hermitage, and a hundred years ago.”

Enlan looked puzzled. “You’re talking like this is a normal occurrence.”

It was Anu’s turn to be puzzled. “Of course, don’t you… ”

Enlan looked away and said quietly, “I remember it from Enanika, but I can’t do it here.”

“Why ever not?” said Anu.

Enlan shrugged and was about to go do the dishes when he stopped and said, “I just feel like a normal human. I thought my powers would come back to me, but it’s been several months and… nothing. If anything, my memory of Enanika is fading.” He looked somewhat panicked at the idea.

Anu thought for a moment and said, “Don’t worry. I’m here. Besides, whatever you need, it will be there for you.”

Enlan looked a little less worried.

“When you told Nadhir [the Head Contact Caller] that you were bored on planet Teralin,” said Anu, “he must have made sure you wouldn’t get bored on Earth!”

“Great!” said Enlan with a roll of his eyes. “Me and my big mouth.”

“You’ve always been like that,” said Anu warmly.

Enlan raised an eyebrow at her “big mouth” implication.

“Ready to jump at a challenge,” said Anu with a laugh. “And anyway, as the humans say, ‘You’re about to serve.’” 

“Serve? Yes,” said Enlan with renewed confidence. “Land it? We’ll see.”

Read more of Enanika

Enanika: Visionary Fiction

On planet Enanika — a peaceful, light-filled world guided by attunement, intelligence, and harmony — Anu prepares for her first solo mission as a contact caller. Her destination is Earth: dense, troubled, beautiful, and teetering on the edge of change.

In the rural, mineral-springs town of Milkwood — a town buzzing with creativity, alternative culture, and spiritual interest — she will embark on a mission that intertwines the fate of two worlds, a mission far greater than the town could imagine would unfold beneath its familiar rhythms.

Enanika is visionary fiction woven with warmth, mysticism, and emotional depth. It explores connection between worlds, the evolution of consciousness, and the invisible threads that bind futures and pasts in the timeless now.