I have recently returned home from a week solo in the White Mountains of California. What a place! (see photos) Terma in White Mountains
After passing rain thigh-high sagebrush startles into fragrance. Between boiling clouds a crevasse of blue – one world opens to another. Came down chute of shale shards sounding whispered singing old women twisting fibers out of cave smoke and starlit air. At bottom green grass, water trout color of blood and twilight mixed. Without hands or words wafting in clean presence. Note: In Tibetan tradition, "terma" means "hidden treasure", and refers to teachings planted long ago for later rediscovery.
1 Comment
Lynn Zachreson
9/17/2014 11:04:38 am
Thank you for the beautiful poem and the gift of "Terma" -- wonderful.
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