Spiritual practice

“Spiritual practice” is not about withdrawing from the world, but about learning to view it with gentleness.

Around the Kathmandu Valley, many Tibetan monasteries stand as traces of years lived in exile. Since the unrest in Tibet, numerous monks have crossed the snow mountains to arrive here. What they brought with them was not only religion, but also a living cultural memory.

Once, in the back courtyard of a monastery, an elderly lama sitting on stone steps, basking in the sun, slowly turning his prayer beads in his hand. I asked him whether leaving his homeland had been painful. He replied with just one sentence: “Where the heart is, there is home.” In that moment, I understood that true strength is not about how much one possesses, but about choosing compassion even after loss.

At the foot of the Himalayas, monasteries are more than mere buildings. They are beacons of faith, continuations of culture, and places where many find refuge for the soul. There, you feel a long-lost sense of quiet — not the absence of sound, but the stilling of the noise within.

Perhaps each of us carries a monastery in our own heart. When the world becomes too fast, too loud, too chaotic, we need only remember those figures chanting softly on the high plateau of Nepal to recall this: compassion is not a slogan, but a choice; peace is not escape, but courage.

And those monasteries remain in the wind, offering their prayers for the world.

「修行」並不是遠離世界，而是學會如何溫柔地看待世界。

在加德滿都谷地周圍，許多西藏寺廟是流亡歲月留下的痕跡。自從西藏動盪以來，不少僧侶翻越雪山來到這裡。他們帶來的不只是宗教，更是一種文化的記憶。

有一次，在寺廟後院看到一位年長的喇嘛。他坐在石階上曬太陽，手中慢慢轉著念珠。我問他，離開故土是否難過。他只說了一句：「心在哪裡，家就在哪裡。」那一瞬間，我明白到真正的力量並不是擁有多少，而是在失去之後，依然選擇慈悲。

在喜馬拉雅山腳下，寺廟不只是建築。它們是信仰的燈塔，是文化的延續，也是許多人心靈的歸處。你會感覺到一種久違的安靜——那不是沒有聲音，而是內心終於不再喧嘩。

或許，我們每個人心裡都有一座寺廟。當世界太快、太吵、太紛亂時，只要想起那些在尼泊爾高原上默默誦經的身影，就會記得：慈悲不是口號，而是一種選擇；平靜不是逃避，而是一種勇氣。

而那些寺廟，就在風中，一直為人間祈福。