Anonymous asked: tara is a tibetan goddess. google it
Oh look, passive aggressive anons answering a question that is at least a year and a half old on a blog that hasn’t been touched in months, getting after me because they couldn’t be bothered to read the post about how I had already looked this up. Cute.
Now, if you’d go back and read the actual post (or should I just quote if for you since you clearly didn’t bother to look at it the first time?) what I said was " I can’t seem to find any sites which seem reliable to learn more …”
As in, I did google it, and found very few reliable sites with any input from anyone who seemed to actually know what they were talking about with any degree of certainty; let alone someone who actually worships her. SO, I asked tumblr if anyone had any better, more accurate information.
If you want to play the holier-than-though-you’re-lazy-for-not-trying-to-teach-yourself-everything-about-someone-else’s-religion-despite-knowing-your-own-ignorance card, go do it on someone else’s blog; because this wasn’t an “educate me I won’t do it myself” post, this was an “I am trying to educate myself and am asking for help because I am having trouble doing so” post.
And if you are going to do that, maybe you ought to consider giving yourself some real credibility first: I.E. using capitalization and punctuation, and coming off of anon.
and revisit this blog.
The blog is doing stunningly well… without me. I’m gaining followers without a word.
I don’t know what that’s about yet. Maybe I’m trying to come back home.
Old spirits, intermingling where each individual peak joins the body, but distinct. Some ranges are old sentries and some are tougher, more active, very awake and very alive and not gentle with you so much as real with you. You have to learn to coexist with them, you can’t just stomp all over. The landscape, everything will prevent you from just tramping everywhere like humans do. They’re are blanketed in life and growing things and history and they don’t necessarily mind us, but they are perfectly fine without us, too. Their old spirits that can be neither reached nor broken, lofty and steady and strong.
Sometimes I think I can almost feel them, like I am so sure that they’re real and not just some imagining of my own, like they know me. Sometimes I swear the mountains call me. I picture this place, where I’m looking out under the moon and peak after peak after peak after peak rolling away into the night, absolutely still but so PRESENT, and I don’t notice the smell or the clean air or the chill or the season really, just the image and the feeling it brings.
If spirits can wander, if they have to stay on earth and we don’t get to be reunited with our loves ones, if heaven is a lie and if we just end up as whispers on the winds and a memory of consciousness, I’d like to go to the mountains, and spend eternity just watching over the peaks as they cascade away over the horizon into forever, a timeless whisper in the rocks.
I don’t want to dare driving it
I don’t want to be somebody’s passenger
I don’t want a hotel
I don’t know how to pitch a tent
I do not want to visit a town or place
I do not want to be alone out there
I want to stand somewhere with a sense of security at my back
and all the world in front of me under the moon
in the impossible dark of endless trees
rolling away like frozen rock-hewn waves
and look at the mountains
under the stars.