Legend LXIV The Legend of Shangri-La

More about Legend LXIV The Legend of Shangri-La

In those days, when the world still slept young in the dream of the mountains, travelers told of a place that hovered between breath and eternity—a valley of light above the clouds, where time passed with closed eyes. No one knew if Shangri-La was a thought or a lost heartbeat of creation, but those who ventured into the silence of the high trails sometimes heard a distant ringing, as if invisible bells called through snow and sky. Thus began the legend, and so it traveled from mouth to mouth, until one traveler decided to follow it. His name was Tenzin Doré, son of a blacksmith whose hands were hardened against cold and rock. His heart carried the restless wind of the east, and in his dreams, since childhood, he had seen a valley of golden silence, above which prayer flags floated like wings. No one believed him; Even the old people just shook their heads and said Shangri-La was a fairy tale, offering solace to the weary and direction to the restless. But Tenzin smiled, grabbed his woolen coat, filled a wooden bottle with spring water, and set off at dusk, not knowing whether the paths would lead him or swallow him up. For three moons he wandered, through valleys where shadows lurked like wolves, over ridges where snow hung in the air like glassy dust. The sky was his only witness. Once he found tracks in the ice—barefoot, small, as if children or spirits had danced before him—but they vanished like thoughts in a storm. On the fourth night on the back of the world, as stars streaked across the sky like sharp splinters, he stood before a stone bridge leading to nowhere. No railing, no joint, only an arch spanning an abyss whose depth swallowed even the echo. And then he heard them: soft, distant, like a heartbeat on the wind—the bells of Shangri-La. He pressed on, step by step, until mist flowed over his boots like cold silk. The sky opened, and clouds glowed like sleeping stars. Before him rose a valley otherworldly. Crystal temples shimmered in turquoise and gold, as if carved from frozen light. Waterfalls cascaded silently into endless depths, and floating bridges connected gardens that shimmered in the sun's breath. Monks in red and white silk robes stood there, serene as prayers. One smiled, as if he had been waiting for him."Welcome to the breath of the world," he said. "Only those who leave doubt behind find Shangri-La." His voice sounded like snow in the moonlight. Then Tenzin was led through halls whose pillars were made of clear rock crystal. In a garden of lotus blossoms glowing in the evening light, he saw scrolls on which the years had ceased to count. Time was a rare guest here—and a willing servant. But the wonder carried a shadow. That evening, as the moon hovered like a golden thread over the peaks, Tenzin saw a young woman standing at the edge of the cloud bridge. Her gaze was distant, sorrowful, as if she were listening to a song he could not hear. “Why are you crying?” he asked.