Post by Storyteller on Aug 11, 2016 21:20:28 GMT
Clutching your ticket and boarding pass, you finally make it through security at Heathrow. The line was tremendously long but you persevered. Checking the flight information, you head towards your gate and try to remind yourself that a long weekend in a mountain ashram will make all of this hassle worthwhile. Visions of relaxing days of meditation, yoga, simple meals and enlightened conversation fill your mind and help to calm you down. Passing through the flow of humanity around you is a challenge but you are able to weave through with minimal effort. For a moment you are surprised to hear the sounds of a sitar wending through the terminal and turning a corner to see a group of saffron-robed individuals in a circle around a sitar player doesn't really help as much as you would think. The monks seem to be chanting a low, soothing mantra and letting the music wash through them. A begging bowl rests in front of the group with a few coins in it. Shaking off the confusion, you press on, headed towards your gate.
After an interminable walk, your heart drops as you arrive at your gate only to find the flight delayed. Checking the screens, it seems as though the flight won't be leaving for at least eight hours. Already there is a line of people at the gate desk demanding an explanation. Visions of mountain vistas and the gentle trickle of fountains pop like soap-bubbles. However, a small tugging thought runs through your mind. It's less of a full thought and more an impression, a memory of the monks you saw earlier. The scent of lotus blossoms fills your nose. Maybe it would be worth it to try and haggle with the gate clerk, or maybe the incongruous monks can offer some guidance.
After an interminable walk, your heart drops as you arrive at your gate only to find the flight delayed. Checking the screens, it seems as though the flight won't be leaving for at least eight hours. Already there is a line of people at the gate desk demanding an explanation. Visions of mountain vistas and the gentle trickle of fountains pop like soap-bubbles. However, a small tugging thought runs through your mind. It's less of a full thought and more an impression, a memory of the monks you saw earlier. The scent of lotus blossoms fills your nose. Maybe it would be worth it to try and haggle with the gate clerk, or maybe the incongruous monks can offer some guidance.