Six thousand miles away from the urban jungle that is London is a country called Bhutan. It is a landlocked country in South Asia, located in the Eastern Himalayas. Being a mountainous nation with incredibly high peaks and steep valleys, it's the exact opposite of a metropolitan city and is known for being one of the most underdeveloped places in the world. On one of many valleys there is a temple that houses Buddhist monks with the highest dedication to the practice of meditation.
There are many temples in Bhutan but what makes this one special is that it has no name. It was a quiet fortress that speaks volumes without saying a word.
During the day, the monks silently meditate, and maybe you could hear the quiet scuttling of feet when they do their errands of going into the forest to collect vegetables, washing clothes or doing physical exercises.
However, at night they do speak, with their lanterns perched by every window. They discuss, they tell stories and sometimes permit themselves to do the one thing that goes against their philosophy of remaining in the present. They allow themselves to think about the future.
On the highest floor of the monastery, the head monk was sat on the floor at the end of the main assembly room. Opposite him but several yards was a boy, who could be no more than fifteen years of age, in a kneeling position. On the head monk's left side (or you could say to the young monk's right side), there was a narrow door shaped opening leading to a stone formation and from which you got the best view of seeing the open skies and the stars. There was a monk there also who was managing a fire that was contained in a high sitting fire brazier and crackled and snapped. It was fire set at night, out in the open, as an aid to anyone lost in the foothills or cliff sides, to help overambitious travellers know where they are. A light of hope in the darkness.
The main assembly room was so quiet, the boy could hear the fire crackle and snap outside. He had come to see the abbot but did not yet know what questions he should ask. But he was troubled. He hoped the Abbot would say something and then banished the thought from his mind. For some reason, an old koan, came to mind. A koan is a saying, riddle or puzzle that leads to a profound truth. This one was, "when the road is clear, walk through mud."
"I cannot sleep," the young monk said.
The abbot remained silent. The young monk felt disturbance writhing through him. An unwelcome suffering that affected his gut, nerves and muscle fibres. He felt out of alignment. A lady thousands of miles away, who he had been tasked to watch over, had found herself in trouble. He was about to speak again but Abbot opened his mouth to speak.
"A good rest is well earned," said the Abbot.
"When Mr Snow Globe came to me requesting a monk who has the powers of foreknowledge, I was disappointed in him. To be able to see into the future is a terrible curse for a monk. I was even more disappointed when you accepted to do what he asked." The abbot opened his eyes at last.
The young monk felt ashamed and could not look back in his master's eyes. Instead he averted his gaze downwards to the stony floor. "I wanted to help," the boy said.
"And who are you helping by kneeling here before me?" said the Abbot.
"The lady that Mr Snow Globe asked me to watch over is in trouble," said the boy. "I need to help her but she is thousands of miles away. I thought there would be more time but the major players in this game are already moving." He was tense as he spoke, sweating and shivering.
The Abbot was an old man but sinewy in form with a strong wiry frame and he stood up without the aid of a stick or using his hands. He let out a long breath after he stabilised himself. "The mind is a mad monkey," he said to himself quietly.
He walked towards the boy. "Master Yi," he said. "It seems you came here asking for permission?" He stopped three yards in front of Yi and stared at him with quizzical eyes.
"You have made your choice already," he continued. "Water will flow downstream."
Yi looked into the eyes of the Abbot now and saw concern. His master was not pretending to be wise or stoic, he was in fact communicating his fears for Yi. Yi's eyes widened as he had not seen his master like this before.
"I can control it," Yi said.
"It's not about whether you can control it," said the Abbot. "That power you have is a distraction from your spiritual enlightenment. It's in direct contention with the four noble truths. It will lead you to greater suffering."
"As Mr Snow Globe said, if Avatara is not stopped or controlled, the world will descend into total anarchy."
"Yes it will bring more suffering, as any new creation does."
"And there's something else," said Yi
"What is it?" said the Abbot.
"There is someone very dangerous who has discovered us and discovered my power," said Yi.
"Careless Snow Globe," said the Abbot. "As foolish as he was when he was a boy here," said the Abbot. "You can see all this?"
"Not clearly," said Yi. "But yes I can. He spoke too loosely around someone who he shouldn't have. We are also in danger Master."
"That's enough," said Abbot. "Your fear clouds your judgment. Focus on helping the lady. If you came here requesting permission for that, yes that is what you can do. But don't breathe out the energy of fear in this room. Our fate is our fate."
Yi got his feet and the Abbot took up his sitting position again at the other end of the small hall. Yi turned to leave without hesitation.
"Yi!" said the Abbot. The boy turned around.
"Remember, trying to improve things and make a difference, is an illusion. Be careful. Hope is a fleeting thing."
Yi left the room, leaving a void of silence. The old man alone in the hall. The other monk outside tending to the fire brazier.
"Snow Globe, you fool," he muttered to himself.