Gone to the farthest shore

Is there anybody out there?
I'm sitting on the second story of a cafe overlooking the anthill like main street of Pokhara, Nepal. Across the street is a large blue-green lake, past that is a bright green mountain partially obscured by thick clouds. They have had an especially long monsoon season this year, so i cannot see what lurks beyond the clouds, which is the Annapurna Massiff, or the leading edge of the Himalaya Mountains. I did see part of e Himalayas from the plane into Kathmandu. I woke to hear the entire plane gasping, which is usually not a good sign, but this time it was. Emerging from the clouds-and looking as if they were made of cloud themselves-was the portion of the Himalayas containing the peak K2, so knew we were circling in over Pakistan.
In addition to obscuring the peaks from ground view, the long monsoon season has had tragic consequences; a small plane out of Kathmandu crashed last week, apparently because the tourists insisted on flying in unseasonably wet weather. Its ugly, but this will work to my advantage, as the same small plane i will take to the airstrip near Everest base camp will be especially careful, as they do not want to lose more than one plane per season.
So: what am i doing here? I ask myself this each day, usually in response to some fresh outrage of hygiene or, just as frequently, some stunningly beautiful view or smell or taste. I've been lucky in life, so lucky, and to find myself in this place is simply a confirmation of something i have always suspected: existence is alive, and it responds to our positive wishes, both for ourselves and for others.
In a way, what i am doing here is nailing down the truth of this (fairly hard won) theory.
Another less esoteric way of saying this is I got a fellowship from the City University Of New York to study Vajrayana Buddhism, specifically practices surrounding something called Death Meditation and an art form known as thangka painting.
But oh! The pat to tis point has been an incredible series of meeting the right people, writing the right essays, making the right paintings, etc., with a generous sprinkling of the dumb, blind god given luck that seems to be my lot in life. (ok I also work my ass off, but still.)
Buddhists call this luck drala, and it seems to be similar to what Carl Jung describe as synchronisty.