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The Curse of the Monkey Skull
Shadows descended over Tali Forest in the early afternoon, the sun dappled by tall rhododendron thickets and cut mountain creases to the west. My trek leaders spoke in hushed tones of Himalayan superstitions: of birds who cry like children and fairies that dance in the wake of death. As we hiked up the mountain, I teased them for their childish ghost stories. But when we arrived at our campsite, a shiver crawled down my spine. The clearing was littered with dried bones.
Eerie though it was, I was delighted to stumble upon a monkey skull at the edge of the woods – nearly intact, with a half set of teeth.
Such a unique souvenir! I thought to myself as I gingerly wrapped the oddity in layers of plastic and cloth.
My delight quickly faded, however, when I became violently ill later that evening. The hiking had been tough on my body, and at 13,000 feet above sea level, I struggled to recover. Although I’ve spent my lifetime living at high altitudes, that night, for the first time, I was struck by acute mountain sickness (AMS).
The following morning, after a long, miserable night in my tent, a fellow trekker pulled me aside:
“Hey, I know this sounds out there, but legend says you should never remove anything from these woods… lest you fall sick…”
My eyes flickered to my daypack beside me, which contained my prized monkey skull. Without him saying as much, I knew exactly what he meant: I’d return that skull if I were you.
He was right – it was out there. So why was I immediately inclined to believe his superstitious explanation? All my symptoms pointed to altitude sickness, and yet, that clinical diagnosis sat uneasily in my gut. I didn’t want to believe that my body was succumbing to the harsh demands of high elevation. In my moment of vulnerability, the notion that I had fallen victim to a monkey spirit’s curse flooded me with understanding, even relief. I’m not weak or out of shape, I reassured myself, I just angered the forest’s patrons.
My feverish imaginings of a vengeful primate seemed to soothe my throbbing head and roiling stomach. It was dubious, implausible, but this supernatural story allowed me to make sense of my condition. It lent mystical meaning to a memory otherwise marred by discomfort and disorientation. Most importantly, it shifted the blame off my own shoulders – admittedly, I had neglected the cardio regimen that was, evidently, necessary for acclimatization.
There’s no doubt that modern medicine offered me something more pragmatic, more actionable than did Himalayan legend. None of our trek leaders knew how to reverse a curse, but we had medics on hand to treat AMS. My trekking cohort took it upon themselves to cure me with electrolyte packets, Acetazolamide capsules, and plenty of fresh water. Indeed, by the next day, I felt well enough to walk myself back down the mountain.
As I arrived back at base camp, flushed with pride and accomplishment, I began to wonder: Must we forgo empiricism to accept esotericism? Can science and spirituality coexist? It was hard to deny that medical intervention had saved my ass, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had been called into the woods for a paranormal purpose. I had brawled with the forces of the forest and emerged none the worse, albeit with a newfound faith in the local people’s fables.
Shadows of Scientific Certainty
In a previous post, I wrote about how spiritual people are particularly prone towards pseudoscience. In their belief of biblical genesis, for example, Evangelical Christians often belie evolutionary science. Moreover, we all know an *astrology girly* who dismisses medical innovations as mere harbingers of the Aquarian Age. I once attended a workshop in Boulder on traditional breath and bodywork practices, ranging from reiki to yoga to chakra massage. One of the sessions, ominously titled “The Truth About COVID-19,” turned out to be a fervid condemnation of vaccines (in hindsight, maybe I should have seen that one coming…).
Before we write these conspiracies off, we must consider that for lay people, belief in science often requires just as much blind faith as spirituality. If NASA says that there is life on Mars, most ordinary people have no way to fact-check their claims. We possess neither the resources nor the know-how to conduct such experiments. We must simply take astrophysicists at their word, trusting that these mysterious elites, with their lofty credentials and their top-secret security clearances, are feeding us the truth about the universe.
The scientific method is grounded in evidence and transparency, to be fair. Peer-reviewed journals exist to substantiate all the discoveries that take place behind closed doors. But most of these publications are inaccessible to the general public. Scientific knowledge is hidden behind paywalls and buried in jargon, to the extent that even exceptionally resourceful individuals struggle to discern what humankind already knows to be true. You can imagine how certain populations might grow suspicious of science, especially when our education systems discourage us from questioning its authority. Think critically about everything, we tell our children, except science. That stuff has already been proven in ways that you don’t and might never understand.
Of course, scientists get things wrong every day. They work with existing information to develop theories, which other scholars then corroborate and modify and yes, often disprove. Our collective understanding of reality is ever evolving, but that doesn’t mean scientists are lying or incompetent or power-hungry. It simply means that they’re human. Scientists dedicate their lives to the pursuit of knowledge, and we must trust that their specialized expertise is superior to our feeble skills with Google.
Not everyone has that kind of trust. Just as I hesitated to concede my AMS diagnosis, many people refute science for reasons both personal and systemic. And who can blame them? To believe in science is to accept that fallible humans, who attempt to answer ethically fraught questions amidst a slew of competing financial and political interests, should dictate our perceptions of existence. By contrast, it seems a whole lot easier to believe in God.
Spirituality offers a way for common people to comprehend the inaccessible and oftentimes imperceptible findings of modern science. It is in our nature to seek answers about our surroundings; without access to peer-reviewed publications or the education to understand them, alternative explanations will inevitably arise. Long-lost legends and far-fetched fairytales are a means for us to grapple with the order of the cosmos and our place within it. They allow us to find solace, even comfort, in chaos.
Conclusions: On Coexistence
Two things can be true at once. Perhaps I came down with acute mountain sickness because I removed a monkey skull from the jungle. My willingness to indulge superstitions need not undermine my fundamental belief in science and its evidence-backed explanations of natural phenomena. When we accept that science and spirituality can coexist, we can begin to disentangle our faith from the pseudoscientific discourses that turn our spiritual practices into dangerous tools of misinformation and propaganda. We can work towards a more informed future, even while acknowledging the forces that may forever remain beyond the scope of scientific inquiry.
As for the monkey skull, I kept it! It was far too rare a find to return. My spooky souvenir now sits on my shelf as a reminder that belief is a spectrum — science salvaged my health, but superstition made my trek unforgettable. I have since identified the skull as belonging to a Hanuman Langur (Latin name: Semnopithecus).
If there was ever a curse upon my head, well, I suppose it was short lived. I made a full recovery after my bout with AMS and have since remained in good health. I certainly intend to take altitude training more seriously next time, but allow my story to reassure you: superstitions carry only the power that you give them.
