Morning

A cool mist has settled over the surrounding landscape obscuring the view of the far off mountains. In the distance two monks wrapped in their dzens make their way across a silent field toward the monastery. A Tibetan flag waves it's morning salute on the breeze as one of the many giant hawks swoops in on the neighboring tower.

Indian farmers go about their silent chores chattering away in a tongue vastly different from that if the Tibetans they milk their cows and send their children to school.

The initial sunrise chatter of every bird in the jungle has now settled to a quiet chirping, the caw of a crow and the occasional cry of a circling falcon.

After the whir and activity of yesterdays holiday the streets of Sera are quiet. Silent monks wrapped against the morning chill make their way through newly swept streets to classes and debate.

From one of the many temples a gong gently sounds in a slow rhythm gong.......gong......gong.... it continues on and on. From another temple can be heard the song of prayers occasionally interrupted by the offering of bells and damarus. The prayers continue.

A peacefulness has settled in. A continuance of the monastic routine practiced for over a thousand years.

The trees of the jungle dance with the breeze. The monks pray and debate. The great hawks circles overhead as if to remind me the "...death is quick to strike. For spirit quivers in flesh like a bubble in water..." our time on this is earth, in this life is short, become aware of each precious moment.

With me or without me the gong sounds from the temple gong.....gong.....gong.....

Bilbo