Lhasa

Striving for non attachment, yet clamoring for fulfillment. Just like the ancients of Lhasa, who grappled throats for factionalism. Just like the young widow, who tucks a crying child under her arms and desires the return of her lover. Just like the cavalier, whose eightfold path strays into dirt roads of vanity. And in the ghostly remnants of the palace of some wayward Khan, listen carefully for the soft echoes of the Buddha’s rebuke. This is how the lost city gains her fragrance, truth, beauty, and magnificence.