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THE HOTEL TANDIN is a run-down little place at the top of a five-story building, just up the street from the traffic circle in the center of town. We marched up those five flights of stairs, and Pink knocked on a door just outside the bar. The sounds of chanting seeped into the hallway.

“He’s meditating,” said Pink, shrugging. She quietly cracked open the door and motioned for Ngawang and me to enter.

The room was large and in its center were two single beds, side by side. Rinpoche sat on one of them, legs crossed, continuing his chants, seemingly oblivious to the interruption. It felt as invasive as walking in on someone in the bathroom. I sat down in a chair near the door, far across from him, so as not to disrupt his privacy. A very long five minutes later, he snapped out of his trance. He raised his head and offered a cursory greeting, then snapped his fingers and started demanding help. Though he was speaking Dzongkha, his tone translated perfectly: He was ordering Pink to do something. Flustered, she sifted through a bag of supplies on a little shelf outside the toilet, and dug out a little white bottle. Rinpoche held back his head as if he were an injured pony.

“The pollution,” Rinpoche explained, his chin in the air and his gaze fixed upward as Pink dutifully nursed his eyes with droplets. “It’s terrible here in Thimphu. Now move over here, and tell me.” He motioned that I should come closer, to the twin bed opposite where he sat. As soon as I was in place, he looked at me deeply, intensely. I didn’t know what to say. Now that we were here, I didn’t want to tell him anything. Whatever mystical air Rinpoche had around him, whatever I had hoped he might imbue me with or chase away, the mood was broken by his demeanor, the surroundings, this sad little room. That finger-snapping incident revealed him as a boor, not the paragon of kindness, compassion, and understanding I’d imagined a monk would be.

Here we were, though, across from each other, his expectation building. I spoke, but not as openly as I had planned.

“It’s a very difficult time for me. I feel like everything is up in the air, in transition. Like I’m in transition.”

Rinpoche spoke in Dzongkha, and Ngawang interpreted.

“He says it is clear you have many obstacles facing you back home,” she said. “Particularly in your work. There is someone there who is working against you. You cannot move forward with the current situation.”

“Okay,” I said. What he was saying was true. My job and the nature of the industry were wearing on my soul; several coworkers were obstacles, too, and the on-again, off-again overnight hours were physically exhausting. But those weren’t the problems. Time hadn’t healed all wounds, but it had smoothed them out a bit. It was up to me to do what I’d done all along, just keep moving forward and being open, aware. Kind.

The only thing holding me back was me.

I had answered the call of this holy man, seeking salvation, explanation, or a road map for my life. But as I looked into his eyes, I saw a clear message, even if it wasn’t the one he was trying to convey. He wasn’t the answer. He didn’t have the answers. Ngawang broke the silence. “He says right now there’s a puja taking place in Sikkim where there are many monks.”

The Indian state of Sikkim was hours away. Could a puja be conducted remotely? When you needed to be cleansed, didn’t the monks come to you—pray and chant in your presence? Or was it simply enough to trust in their power?

Ngawang’s voice was tinged with skepticism as she obediently filtered Rinpoche’s words.

“He says the intensity of your obstacles requires that you hire seven monks and a lama for three days. You will also have to pay for their meals.” She glanced down at her cell phone, which was buzzing with a text message.

Rinpoche scolded her in Dzongkha.

“That sounds pretty expensive,” I said. “How much?”

“He says it will be three hundred ngultrum a monk each day, plus eight hundred for the lama.” Ngawang seemed to possess a great faculty for numbers, especially when it involved currency conversion.