Christopher Golde
Date: 20th February 2000 Location: Himalayan Mountains, Tibet
The valleys below them plummeted for thousands of feet into the abyss, as streams of white cloud, rolled across jagged edges of rock, before cascading on the downdrafts into oblivion.
The wind shifts dragged extraneously on the blades of the helicopter, as it soared between the sheer rock faces that towered above them and also disappeared beneath them into a cauldron of white, swirling mist. It would seem that no life could possibly exist in this extreme environment, but as they rounded the sheer edge of another massive mountain, there it was.
Precariously perched, as if a natural extension of the jagged peak it straddled, was the ‘Temple of Emah’, or ‘Temple of Light’, as the locals called it. In the cliff face below the temple, they could now see the only means of ground entry; a spiralling stone staircase etched impossibly into the sheer rock of the supporting mountain. The stairway disappeared down the mountain and off into the shifting haze that boiled below the ancient structure.
The helicopter edged closer, as the walls of the giant canyon whizzed past in a blur, much to the discomfort of its sole passenger. The skilful Chinese army pilots manoeuvred closer and closer to the temple; and as they came about, a large clearing welcomed them inside the walls of the ancient monastery.
Built hundreds, maybe even thousands of years previous, Sir Nigel Stansen admired the awesome beauty of the building as they descended down behind the walls, onto what he thought, was probably the only open outside area for hundreds of miles. Being able to land the helicopter here, had saved him a long and exhaustive trek up the mountain staircase.
As the giant metal bird touched down on the ancient stones of the monastery courtyard, Sir Nigel could see no immediate signs of life and wondered if their arrival had even been noticed. The co-pilot climbed from the cockpit towards Nigel then unbuckled him and began to unlock the side door of the aircraft. As the door slid open, Nigel was hit in the face by a blast of icy air that reminded him instantly of the extreme altitude. He could see that the giant rotors were still spinning, but slowing gradually, causing whirling eddies of mist to spiral vigorously around the silent stone walls. Alighting gingerly from the craft, he stooped unnecessarily to avoid the giant rotating blades and then took ten, long, carefully placed strides, towards the arched entrance to the temple, until he was clear of the chopper completely.
Once he had stopped, he looked up at the temple and as if on cue, an orange cloaked figure appeared from the entrance and approached. As Sir Nigel walked towards the lone figure, he noted that his welcoming committee was a barefoot, young Tibetan man, probably not yet twenty years of age, with smoothly-shaven scalp and long, slim, bare, brown arms. They met halfway between the modern machine and the ancient temple, Sir Nigel extended his hand, the young man taking it and bowing simultaneously, touching the older man’s hand to his forehead as a gesture of respect. Nigel was surprised by the warmth of the boy’s skin, especially since all he wore was a cotton robe, draped over his shoulders then wrapped around his torso. The Englishman could feel the cold biting into his bones, even with all of his specialized mountain clothes.
Nigel spoke first
“I have arranged by messenger, to meet with Phan Ma Tien, I believe he will be expecting me.”
The young monk said nothing, but bowed his head in acknowledgement, gesturing with a turn of his eyes and a smile, to follow. He immediately turned and stepped spritely back towards the arched entrance. Sir Nigel followed, pulling the fleecy hood of his coat around his face as a shield to the bitterly cold wind. As they passed by a large stone figure of an old bald man in robes, an entrance to the seemingly solid and impenetrable structure appeared. The monk led him through this into an arched hallway paved in cobblestone.
Walking along this corridor, they passed at least twenty large wooden doors until finally, the young monk stopped at one larger and more ornately engraved than the others. He slowly pushed it inwards, until there was enough space for them to enter, and then bade the Englishman go through into what appeared to be darkness. Nigel entered and immediately was stunned at how large this room was. It appeared to be a place of worship, as at the far end, he could see what looked like an altar covered in hundreds of lit candles.
Above him, the ceiling stretched away to the limits of his sight and long silk drapes plunged in sweeping curves of colour until they met the bottom edges of massive stone pillars. These pillars lined the centre aisle leading to the altar and supported huge beams that arched from one side of the temple to the other and were decorated with carvings of lions, frogs, dragons and other mystical beasts. As he walked further into the temple, the noise from his shoes on stone echoed into infinity and the sweet, pungent odour of incense assaulted his western senses.
Eventually, he noticed that there was a small red figure sitting on the floor directly to the front of the stone altar. As they approached this person, the young monk with him stopped, signalling for Nigel to proceed. Nigel passed him and the boy bowed deeply and respectfully, before silently slipping away into the darkness.
