"What...exactly?" is the usual reaction to this picture that compresses perspective: of a tiny, delicate wafer of compressed sand, wrought by howling winds and flowing water, juxtaposed against mighty Himalayan mountainsides on the distant opposite bank of a mighty river in India's Ladakh region.
Applying finishing touches to a painstakingly constructed Kalachakra Mandala sand sculpture at the Samstanling monastery in Ladakh. The sculpture takes weeks to complete and is then ritually destroyed in seconds. It marks the “profound affirmation of the impermanence of all things”, especially the human condition. After discussing their monastic order - the Gelugpa, or ‘Yellow Hat Sect’ - the monks were kind enough to let me get pretty close to their work, as long as I didn’t bump into anything.
A stark Himalayan hillside glistens in the midday sun somewhere on the spectacular National Highway 1A in India’s Ladakh region. Widely praised for its stunning “moonscapes”, Ladakh is one of the world’s highest and driest plateaus with a predominantly Buddhist population. This mountain spot and moment, too, was rather Zen-like for me, a simple koan to the magnificence of monochrome that nature often throws at you. Its austere contrast also perhaps recalls - in inverted fashion - one of the world’
Tashi, novice monk, poised to score a hit while playing sockball on a sunny afternoon after classes with his buddies 'in the open' at the ancient Lamayuru Buddhist monastery in Ladakh. Perched on a craggy grey-white Himalayan hillside at 3,510 meters, the 11th-century 'gompa' is among the largest of its kind. A friend and I joined in and soon had the little monks howling in delight as they tried to catch that swirling ball thrown high into the mountain air.
