It’s been twenty years, almost to the day, since I took this photograph.
Twenty years since I gave up my place on that damp patch of Dharamsala earth to one of the countless Tibetans who could better understand His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s teaching.
As I walked alone along the road to Bhagsu you came up behind me, silently took my hand, and together we walked. Five of your steps for every one of mine, then slower and slower still until my steps became yours.
You didn’t smell flowers but inhaled them (and wore a rim of mustard pollen around your nose); didn’t avoid cows, but ran to each one and greeted them. The flowers you didn’t inhale were set adrift in the stream. We watched each one until it disappeared around the bend, as if there was no other reason for that moment.
- This postcard comes from Matador Community member Scott Hartman.