Nestled within a remote craggy cliff, sits a solitary temple.  Inside its chambers, rich deep tones from a well-worn brass singing bowl ring out.  Its sonorous sounds root into old walls cracked and peeling of paint.  The ringing reverberates throughout the darkened room lit only by a few flickering butter lamps.  Sweet aromatic fragrances of juniper and dried herbs drift upwards and caress the old stone walls inscribed with sacred texts.  Curling wisps of incense smoke float like cirrus clouds washing the inky evening skies.  The purifying incense cleanses the ancient dwelling and keeps company with two elderly monks who chant tremulous OMs, bass, and guttural.  The rhythmic pulsating tonal waves bathe liquidly thru a hollow stillness. 

The monks seated cross-legged side by side, their fingertips touching in a circular mudra, ‘chakgya’, upon their laps, their eyes closed, hold a peaceful countenance.   Wrapped tightly in their saffron coat and maroon skirt, their frail frames are covered the same whether it’s summer or winter.  Oblivious to the wintry chill forcing itself into the marrow of their dry bones, they are prayerfully immersed.  Outer conditions concern them not.  They have transcended the physical. 

Quietly, reverently their sacred chanting stops.  Wordlessly rising together as one body, one mind,  they lean forward to make their final prostrations, forehead to the ground. Then silently they recite a last prayer, palms together, heads bowed.  Not lingering to take a simple repast of butter tea and tsampa, the aged monks put their woolen boots upon their frail feet.  They leave the temple with empty bellies ready to take their final pilgrimage. 

Following in single file they advance slowly, slowly upwards towards the mountain summit.  With each footstep, they pray silently with one mind upon the Buddha’s words from the Diamond Sutra.

Thus, shall you think of this fleeting world:

A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,

A flash of lightning in a summer’s cloud, 

A flickering lamp, a phantom, a dream.

Having, at last, achieved their goal they reached the summit and sit down side by side to chant.  OM MA NI PAD ME HUM, the six true words: Hail the jewel in the Lotus.

They will wait to watch the sunrise over the world.   It is a still starry night.   Explosions of millions of Milky Way stars flood the Heavens.   Mysterious sea-greens and plum purples, indigo blues spray the skies interspersed with cirrus-cumulus white clouds rushing across the Heavens like seafoam churning in tumultuous seas.  The moon goes into hiding as it peeks in and out of the clouds. 

At last, the moment arrives.

From the primordial darkness of chiaroscuro blacks, grays, and steely blues, a faint light emerges.  It silhouettes the mountain tops with faint gold.  Then a powerful orange-yellow light fans upward.  It pours itself into the mound of the mountain peaks and pushes to the top of each mountain.   Brash and brilliant the sun appears whole, round, molten.  With each earth breath, it climbs higher and higher into the sky to illumine the land once more. At its zenith, a spectacular sun is encircled by a gray and black band with many-colored rings around the edge of the circle.  This is an auspicious symbol of luck.  A solar halo shines down, both mysterious and angelic: a portent of things to come. 

It is written long ago before the existence of time, there was once a dark emptiness of vast space. From this black nothingness, a soft wind arose.  Strongly the wind grew and grew until it created an enormous cloud shaped like a thunderbolt. This cloud becoming prodigiously huge and powerful brought forth a gushing monsoon.  Rains poured down to form a primeval sea.  Across the surface of the sea waters, gentle winds blew their breath.  Their blowing produced light foam to settle upon the waters.   Then the foam grew thick and heavy as it twisted, rose, fell, and thrashed about.   Just as churned milk becomes creamy butter, so Earth arose like a  great mound from the churning of Wind and Water.   Seven rings of Earth and Water encrusted a great mountain.   Within the mountain dwelt the gods whose regal mountain was surrounded by the Continents of the Four Directions. In the beginning, there were no people until the Earth Spirit cried out in her loneliness.  Taking pity the deities brought forth six kinds of creatures,  among them mankind.