I saw this doorway when I walked into a centuries-old Buddhist monastery hidden in the remote ridges of the Himalayas.
It was quiet. So quiet that you knew it was meant to be that way.
There is time hidden in every corner and every layer in this doorway.
Time… eternal, living and dead silent.
“…to me a mountain is a Buddha. Think of the patience, hundreds of thousands of years just sittin there bein perfectly perfectly silent and like praying for all living creatures in that silence and just waitin for us to stop all our frettin and foolin”
-Jack Kerouac (The Dharma Bums)
It’s been the “Day of the Untimely Nap”. Have you ever had one of these? Where you fall asleep at an odd hour and then wake up at an equally odd one? I don’t know about the rest of the world, but it’s not a good feeling at all. I feel sluggish and grumpily shuffle around the house, making snappy remarks at those who dare cross me. No, kind words do not help.
Yes, that is my prolonged excuse for not writing anything substantial. What I do have are a few suspicious works of MS Paint. The parent of a 8 year old would have been proud with the art.
My parents won’t be, because I was not 8 when I drew this. I was 24. (Now I am 25, just saying.)
Of a mountain road I travelled by.
I stepped into an earlier time without knowing it.
This is a faraway land, born in the rain shadow of the Himalayas.
via the Weekly Photo Challenge