As he rode the narrow, steep escalator down from the area at Los Angeles International Airport where travelers from other countries proceed through customs, I first noticed his engaging grin, one of his most admirable features. In less than a heartbeat later, I noticed how thin he looked. I, who had stood in the baggage claim area for anxious minutes that seemed like hours, wanted Gumby arms that could stretch out to hug him the moment I saw him. My youngest son had arrived safely from Tibet, where he had survived three months in the wilderness eating little more than yak meat and rice. He had lived in a tent with a translator and another researcher from University of California at Los Angeles while they made geological observations about the Tibetan Plateau and conducted experiments as part of their doctoral studies.Once the welcoming tears of relief and joy had subsided, we gathered his belongings, all of which he had crammed into a duffel bag of immense proportions, and headed home to Vista. During the two-hour ride, he entertained and amazed me with tales of his adventures. Once home, he began to share gifts he had brought, including artwork by Tibetan monks, silk scarves worn by Tibetan women and yards upon yards of Tibetan prayer flags.
One can see the flags, he said, throughout Tibet, even in the most remote areas. Strung throughout the mountains, they bless the land and its people. Prayers and sacred mantras written on the flags, the Tibetans believe, will be carried to other people through the wind, thus promoting peach and goodwill. Each of the colors has its own symbolism.
For several years, I shared my flags with students in my classrooms, but I had one strand of 30 feet or more that had sat in my closet waiting to find a home. At last, they have found one.
In my current abode, I have created a sacred space for myself. Quiet and serene, it is decorated with artwork and other gifts from special friends, as well as some of my own photographs. A bookcase brimming with novels I want to read beckons me every day. French doors open onto a small, west-facing deck surrounded by trees. With the doors open, I can feel nearly constant ocean breezes make their way through the valley to refresh the room. And, all right, I admit it, I have a television, mostly for football season and a few shows that have managed to hook me.
One day, while unpacking the last of some moving boxes, I came across the longest strand of prayer flags. On a whim, I laid them out on the deck floor, thinking they might reach all the way around the rail. As I began to tack them up, I realized they would stretch the perimeter twice, almost an exact fit.
Now, even as they have begun to fade after a few months, just as they do in the Tibetan wilderness, I imagine prayers in the wind. I send my prayers out into the spirit world and welcome the prayers that pass through this place, now and throughout the day and night.
