From the Diary of a Long Forgotten Traveler

While I was traveling through the Swarga highlands of the great Himalayas, I met an old seer.  This codger was as blind as a bat, and had lost one ear in the great Battle of Namka Chu, yet he was as lucid and quick as a jackrabbit.  He was called Dorje, which translates as “indomitable” or “thunderbolt,” and much like the thunder, which although invisible, can echo indefinitely off of the mountain chasm, so too was Dorje everywhere and nowhere at once.

One evening, I stood perched on a jagged, mossy cliff, overlooking a wide crevasse.  In the daylight the sun shone brightly, illuminating gray rocks sometimes green with vegetation, but more often blanketed with snow.  But at night, when shadows covered the earth, only the stars in the sky could be seen.

Earlier in the day there had been festivities in honor of his holiness, the Dalai Lama.  Dorje, costumed with streaming flags, danced an ancient rite.  His movements were slow and precise.  Every turn of his wrist, every footfall, done in perfect rhythm as the bells softly chimed.  He was mesmerizing.  According to ancient belief, Dorje was now possessed by dharmapala Pehar, a six-armed god.  Of course, I never let myself get caught up in local superstition.  Still, there was magic in Dorje that day.  From across the courtyard, I spied Bolormaa, Dorje’s ward.  She was neither bright nor beautiful, but her heart was filled with a kindness I had never known.  Perhaps it was her naiveté that drew me to her, or perhaps that she never seemed to quite fully understand what was happening around her.  I always understood too much.

*  *  * 

I looked up into the sky.  So many, many stars. 

In the distance, I could hear footsteps clumsily approach.  It was Bolormaa.  I knew her by the way she ineptly shuffled her feet when hurried.  I turned and lifted my lantern.  I could hear her heavy breathing amidst the shadows.  As Bolormaa came into view I could see her bulbous breasts swinging wildly in her chuba.  It had been so long since I had seen a woman, even longer since I touched one, and even the aging Bolormaa in all her plump awkwardness made the hair on my neck stand up.

Reaching me, she stopped, resting her meaty hands upon her thighs for support.  For a moment we were silent as she drew breath.  I stared back at the infinity beyond; the infinity I wanted to be a part of.

“Khe-rahng ku-su de-bo yin-peh?” she rasped.

How do you think I’m doing, Bolormaa?  Trapped in this village day after day.  Wanting your touch but not daring to reach out?  She smiled a rotund, toothy smile, her eyes squinting up and disappearing into the creases of her face.  She usually smiled when she had no concept of the consequences at hand, and I had never wanted her more.   

I took a step toward her.  Just then the wind picked up and in the distance I could hear the hungry growl of thunder, like a tiger waiting to strike.  Dorje was always watching and I would never be free to take what I wanted.

“La yin,” I muttered.  I’m doing just fine.