the sound of horns

by Jason Anders

Life around the temple moves with the rhythm of the practices and performances of the place. Awakening pre-dawn by the sounds of horns. A cool breeze moves the fabric flaps leading inside. Incense sneaks out.

Sleepy monks trail up and down the steps, having left their warm covers, flying into the temple like jumping deer. Into the twisted swath of robes, they sat facing one another. Ah, they were the lucky ones.

Teapots, curved spouts belching white steam, placed outside the entrance. The tea was coming and breakfast too. But first, aspirations to Vajrakilaya, our pledge to become the dispeller of spiritual obstacles to enlightenment.

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