Lines written on…

A Hilltop on Zhug-Thri where Longchen Rabjam

meditated. He is immortalized by his image,

a statue on the hilltop.

Feeling pious,

feeling religious,

feeling happy.

This hilltop has Chamkhar valley on the behind,

and Chumey valley on the front.

Tharpaling sits on the heart.

And the sun breaks through the clouds,

blesses us…

I can hear the distant gong, as a ritual is

happening at the Shedra.

The quiet is filled by the murmur of prayers

as a colleague chants from a book,

a wine bottle in front, his offering.

The cold breeze washes over my face,

as I sit cross legged, facing the direction

Longchen Rabjam is facing,

eyes up in the sky,

facing Tharpaling.

I smell incense.

My friends are clicking selfies,

on a huge rock, keeping Chamkhar as the backdrop.

I am tempted too,

but I want to stay alone here.

The breeze in my face,

leaves crackling behind me,

prayer flags fluttering, murmuring,

taking the prayers of the devotees

up, up to the heavens.

There goes the gong again, as it calls the monks

back to prayer.

From recess.

I smell wine. The colleague pours offerings to

the deities.

The air is so pure, the silence so pure, that I

can hear the monks calling, down in distant Tharpalling,

can hear the crows calling, far away in the distant skies.

The green patches intermingle with the brown,

down in fields of Chumey.

The road snakes amongst the fields and the trees.

A wild Himalayan pheasant sits proudly

on a ledge,

dark purple with an orange tail.

What might he be thinking?

Why are these humans disturbing my peace?

Domkhar palace shines down in the valley.

The crows approach nearer.

The crows are calling louder.

[Gyetsa valley of Bumthang Chumey]