6 Sang in the desire to smoke (b)
Butter tea and altitude related, but it can deliver my heart beat too fast. People sitting in the window Majiami hands trembling.
India's milk is not concentrated not short, not sweet and salty butter tsampa without his clothes are not red nor yellow, Miss quiet bar inside. The window is transferred through the crowd, women and brawny, heroic guitar and jeans. Head was covered the red-orange yellow, and green green blue-violet, hand twist is the movement of dust and sweat butter miracles. They greet me go to the other into a floating bar in the hat and the top of the ship by the barrel.
Personal writing 'to let the body passing in Tibet', I feel at this moment in Tibet are passing me. Huge amounts of energy rushing toward us, body swelling, eye storms out Kouxian flow to the ground, the pace has been far from. Perhaps in the future will give birth to a lotus blossom in the most subtle of wisdom in the wind in full bloom. I am the Buddha, the Buddha was me. Who dares argue, eating peach palm as I remember.
Yeshe by a family member recalled, went to his home in Kham. One of his relatives had just passed away, there are some things the family needed him the most important men of him. Departure the previous day's night, he touched my hair, saying that you wait for me to take good to eat. I grabbed his denim jacket, and slowly pulled to the front of me. I was looking at his lips-spoken, saying that you should be obedient, do not fight with others; others I not care, because you go to the place where I can not imagine. He smiled, looked indeed good as gold, so I told him my most gentle magic Shi. This magic immense, covering the two of us, blocking the view of all rational light. Just like a drunk in his magic in the fire, and I was the world's most pure wine, to meet his burning, to help him become ashes, to help me into blue smoke.
Morning prayers in a mosque in the distance the sun Yin singing voice slowly rising, I have already occupied the White Horse of the house alone. I lie on the bed, always feel that there is an unknown antecedents's voice whispering. At this point the door was suddenly opened, came in a brown flash girl's face. I turned to see her, but she left. I do not get out of bed a good door, then I realized that maybe there will be guests.
Three days later, the guests arrived.
Door was slammed kicked in, come in a Nepalese girl looks pretty. I was reading a travel book Yeshe, mind hum is heard, another mother forgot to plug door.
The girl entered the room after a butt sitting in a card the most comfortable mat, his eyes looked at me straight. Then she said: "The benefits the West do?" I said, the West is not beneficial. Her breath a sigh of relief, asked: "Where she goes it?" I said who you are, she said she was his sister. I said: "You are his sister she was to go where you do not know it? What's your name?" She looked me dead, and her mouth slipped out a few words in Tibetan. I do not understand the Tibetan language, but I can feel these sentences are not friendly. I said, you said to me in Chinese. She stood up and left. She closed the door, force Timen Road and just as big.
And the benefits the West in Lhasa, I really think the world is ours. We are the Red Kid, we are the Monkey King. We are into heaven, we Havoc in Heaven. We Sang smoke inside the sun, we and the lamas Dadanaonao. Now I find that Lhasa is the benefit the West, and it is mine, but not necessarily ours.
Some things do not look as simple as it seems.
Author: mandala
