Posted in what pegman saw

THE LAP OF NIRVANA

Picture by Randolfo Santos from Google Maps


The Lap Of Nirvana

© Kelvin M. Knight, 2019

Mist rises to find another day, new or old doesn’t matter. Young or old, I don’t matter. All that matters is today. 

Today my feet kiss this steep path as it rises heavenward while boulders of sweat kiss me. I love these views and am honoured to be offered them again. It seems an unfair exchange for this weight crushing my back.

In the unyielding heat, this basket load of stone tools becomes a basketfull of fruit, which then becomes a basket overflowing with flowers, whose fragrance buoys me at the steepest part of my journey, where my scrabbling fingers bleed to bone and my lungs dry up.

Now stone becomes me, I can begin to understand how they might feel. Only then can I be ready to resume work.

Hundreds of us resume together, chisseling and carving, what we will see when this life frees us from the next.

(150 words)


The above story was written in response to the What Pegman Saw prompt, which this week took us to:

The Buddhist kingdom of Bhutan, on the Himalayas’ eastern ridge.

You are warmly invited to the Inlinkz link party to read other globetrotting contributors’  stories inspired by this week’s prompt.

Click here to enter

Thank you, as ever, Karen and Josh, for hosting this great weekly prompt, and for everyone who takes part.

Author:

First and foremost I am a reader, then a storyteller. My reading tastes are eclectic. My writing can focus around the intimacy of closed settings and may tend towards characters who might be hiding something from themselves.

24 thoughts on “THE LAP OF NIRVANA

  1. So many wonderful lines in this. I, too, especially loved the image of stones, to fruits, to flowers, which buoy the narrator up the hill. The last line really packs a punch! Lovely writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I agree with them, the description is awesome. Myself, I have been many a times to the Himalayas, and your writing feels real! The rocks here are mostly mica, and quite steep so it’s hard to climb. Moreover, most people wear rubber shoes, making the task harder. And then there are always lichens. Good story!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Lovely writing Kelvin. The images of rocks transforming to fruits and then flowers and thus lightening the rock-hauler’s load seems like a fitting way of expressing the temporary nature of existence, and the way everything is perceived through the mind’s eye, even the great beyond. And, very democratically, you give credit to the workers who made this work of art in such a strange and forbidding place possible.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. Upon re-reading, I saw how you used the process of separating rock from the mountain as a metaphor, for our souls or spirit separating (at death or enlightenment?) from this life. Beautiful. We cling so, that it takes a chisel to wrench us free.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. My jaw drops, agog at such beauty, from the image chosen (isn’t that fantastic) to the words that mould into the tale of the stoneworker’s life. Yea. Like. And I might add a smile, but I can’t do a graphic for the swell of my heart. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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