Tibetan Prayer Wheel Quotes

Tibetan Dreams The sage blue sky awakens before the earth which slumbers a bit longer to still the chill of her bones and dream until the sun peeks hot through her cragged peaks bestirring weary monks to the swirl of their yak butter tea. Monks meditate upon this whorl which echoes the birth of galaxies, the twist of DNA, the curlicue of hair at the back of an infant’s head, eddying clockwise like Buddha’s journey, winding like a prayer wheel, in the resonance ofinterconnection. Bells tinkle, bowls sing, incense suffuses hints of heaven, rainbows of Jingfan prayer flags clap wildly in the wind, waving me to my quest, to surge forward, to trek to higher and higher ground -- to the rarefied air that is my mind.

Tesla claimed that scalar waves can cause changes in the course of time. - Since the human brain can produce these waves, there is the possibility of understanding all paranormal phenomenons, like levitation, remote communication, radionics, dowsing and others. - We can assume that some ancient civilizations have been using these remote communication possibilities with the help of telepathic messages of scalar waves of the brain, adding gravitational components to their thoughts and and spoken messages, while meditating, turning heavy prayer wheels, as well as those small spinning tops, the way Tibetan monks still do today as a part of their prayers. - Today we know that we can produce scalar waves with the Hieronymus machine. When this machine is working, common instruments and detectors don’t detect a thing, but people who are present feel very uncomfortable, with headaches, nausea, and very unpleasant vibrations inside the body, along with the appearance of obvious nervous disorders.

We can’t afford to winter here, we’ll have to move while we can still get out to sea.” “Fine with me. I’m not sure I can take even another week here. The food—” “Not a Meat Olaf fancier, I gather.” “Can anything be done?” “Well, it’s supposed to be for emergencies, but I guess this qualifies as one.” Unlocking a black valise and gazing inside for a moment. “Here you go,” handing over an ancient hand-blown bottle whose label, carefully engraved and printed in an unfaded spectrum of tropical colors, showed an erupting volcano, a parrot with a disdainful smile and the legend ¡Cuidado Cabrón! Salsa Explosiva La Original. “Couple of drops is all you’ll need really to light that Meat Olaf right up, not that I’m being stingy, understand. My father handed this on to me, as did his father to him, and it isn’t down by even a quarter of an inch yet, so do exercise caution’s all I’m saying.” As expected, this advice was ignored, and next mealtime the bottle got passed around and everybody slopped on the salsa. The evening that resulted was notable for hysteria and recrimination. The luxuriant world of the parrot on the label, though seemingly as remote from this severe ice-scape as could be imagined, in fact was separated from it by only the thinnest of membranes. To get from one to the other one had only to fill one’s attention unremittingly with the bird’s image, abasing oneself meantime before his contempt, and repeat “¡Cuidado cabrón!” preferably with a parrot accent, until the phrase no longer had meaning—though in practice, of course, the number of repetitions was known to run into the millions, even as it ran listeners’ forbearance into the ground. In thus acquiring some of the force of a Tibetan prayer-wheel, the practice was thought to serve as an open-sesame to the Tsangpo-Brahmaputra country as well, a point which old Expedition hands were not reluctant to bring up.