And as the world awakes, the sun guides me around the holy lake. A place of true worship, carved Mani stones and piles of rocks, stacked and draped with prayer flags, bedeck her sandy shores. “When you have nothing to offer, offer rocks and imagine they’re precious gems,” my grandmother used to say.
I crouch down. My fingers select the smoothest pebbles around. With the glittering peaks of the inescapable Cho La in the corners of my eyes, I stack the stones in a pile, paying homage to the spirits of the sky and mountains. Om mani padme hung. May they grant us a safe journey over these mountains.
My thoughts turned to prayer. I circumambulate the lake’s smooth turquoise surface, purifying my mind of negative karma and collecting merit for all sentient beings. Now and again I stop, relish
