From Ki-Gompa to Meteora , a trip in search of ourselves

When the sun goes down in Ki-Gompa, on the Sipiti River valley, in Tibet, the grand Himalaya begins its lament. The wind plays hide-and-seek through the labyrinths between mountains and valleys. But, as night falls, all, including the river and the rock, the swift flora and the scrublands become mute in a collective pensiveness. I had never heard such fruitful, talkative silence. On my bed, the floor itself, covered with a mat and a fur blanket, silenced the heart beats coming from Mother Earth. It was like everything had really stopped working, as if we all had died or lived in a timeless dimension. My chest dialogued with the chest of the broad valley. My brain conversed, silently, with an also silent universe's brain, and my blood talked with nature's blood. This way, we felt asleep effortless to be woken up by powerful mantras from monks searching for a way to escape from life's noises and insistent questions.Perhaps I'll never return to the Ki-Gompa monastery, or, maybe, I was never there.