19

THE MENTAL NOMAD

Bureau du Tibet, Paris, France

October 15, 2014

The prostrate body slowly dissolved into its mantra, consciousness unlocking, expanding into every dimension, known and unknown, limitless. Once more, the old monk was a mental nomad wandering freely, no aged legs or lungs, no politics or borders, no concerns or fears to hold him back. Temporarily transhuman, he let his mind graze freely in places long denied his presence.

The homes: the dust of his childhood still in their corners.

The monasteries: the faith of his youthful prayers still in their air.

The towns: the blood of his people still on their streets.

Leaving them all behind, he hiked on, passing old scattered ruins and the regimented ranks of modern work compounds to climb up through high pastures that dwindled into a narrow path between jagged rocks and boulders. A high ridge lined with snapping prayer flags applauded his arrival.

The old monk took his rightful place at the Throne of Kings and looked down.

The sun broke through the heavy cloud overhead.

The skull shaped lake below shone like mercury.

Waves rippled.

Lines formed and twisted.

The hint of an image . . .

But somewhere much nearer, a police siren passed. The sound tore the night’s silence in two, slamming its gateway to contemplation shut like a portcullis. The old monk’s mind was immediately fettered anew within aged bone and gristle, conscious of an inescapable reality; day began when it chose, not when others might will it.