Sir Nigel stopped, just short of the stone stairs to the altar, alongside the prone figure in red. The man before him was also smoothly scalped, his ageless face stared without expression towards the candlelit altar. His arms were fully extended to the floor, his legs folded beneath him. Long, red cotton robes draped from his shoulders to the stone floor. Smoke wisped around his hallowed outline, giving the whole scene a touch of surrealism.
Suddenly, the monk’s lips parted and he spoke without turning to look in Nigel’s direction.
“Sit down, please….sit down!”
Sir Nigel looked about him for some form of a seat, but finally, settled to sit on the bottom stone step leading to the candle-laden altar.
Once Sir Nigel was seated, the monk spoke again.
“Mr Stansen, you have travelled far to speak to me, so please speak!”
The words of the monk were soft but firm.
“Yes, well, thank you for giving me your time Mr Tien.”
“It is easy to give what is not mine to be given, Mr Stansen and my name is not Mr Tien, Tien is my given name and Phan is my family name.”
The Monk continued to stare directly ahead of him at the altar as if he were looking into another world, as he spoke.
“Sorry Mr Phan, my western backwardness.”
Sir Nigel was unusually embarrassed by this uncharacteristic slip of formality. The Monk said nothing, so after a short pause, the tall grey-haired Englishman continued.
“Phan Ma Tien, you are a man of great wisdom and I wish only to seek some of your wisdom.”
“Wisdom Mr Stansen is a most precious commodity.”
“The wisdom I seek,” continued Sir Nigel, “may influence the future of our world.”
“Wisdom changes the course of our future every second, Mr Stansen.”
Except for the movement of his lips, the monk still remained motionless as he spoke.
“I believe,” continued Nigel, “you understand the nature of ‘the Beast’.”
Sir Nigel was gambling on a reaction and this time, the monk moved his head slowly towards the seated Englishman.
“So, you seek an audience with the ‘Breath of the Dragon’, Mr Stansen? Is that what you truly seek Mr Stansen?”
Sir Nigel was taken aback; he did not expect such an offer.
“Well…err…yes, yes, of course, is he here? Do you know where he is?”
The monk looked at Nigel and spoke, his darkened teeth exposing the age his face did not.
“He was here, and also those that follow him.”
“Those that follow him,” Nigel blurted out, “he has disciples?”
Sir Nigel was both surprised and excited.
“Not necessarily disciples Mr Stansen, those that seek him as you yourself do.”
This information from the monk exposed Sir Nigel to a fear he had long dreaded.
“You mean there have been others before me looking for him? Who were they,” Nigel asked urgently, now showing his agitation at what the monk had said?
The monk again looked away.
“As you have come to me seeking answers,” the monk continued, “I am sure you have visited others with the same questions, yet you expect to be alone in your quest for truth?”
Sir Nigel looked to the floor then back again to the monk.
“Yes…yes, of course, you are right,” replied Nigel humbly, “it is arrogant of me to think that we alone seek the truth. Can you tell me where now we might find him, the ‘Dragons Breath’?”
“No, I cannot; as you are here now, he too was a visitor seeking enlightenment.”
Sir Nigel shifted uncomfortably on the stone steps.
“Is there anything you can tell me about him, or those that followed after him?”
The monk stood erect, in one gentle upward motion; a movement that seemed impossible to accomplish, especially from his seated position.
“Follow me Mr Stansen,” said the monk, as he moved towards the altar.
The monk then turned to his left, moving swiftly along the front of the altar. His short legs were hidden by his long robes and he moved as if he was gliding on air, rather than walking. The tall grey Englishman stood stiffly, rising from the stone step and followed. They circled a giant slab of stone that was the backdrop to the altar, until on the reverse side, also lit by hundreds of candles, Nigel was confronted by a giant mural. The stone painting on which they now looked, was obviously extremely old. It had faded considerably and cracks created by centuries meandered aimlessly across its surface. Most of the larger fissures seem to emanate from several points on the stone floor, suggesting that the earth had shifted enough to split the giant slab of rock since its placement.
The ancient painting depicted a huge Buddha at its centre, surrounded by the moon, the sun, stars and most of the planets obvious to the eye of early man. Many creatures circumnavigated the Buddha, including an ornately decorated dragon, with ten heads and a long tail that curled up and around the sun and the moon. The eyes of one of the forward heads gave the impression of staring directly at the onlooker with cat-like eyes. A brilliant red forked tongue, leapt from its gaping jaws and flames splashed across the whole right-hand side of the mural. The flames, after curling around the red forked tongue and splashing down to the surface of the earth, surrounded a giant man who stood draped in orange robes, his long blonde hair falling to his shoulders. From his face, brilliant green emerald eyes stared out from a pale white complexion.
