The light from the last window at the bottom of the far wall illuminated the Buddha’s feet, one of which I was about to land—the right, I believe. And the old Buddhist monk hadn’t noticed me. His head was slightly tipped, not as in prayer—the sense of it was that he was deep in thought. Clearly it was best not to disturb him with my questions. So I began to look around for a door. I imagined that outside this door there would be a remote Chinese village where except for the main thoroughfare there were unpaved roads. I imagined modest stone cottages. Oxcarts. Bicycles. An open air market. A shop. A small restaurant. One taxi. A hotel miles away. The airport even farther. And a young person who spoke English and smiled a lot. I looked forward to food, postcards, a phone. Souvenirs. A camera! An explanation.
Now I wonder—was I wearing shoes or even clothing? Or, given the immensity of the temple and the Buddha, was I a 32 year old, 5’2” – 120 pound, flesh, blood, muscle, and bone woman? I may have been nothing more than a dust mote amongst the dust motes. Beyond that door with a slight puff of wind or the sneeze of the helpful university educated smiling person—where would I have been propelled to next?
Still enjoying following along in this exploration.