Tibet, the air-like mirror, sang for thousands of years of ups and downs, the face of the silence after the dust settled.

Here, the mind will be sublimated, and the dream is like the sky, the white clouds fluttering in the wind,

Let go of those complicated old things, those worldly winds and snow nights, love and sorrow are gone.

Be a devout person, put your hands together, pay homage, practice the Bible, and hold a holy heart.

It’s spotless, unobtrusive, and honest.

Heaven in Tibet, it is a magical legend, a place far away from the sky, an ancient and mysterious place,

A place where people are imaginative and have a dream.

The blue sky, the blossoming white clouds, the vast snowy plateau, the endless mountains and mountains.

One person feels the loneliness and strangeness, the natural taste and the piety of a human body.

Try to touch the blue sky, pick the white clouds, and return to nature.

Going back to a long-awaited dream, playing the Tibetan Tianjie Symphony on the snowy plateau…

When the sun rises, there is a puppet in front of the Potala Palace, and the snow mountain is pure and icy.

There are also blue sky, white clouds, green grassland.

Everything is so pure, everything is so soothing.

Tianjie Tibet has the charm of wanting to unveil the mystery, just like people’s fantasy.

It is pure and natural.

The snow lotus blooms quietly, and the aroma of the barley wine will take away all the sorrows.

Many cattle and sheep live and survive, repeating the ancient and timeless picture,

There is also the Potala Palace standing on the top of the snow-capped mountains, where it seems to be the harbor to keep the soul.

The sky is green, the wild, the horse galloping, indulging in high-song, unrestrained.

All the past and the past are indifferent, and the heart is as calm as the lake.

Looking up at the snow-capped mountains and ice-skeleton bones, it has been here for thousands of years, and the rise and fall of history has been buried under deep snow.

Snow Mountain, Hada, and Potala, the dream of Tibet, and the loneliness of the millennium

The predecessors here will quietly follow the most simple and most folk customs, and fly with the clouds.

Tibet, is the root here?

The smiling face of the sun, the eyes that look like the moon,

Was the gentle long whip still hanging on the back of the sheep in front of the account?

This is a mysterious land, and I want to give birth to powerful wings.

Escape the desert of the centrifugation and look for the wise man who had been obsessed with him in this vast wilderness hundreds of years ago.

Use the sharp eyes of the goshawk to penetrate the clouds with lightning, and scream on the plateau like the Tibetan Mastiff.

Release your arrogant wild heart and give it to the grass.

The turbulent heart is deeply planted in the thickest land of the world,

When the lightning was plowed again, the spores were expected to emerge from the ground.

Life is singing cheerful songs, and the soul is twisting wild dances.

Heaven in Tibet, hangs its songs on the wings of the eagle, and engraves the dance on Mount Everest.

Let the song and dance float on the sparkling snow.

Give the song to the eagle of the snow mountain, let it hover in the sky, let the thunder of the thunder beat the drums, let the eagle wings sing the humming,

Let the storm of the snow-capped mountains blew a strong horn, let the soul twist and scream with Everest…

Tearing the heavy haze and letting the light of the snowy mountains illuminate the dark door.

This is the great freedom of life and soul collision. This is the great light of soul and flesh.

Put life and soul into the sac and bring it into heaven.

The wind of the plateau blows up the grass and blows up the thoughts. It also seems to confuse the long hair of Songzan Qianbu, who is curly and full of ghee.

The beautiful reflection of the little Zhuoma Lake in the backwaters, her half-watered posture, the clouds are close.

Little Zhuoma, in the clear pupil, is the old grandmother of Shantou, who is the Mani heap that is constantly rising along the Ningqing Tanggula Mountain.

Every piece of silent stone is a road to heaven.

On the pilgrimage road, every hurricane smashes through the grass; every sun shines for the gold of the years.

The lonely prayer wheel lingers in the sun, chanting the praise of the sun and the prayer of the soul.

Gesang flowers spread all over the hills, and the snow-capped mountains of Zhuo Ma’s black and white are cold. The river is meandering.

A long-circled black eagle. Above the snowy mountains, there is a contrasting black and white print.

Nam Co Lake is also a sleepless eye, looking at the sadness of a horse and the tall figure of Mani.

Old and muddy, the road to pilgrimage is far away.

It is a piece of Mani stone that is constantly rising in prayer, a colored prayer script that is tumbling through the column.

It is the turquoise of Dolma’s silver headdress that looks up to autumn.

In the distance, it is the long sky and the floating clouds supported by the wild horses. It is the road to the pilgrimage of the distant pilgrimage on the top of the white tower.

After the footprint, there will be silent rumors, carved with stones;

There will be a story of the soul, like the dewdrops between the leaves of grass, shining with sorrow, silently…

In the silence, the earth is listening, the Condor is listening, the stone is listening, and Gesang is listening.

From the distant clouds, fold the long road of the pilgrimage and bear it on your shoulders.

The holy mountain, coming to you, holding a true heart; coming to you, holding the wind and dust all the way.

The law is sorrowful and sorrowful, the heart is brilliant, the golden dome is shining, and the instrument is brilliant in the hall.

The gleaming lamp next to the brilliant instrument flashes and shines on the Buddhist scriptures.

Silently, the road to pilgrimage rises. This is a group of people who are born on the road and do not return.

No nation has so much awe and so devoted to the singing of life and nature;

No nation, the love and admiration for life, is to measure and shorten the distance between yourself and the sacred.

Look for a country with a clear spirit, a lifetime of life, from the shore of the soul to the other side.

Tibet, willing to turn into a reincarnation of stone in your arms, this life and present.