Flash Fiction - setting exer.

She was back, but right beside me this time.  I could vaguely see her outline against the craggy rocks.  It was bitterly cold, given the altitude of the crossing.  The moon cast shadows all over and at first I wasn’t sure if I was just seeing things, but her contours were visible to me.  Even the multicoloured prayer flags I had noticed that afternoon fluttering around us, seemed to sense her there.

This Tibetan woman had first appeared to me in a dream when I was staying at a monastery in Amdo, just outside of Xining, waiting to embark on an adventure into Tibet.  Difficult times to get in there, but I was about to set off.   Some of my time at the place was spent attending pujas and wandering around the grounds.  The prayer wheels fascinated me.  They were large wooden structures inlaid into the walls of the monasteries.  There were mostly waiguorens staying at the monastery, foreigners, and back packers from all over the world.  There were very few Chinese let alone Tibetans.

I was her one night.  I had the long braids in my black hair, all 108 of them, and I was wearing turquoise and red coral necklaces.  Some of the turquoise and coral was in my hair.  I was in some sort of dress and I slowly spun prayer wheels one after another.  I could feel the weight of them as I pushed them into a slow spin.   One after another, chanting the mantra quietly in the dark.   Chanting it slowly, not the usual quick way I had heard foreigners going through the motions.  There was real purpose in this, or so it seemed.  I was sending mantras up into the air.  I made my way back to my room and I could see myself sprawled on my narrow bed on my pale blue silk dragon sheet sound asleep.  She was there as well and we both spent a few seconds looking at myself. 

I thanked her for the tour, but she was reluctant to let me get back to myself.  I tried to explain that it was me there, not her, and that I had to get back to myself.  There was a strange, brief struggle and I was back in myself, in the small dark room. 

Now this time she was beside me and appeared to be indicating a route through the pass.  Her long braids were swaying with her movement and her smile was enchanting.  I had made it this far, in the back of Chinese trucks filled with road crews.  The pseudo disguise of being a Tibetan man had helped in some ways.   I even managed to use my elementary Chinese with the drivers, who figured me out immediately.  I wasn’t in a sheepskin coat, but more of the tourist version of what Tibetans might be wearing.  It was a great travelling coat, long, and comfortable.  It fit loosely and was effective against most of the weather and all the dust that would rise during the long truck rides.   

A vague sense of unease overtook me, as I followed her around a towering rock.  A bitter wind was weaving around us and through us.  She paused every few steps as if she was waiting for me.  I couldn’t resist and left the sheltered spot I had found to see where she might be heading.  There was a slight scent of unwashed sheepskin lingering in the air and also the whiff of rancid yak butter tea.  Occasionally I could see moonlight glinting off the turquoise and coral in her hair.  I longed for the feel of those stones. 

A few steps later I felt as if I had slammed into a glass wall.  There was no doubt that she was on the other side and could somehow move back and forth between the two.  I noticed she had a mala in her hand and reached for mine. 

My mala is a plain simple wooden one, and as I fingered the wooden beads my Tibetan smiled.  She also became much clearer.  She seemed much more defined all around.  She passed through the wall and stood by me again.  She seemed to be chanting a mantra as she passed through the wall of sorts.  The wind whistled as I held up my mala to the moonlight.  I started saying the mantra in my head and moved my fingers bead after bead along my mala and sure enough I managed to join my Tibetan.  There was a strange feeling as I passed through the wall, momentary breathlessness, and then we were on the other side of the pass. 

The view, even in the moonlight, was stunning.  Endless vistas of plateaus all around us and prayer flags at various crossings moved in the wind.  Not that there was much chance in communicating with my Tibetan with words.  There were many more people on this side of the pass, but I quickly realized they were all spirits.  Not many took notice of me as they moved back and forth across the path.  One person did stand out though.  My grandmother?  What would she be doing in this realm?  I was delighted to see her and it was my grandmother the way she had been before her strokes.  What a treat to see her again.  Yet, as I thought to approach her, my Tibetan blocked the way. 

I tried to move past her, to tell her that it was my grandmother, but I was intercepted at every step.  I resigned myself to the fact that there would be no contact.  Hurt, but still curious about where we might be I realized that I was being edged back to the wall in the pass.  Leaving was easier, less mantras, or so it seemed.

Back on my side of the mountain pass the air felt colder.  My wooden mala still glowed slightly.  I opened up my tightly clenched hand and found a small piece of red coral in my palm.