Embedded Temples

[Kathmandu, 10/21/25]

Naturally, something is always messed up. You’re traveling (or living) with the wrong person(s), the prescription on your eyeglasses are off, you’re going blind, deaf or both, you’re too depressed to see anything, you’re so paranoid you see what don’t exist, you fear anyone slightly different from yourself, just about everyone, even those of the wrong age or race, reminds you of your mother, father or a despised sibling, you’re too stupid to learn even three words of any foreign language, you’re too ill or lazy to walk two or three blocks, you can’t eat anything you haven’t had a million times, and fixed just the right way. Still, you travel because death is always near, even if you’re just born, and this earth is all we have.

Damn, this milk tea tastes great! I’m tucked into a shady corner of Shree Gha Vihar, that square with the big enough stupa. I can hear laughing children. Just now, two teen girls strolled by with ice cream cones. An old monk in red robe entered a door. There’s radio noise, but not too loud. At least it’s not Bruno Mars, as was playing at 4 Square. An unseen crow squawks. Nine hours ago, there was a woman writhing on the ground. Dressed in black jeans and a blue top, she had her shades by her head and her phone next to her. In obvious pain, she flashed good white teeth between red lips as she cursed and moaned. People and dogs walked by. This partying chick would need a day to get over that hangover. Recovered, she’d do it again and again.