After climbing steadily up the steep trail for more than three hours, I finally reached the mountain’s summit.

As I gazed out over the distant horizon, I suddenly realized that I was on top of a mountain that was twice as high as any I had ever snowboarded before.

Standing there, listening to the sound of the wind, I secretly hoped that the mountain I was on was not particularly prone to avalanches.

I had brought the longer of my two snowboards with me that day. While slightly less maneuverable than my short board, my long board was faster and better suited to deep powder.

The ride down was fantastic! I shot through the deep powder like a bullet.

Near the end of my run, the terrain began to flatten out, and I started to slow down.

It was right then and there that I surfed my first Buddhist monk.

He seemed to have come from nowhere! At first, I thought I was dreaming again. But there, not twenty feet in front of my rapidly descending snowboard, stood a short Buddhist monk in a saffron-colored robe.

Unlike the monk in my dream however, the monk that was now standing right in front of my rapidly descending snowboard did not magically keep the same distance ahead of me.

Instead, even though I cut left hard and fast, I plowed right into him.

The force of our collision sent the two of us tumbling onto the snow-covered ground.

After we both stopped rolling in the snow and had gotten to our feet again, I walked over to apologize and see if he was alright. While he clearly wasn’t very happy with having just been snowboarded, otherwise he seemed fine.

I glanced at his face, and much to my surprise, I recognized him! He was the same bald-headed monk that I had seen in my dream the night before.

Even though I assumed he wouldn’t understand a word I said to him, I apologized in English, and after I finished, his face seemed to relax, and he no longer looked quite as upset.

I wanted to tell the monk about seeing him in my dream, but somehow, it didn’t seem like quite the right moment.

Several moments in silence passed before the monk spoke to me. Not in Nepali, but in perfectly graceful, although slightly accented English.

He began, “Our meeting was fated and your karma caused it to happen. An apology, for what was inevitable, is totally unnecessary.

“Also, as you can see for yourself, I am unhurt. You look like you took much more of a tumble than I did, young man.”

Then I blurted it out, “I saw you in a dream I had last night!”

“That was not a dream, it was real.”

“But how can that be? Dreams aren’t real.”

“Oh, but they are, my young friend, they are. Come, we will talk as we walk. I am sure someone who is driving to Kathmandu will come along and give us a lift. There are certain advantages to being one of Buddha’s monks.”

He smiled, bowed, and introduced himself.

“My name is Master Fwap Sam Dup. I am the last Master of the Rae Chorze-Fwaz School of Tantric Mysticism and Buddhist Enlightenment. You can call me Master Fwap, if you like.”

I introduced myself and returned the bow. Then the two of us walked down the remainder of the snow-covered mountain slope, to the gravel road below.