The monk was pointing to the giant, his own expression in obvious awe of the significance of the mural before them.
“This is he, this is his face and this is his destiny.”
Sir Nigel stared at the mural.
‘It was magnificent,’ he thought. ‘and this was the missing piece; a vision from the past, a prophecy, and a clue’.
“How old is the mural,” he asked, still staring at the giants face in awe?
“It was drawn by the founder of this order, in the year of man 999. It was his vision, and his prophecy, that at the end of the second millennium the dragon would visit the world of man and this giant would come forth among men, to guide us into its third and final millennium on earth. This temple was built to worship and prepare for this event.”
As the monk pointed to the face of the blonde giant, he announced clearly to Sir Nigel, so that there could be no mistaken inference
“This was the face of he who came here to answer our calling.”
Sir Nigel was excited and did not know which question he wanted to ask first.
“And the others, the ones who followed him?”
The monk turned gracefully towards him.
“There will also be at this time, many false prophets, and there will also be many that will wish to control, or even stop, such great power.”
The monk paused as if questioning Sir Nigel’s intent.
“I assure you,” Sir Nigel blurted out, “our organization has no wish to stop, or control, such greatness, only to learn from the events as they are to unfold, and prepare.”
The monk smiled for the first time.
“I have lived all my life, preparing my mind and spirit for these events; I am at ease with your quest, and this is why I have shown you this mural.”
“And the others,” Sir Nigel urged again?
“Two others, who followed the chosen one, were false prophets and another visitor, with a quest similar to yours, was a Christian priest.”
“Is it possible to find this… man?”
Sir Nigel pointed to the giant in the mural, his eyes once again caught by the stare of the dragon.
“I think it is correct to say, you will find him when it is time, but I can give you no other clues.”
“Anything will help,” Sir Nigel urged.
“As in all prophecy, where the spiritual world meets our world, especially to the extent as required in this situation, there must be some great coming together of the human spirit; a great moment of peace and self-examination for all humanity. This man was born on such an event and will come forth to the world on such an event. To make things even more complex, the stars and the heavens must be in the appropriate positions, for his birth for ascension to take place. Every living moment after his birth would be guided both spiritually and numerically, in almost total obscurity, for the sake of his uninterrupted development. It will only be during the final stages of enlightenment, that it will become obvious to him and possibly people such as yourself, who in fact he is to be. Only after his passing, will it become obvious to the masses. Nevertheless, he will change the world. He will not come from royalty, power or greatness that is obvious, but he will descend from a line of ancient earthly kings. His cloak of obscurity will be carefully woven into the fabric of humanity, and there are dangers. Evil lurks in similar and equal proportions, seeking supremacy over enlightenment and unfortunately, it can succeed.”
Immediately the monk finished speaking, he turned effortlessly and drifted back to the front of the altar, and, even more, intrigued English professor following closely behind. The monk once again lowered himself to his meditating position. Sir Nigel, this time remained standing. The overpowering aromatics of the incense caused his head to spin a little, but the adrenalin pumping through his veins was more than enough to keep him going.
“I have travelled many thousands of miles Phan Ma Tien, in the previous years of my quest, and I am humbly grateful for your assistance, but now I must choose a new direction and though I have learned much from you, I am still unsure of what that direction should be. Can you help me with this decision?”
The monk again did not move but spoke firmly
“I have given you direction already and in time appropriate, you shall be aware of his presence, now I am sorry you must leave.”
At that, Sir Nigel knew his questioning had finished. He looked back up the great hall towards the entrance and to his surprise; the young monk had appeared and was waiting.
Without another word, Sir Nigel bowed deeply to the old monk, who seemed oblivious to his gesture, and then followed the young monk back through the door into the hallway, then to the courtyard.
As he returned to his waiting helicopter, he thought of the old man’s words.
‘He was born during a great event, that brought humanity together in peace when the stars and heavens were appropriately positioned, and he would come once again under the same conditions.’
As the giant rotors of the chopper lifted them up again into the heavens, Nigel looked back at the ancient stone temple and smiled to himself.
‘After all these years, this was the closest he had come to his objective, he knew now he was ever so close.’
Chapter forty six
The Monk
And in the air men shall be seen,
In white and black and even green.
A great man, shall come and go
For prophecy declares it so.
Mother Mary Shipton 1488-1561