Gol gul sa
-Somewhere near the 37th parallel north, and a hundred and twenty seven degrees east, there is a mountain from which the chants of monks can be heard. To get there, one must walk along a solitary stretch of road, along a ditch. In the cold dry wind of spring, not a sound, other than the scratching, each footfall, digging at the dirt road, pebbles scattering under the weight. Somewhere on that mountain is a path that leads to a cliff, peace inscribed on the mountain’s side in stone, an image, immovable. Each step must be overcome, upward, along the ledge […]