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09/10/2020
Floyd
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47
Meditation at Emei Mountain
Silently the veils of mist creep around the steep rock faces of Mount Emei. Silently the forest lies under clouds, the air is ginger and cool coriander, the sun still pale bergamot in the dense haze.
And under the swinging roofs of the rock temple black tobacco floats in the finest threads, the tar whispers calligraphic images with fleeting gentle strokes on white walls of escapism and vanilla.
The breath of the holy resins in the wooden bowl also smokes delicately, the damp grasses further down in the valley, the blue-grey strokes of the pencil sketch of a delicately branched cedar. After a few hours the images disappear, everything becomes white and silent and empty, as if the deepest moment of metaphysical meditation had arrived.
**
"Chinese Tobacco" is a quiet, skin-tight scent, an inner emigration into a green cool mountain world with a simultaneous stopover in homely spicy smoke and a warming touch of vanilla.
(With thanks to Bloodxclat)
And under the swinging roofs of the rock temple black tobacco floats in the finest threads, the tar whispers calligraphic images with fleeting gentle strokes on white walls of escapism and vanilla.
The breath of the holy resins in the wooden bowl also smokes delicately, the damp grasses further down in the valley, the blue-grey strokes of the pencil sketch of a delicately branched cedar. After a few hours the images disappear, everything becomes white and silent and empty, as if the deepest moment of metaphysical meditation had arrived.
**
"Chinese Tobacco" is a quiet, skin-tight scent, an inner emigration into a green cool mountain world with a simultaneous stopover in homely spicy smoke and a warming touch of vanilla.
(With thanks to Bloodxclat)
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