Sunday August 14
*
A glimpse
forth to the span
to the leading light of my long day
slight gentle beautiful determined bright one
patiently making her way
she firmly alone firmly herself
to quietly remind me
that not so far away
for she I we two
our warm and bright future day
and to her then to say to tell
of how
character by character
line by line
emerges the sacred script
from our printing block
that we two as one create
in the quiet of our studio
sacred images and script
light and shadow to define
a sacred shadowed landscape
of shamanic power
And of the climb
over steep mountain pass
then down great rocky ridge
3750 meters twelve thousand feet is it
we to descend with careful steps
buffeted by the mountain wind
that stirs the leaves
and sends bits of rock and dust
hurtling over great plates of stone
scored with lines and pits
from countless such bouncing flights
that speak of the passing
of the millenia
Here a crack
cut long and deep
meanders through the ancient stone
to tell of the winter
the one when the blizzard came
that scattered the herds of yak
and left the nomads
that searched for them
silent frozen statues
upon their horses
snowy rigid silhouettes
standing in the mountain light
until the streams
melted through the ice
and the birds sang
with arrival of spring again
they to be found
by those who clung to life
within tents of yak hair
beneath the mounds of snow
There the faintest trace
where a pebble
swept beneath long chuba
ground beneath the boots
of smiling laughing dancing
children of Zodang Gonpori
picnicking beneath vast mountain sky
as blue tibetan poppies
swayed in the gentle wind
so very long ago
Here's a spot
worn smooth and glazed
where the wind tore
across the ridge
tossing the dust
along the ground
and moving the prayer flags
upon their ropes
into whirling sweeping motion
as huddled quiet figures
covered in layers of yak cloth rags
squinting through the blinding haze
turn prayer mani wheels
that rattle on
in their worn wrinkled hands
murmuring quietly
om mani padme hum
on and on they say
they who have nigh nothing
seek to give everything
good to all that lives
Their lungs breath deep
their feet hold fast
their eyes gleam bright
above faces gaunt
their faces flash with gleaming smiles
that belie the harshness of their lot
a thousand winters
give way to a thousand springs
and still their passage here
marks the eternal stone
and grunts of their yaks
and generous laughter
fill the thin cold air
All this not so wonderful
to my straining eyes
as your determined beauty
and uplifted gentle dignity
that endures with patient grace
this that I see in you
beneath the open sky
on this afternoon
of our summer of working
and waiting
and weaving
Lotus blossoms rest
upon the window sill
and so we wait
two as one
we our effort
real and lasting
slight gentle
beautiful one
August 11
* courtesy of A Luminous Diamond (Bright) Crystal Show productions.
reference material for the poem is courtesy of the Footprint Tibet handbook by Gyurme Dorje.