PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She had been hetaera to many men from the grandest dignitaries of the land to the lowliest of neophyte monks however this would be her first encounter with the one said to be an avatar of Vajrasattva Father. She saw only a decrepit man seated on a high dais unmoving but for the gnarled fingers of one hand wandering along a loop of prayer beads. His lips did not even move nor did his eyes flutter under their closed lids. She'd been briefed that it was a great honor to serve as consort to the old lama. Nonsense she laughed as she counted the gold coins given her for the appointment. As dusk fell over the landscape, brocade curtains were drawn across the window of the quarters at the pinnacle of the lamasery and butter lamps lit, bathing the chamber in a soft amber glow. A hazy cloud of spicy Nag Champa stirred lazily as a line of monks left the room single-file chanting indecipherably. The woman sat on a silk cushion at the base of the platform where the old lama sat still as a statue. She waited, for what she did not know. On the rooftop above dungchen horns began wailing a deep sonorous drone. Suddenly a shaft of moonlight shone through a portal up high on the wall, landing directly on the lama’s bald head. He stirred emitting a long sigh as if his breath had been locked up inside his body. She watched transfixed as his mantle of infirmity dissolved revealing a radiant youth of supreme beauty. Glossy curls of jet black hair sprouted from his scalp falling in waves to his broad shoulders, his skin glistened with a bluish cast, his eyes shown bright and fully actuated. A multitude of arms rose up in an arc around his body, wielding a myriad of implements. They hung there momentarily then settled back down at his lap. Clutching a dorje in his right hand and a bell in his left he brought them together, joining them with a loud clang which reverberated around the room and set her yoni on fire. The once old lama, now transformed into a resplendent deity, held a hand out to her. As she climbed the stairs toward his outstretched palm one final worldly thought left her mind – that the monastery could keep their gold.