Then he went on to say "but I have spent a long time studying it, and it's like I've built a house, even I don't want to live there anymore I can't just leave it and start building a whole new one... it's too much work. I'm tired."
Something inside me twinged with pain. Even I could resonate with such exhaustion.
But my student, the mindful though quiet observer to the entire exchange, twinged also.
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It was hot when we left. The sun scorched the green leaves on the spindly trees; the coolness of the room had been deceptive and as trudged back to the school gate and plopped down in a nearly deserted teahouse what seemed like a world dribbled gushed forth from lips to shy to speak to anyone else:
When you go back to America? maybe I will cry so much. I am selfish even you only stay one more year it's okay because I only in Lhasa one more year but you can't stay then who is my teacher? Why you didn't tell me your heart is sick for home? Even you can say these things. You know I want to tell you many times send you a message but I don't. This monk. He doesn't believe. I am the same to him. Only he is so bad because he is monk and should believe this. You know I on internet watch this video about Yesu, so much blood Miss Kelly. I don't understand this is a so sad story... but I think can have new life, this new life so good. What can I do? You know you don't know. I will tell you. My life, my hometown people so poor. When I am home we never eat three meals a day. Only one, and only potatoes. Even my father working in field all day he only has potatoes. When I go home see him dirty water comes from his face... I... I know I must study hard. There is no other food in my hometown. I would never complain to my mother but I know I am lucky in Lhasa, so much delicious food, anything I want. And my hometown people, maybe in one year they only have one clothes. Where can they buy new clothes? Where do they have money? You don't know. And in the summer if comes heavy rain hard like rocks all the crops are broken and then nothing to eat... maybe one family only one bag of tsampa and they can only eat very little. You don't know. Maybe if you come there you will cry. But my mother she knows you, I always say about you something. Now I will go to class.
The mouth spoke.
And he wipes his eyes now wide with emphasis now watery with honesty and sighs from the effort of so much English and doesn't fight too hard and so I pay for the tea. And I thank him for telling me and his eyes widen and water again in disbelief.
From the overflow of hearts come truth, doubt, things done, pain, joy, anxiety, horror, and thrill...
From the overflow of hearts come words: echos of dreams, glimpses of souls.
From the overflow of hearts mouths speak.
They have spoken.
