Where are you now, with your palms together, bowing, your dark red robes wrapping the wisdom of a thousand years, white knife peaks, and over six thousand monasteries? Your home not your home and yet your home always, you wander, you meditate, you chant and pray; you teach, you love, or you stay and must keep quiet. Yet prayer flags still blow in high Tibetan air, prayer flags still blow in the deep dark-eyed hearts of your people. There are places the intruders, the violators cannot reach– places alive with the smiles and tears of your lost land. Red robed ones with your calm eyes upon the world, you who pay homage to the consciousness in all things, you who see far beyond appearances: you know past time, you love past duality, and yet you cry too. The mountains of Tibet, the vast plateaus and green valleys, the sky lakes and blue rivers, the sons and daughters of this sacred land know and wait for you, and for their time within space and beyond to be free.