She had been approaching the forefront of my thoughts since I set foot on my path, every memory of being close to her, upon her and within her brought a smile to my face and rushed blood to my heart, I felt my face blush at the idea of roaming her beautiful mountains again.

Like a lost soul that dwells, like a loving heart that swells, like tear drops into a well I find my solace when she’s in sight but to her it matters less than little, I can tell; with her pure coat of snow, with her defined edges, curves and ridges; with her wisdom, coolness and stillness, I approach her with equal parts of caution and determination; at sensing my presence she blows her sweet and tender winds into my face, as if to greet me and welcome me. But with every progressing step she seems to be shying away under her white veil, only to later reveal herself with a reaching hand and beautiful smile that would deceive any living being into thinking her intentions were that of love and care. She’s not the mother, the carer nor the lover of any, she’s the conniving mistress to all that walk her paths.

“Whatever we have done with our lives makes us what we are when we die. And everything, absolutely everything, counts.”- Sogyal Rinpoche

She stands high, she stands tall, she refuses to meet my eye, she stands proud and encompasses all. I walk among her spine tenderly and carefully for so many a man have fallen victim to their own desire and pride, so many a man before myself have fallen to their demise, a reminder for the others of the fragility and impermanence of everything.

Departing with a high and approaching a lower altitude, the monks are chanting into a trance, the incense burns, the horns wail, the drums rumble and the cymbals remain patient like two separated souls waiting to embrace in union and finally the soaring eagle calls in farewell; I run with pleasure and ease. Now down; the trees are now greener and the water flows freely, the flowers are plentiful and the rocks rustle beneath me, I move so quick with no desire to stop, no desire to reach my destination,  I desire to go on forever, I desire to be constantly coming down from a mountain, but I can’t. I am impermanently elated and elevated.

And yaks do not produce dairy.