The Sky People: A snapshot of another life.

I ascended the stairs to a large room, where I now sit by my teacher Lama Tenzin, who is patient and wise. In all the time I have lived at the monastery, this room has not been known to me. Two large rectangular wooden windows open wide to the skies. Windows, unlike those on the lower floors, which are much smaller, are framed to protect against the harshness of the cold and wind.

On a meditation cushion, with a blanket and bedroll by my side, I sit in front of a long wooden table. On top of it rests a writing parchment of great length. We call them dpe cha. I have seen the older monks writing on these large ones and have studied upon them and written on smaller ones and wooden blocks in my scribe lessons. The top page of this particular dpe cha has yet to have anything written upon it. Two large rocks sit at either end to keep the parchment in place. A large ink pot and writing brush sit in wait beside it. My teacher instructs me to be present and aware as much as possible. I am told that whatever I see or experience beyond the window, I am not to leave the room or call out for anyone, to just to write what I see in detail. All will be well.

I ask how long I shall be here doing this. My teacher smiles and with his long hand soft upon my cheek, ‘Patience Norbu, you will know.’

Ahh, patience, a word which I have become accustomed to hearing over the years.

No longer a child and yet to be a man, perhaps I have been chosen due to my quick skills with the brush and interests beyond these walls, which may have some bearing on why I am here. I am yet to know.

I already miss my friend, who has become a close brother to me. Chodak and I sleep together most nights to keep warm and have found great friendship in both our studies and play. We arrived at the monastery at the same time, tearful and full of sorrow, yet the monks have always been very kind, and laughter has long now taken the place of our initial days of sorrow. I have been chosen for this task, whatever it might be, and I must honour Lama’ Tenzin’s instructions not to leave. I am sure I will see Chodak soon.

The beauty of the snow-capped landscape held within these large, long wooden windows reminds me of a painting from a book I was once shown.

The first two days and nights, I keep watch as long as my eyes can stay open. What am I watching for? I ask again when my teacher comes. ‘Simply stay in awareness, you will know.’

A snow leopard, perhaps? I had seen one close up in my early years here. I saw its pale eyes looking at me from the ridge just outside the Gompa, its head and back dusted with snow. It was only for a moment before its large furry tail jumped down out of sight and swished its departure.

Pulling myself back into the present, I scour the mountainous terrain bit by bit, looking as far as I can until the sun sinks and the large moon rises into the night. Rubbing my hands together vigorously and putting them under each opposite armpit for warmth underneath my blanket, sleep again takes hold. When morning arrives, another brother monk brings me food as he had in the days before. Restored with strong determination, I continue.

On the third morning, asleep in meditation position, I feel a rush of warmth fill my body. My eyes open to them in front of me. My body initially jumps backward as they hover in the sky. Both appear as weightless as birds but far bigger. Shining colours blink from the base of these flying machines. Bright blue to emerald green and then to a gold that is richer and more glorious than the sun.

I feel no fear. None at all. I am completely transfixed. I quickly remember why I am here. I open the ink pot, being mindful not to spill, and with brush in hand, note down every detail.

I pull myself into the moment, mindfully clasping the brush between my forefinger and thumb, the texture of my robe moving softly against my forearm. The natural flow of the brush on the parchment as my eyes stay focused upon them. Snow dust forms on my eyelashes only to fall to my cheeks when I finally blink. I am at once present and in awe.

As they dance around each other playfully in the sky, a soft musical sound emanates as a language without words.

When I came here as a small child and, in time, learned to be a scribe, I never imagined this was what I would write about. A feeling of joy fills me from within.

In the distance, I see what seems to be another; the bright golden light it emanates is all encompassing, growing to encapsulate all three. So bright my eyes struggle to stay open, and then in a flash, all three are gone. Vanished.

I alight from the cushion and reach my body outside the windows, looking in all directions. The space between the mountains falls into a white hush of snowfall. I return the brush to the ink pot.

Excerpt from The Weaving Of Consciousness

A work in progress

(Copyright. Odette Nighsky 2026)