Tibetan Beggar
Did I notice your deities dancing on heaven cloud, your mandalas of rippling colour? Or the prayer flags floating free on thin air?
No, it was only the beggars, anchored and earthbound, and the richness of robes against the poverty of the people, that I carried home in mind’s eye.
I tried not to see anything after a while. Golds and deep reds too reminiscent of the heart’s sacred chambers. A space too tender to enter.
Eyes barely open, the world a whirl of colour. Portals of the heart firmly shut. Just don’t look into the eyes of the people; the gateway to a collectively pained and tormented soul.
Escape into monastery darkness seeped in the ages of deepest kindness and wisdom. Here, recent history leaves little imprint on the age-old teachings of love and interconnection.
Giant shadowy figures splashed with gold from yak-butter candles, their solemn faces stare back knowingly. Did you know this was coming?
In this high land where the source of light resides so near, your channel to a softer realm was cut midstream. From the rooftop of the world, your sacrificial blood trickled down the mountains to the spirit-deprived and hungry world below.
And yet, Tibetan beggar, your dirt smudged face, shabby clothes and calloused hands speak a different truth to that which you carry in your eyes. The yak-butter candle burns also in their depths casting golden light on giant shadow. But would one more whisper of pain blow it out forever?
To be smiling still, when in just a week I had forgotten how, the strength of earnest hope must surely be enough. That smile across deepest darkness is the most precious thing I’ve known.
And in that charged moment of asking, I gave away near everything, ashamed to walk away owning anything but hope.
(original photos by Jeff Su)
