Many many years ago, long before my great great grandpapa was born, or yours for that matter, there was a very Old Temple situated so High in the White Mountains that few even knew it was there. High up there beyond the mist there was a Miraculous Heavenly Valley, one of those out of time sort of places like an oasis... Volcanic activity kept the mineral rich waters just warm enough to swim in without ever needing to get out and the rising steam filled the Valley with a microcosmic environment very much akin to that of the tropics. At the base of the Valley, which was quite large, there was a Beautiful Temple of Resonant Light, elegantly carved from crystal and natural glass. Though tucked gently away behind folds of clouds and mountain peaks it was a sight to see for the few loan travelers who arrived at its gates, and even more so for those who stayed. The Valley was so large in fact that as the foliage followed the River up the slopes of the mountains the climate shifted from mild and tropical through temperate and into downright arctic conditions. There was an old stone Path that followed the river up into the mountains, winding through the canyon, a Path as old as the Temple itself, perhaps even Older. It was well worn, but still moss grew gently into the cracks between the silver cobblestones. Occasionally it would cross the River on a bridge bound to the canyon walls and adorned all across by hanging vines, sipping gently on the River below. It did seem to go on forever.

The inhabitants of the Temple and the surrounding Village were few but closely knit, no more than ten or eleven families at a given time over the generations. Sometimes a group would take pilgrimage to the outside world, only for a distant descendant to return many generations later, and sometimes new travellers would arrive, always welcomed with a warm cup of tea, or coffee, if they preferred. They were fed, clothed, and assigned roles according to their aptitudes, a great many of them going on to become wise old leaders of the Council.

Many spent their whole lives in the Valley. Countless young scholars and artists were raised in its gardens, bathed in its pools, and gifted knowledge from the Elders and the ancient tomes of the Temple's Library. There was an air of eternality throughout, no one could say how long the Temple had been there, it was built before anyone could remember, and it didn't seem to be going anywhere so the people were content to live gently amongst each other, walk from pool to pool, and contemplate their lives. Sometimes it almost seemed like they could fly.

And this was the Way, for it was the only Way we knew...

One day a Child was born. There was much hullabaloo and celebration, as there always is at such monumental and joyous events. The village collected as a festival and brought the Youth up the steps of the Temple to the Baptism Chamber within, where the warm waters of the Valley flowed infinitely in a crystal bowl, carved into the chamber by the flowing waters. The Child was Baptised and Blessed of the Way and there wasn't much else about it. The People returned to their Festivities and were Joyous.

The Youth was quite astute; a quick Learner and an engaging Student, always finding depth and introspection in the lessons brought by the Teachers. For many years the Youth found Home in the safe confines of the Library, filled with its many miraculous translations of the lives of Student-Teachers passed. When the Youth was well learned and of age He was initiated as a Man into the Order to be prepared as a member of the Council that he may learn the Way of the Elders.

And so it was.

As with all of us, the Man aged and became Wiser. In time, He was welcomed as a Monk into the folds of the Council.

His love of learning never left him. Amongst his duties as a Council Member was the Study of the History of the Order, the Temple, and the Valley itself. He learned of His Ancestors, the Skills of Crafting, Creation, and Divination; he learned of History, Geology, and Physics, He learned of the Men and Beasts that came Before. He Became a Student of the Art of Learning.

In His time, under the guidance of the Council, the People prospered and were joyous, as they always had been and it seemed they always would be.

When His long years became of Him and He had become One with the Council he was invited to join the Elders in their Meditation, and He did. Happily the Monk retired from his role in the Council and took respite in the Loving Embrace of the Valley. Walking gently amongst its gardens and pools as he had when he was a Youth.

One day, as the old monk was walking up the Path that followed the River, he simply decided to keep going.

He was well cloaked for the journey and carried with him a small ration of good bread and so he travelled onwards into the mountains.

He climbed higher and higher up the Path, with its many steps and bridges, he saw the flowers, ferns, and wide leafed plants change to grass and shrubs, then bushes and forests of what became just lonely old trees holding themselves with powerful roots to the windswept rocks in the snow. He continued up the Path until all around him was a gentle swirling of white snowflakes and bluffs banked with snow.

The icy mist and swirling snow surrounded him until he could barely see until, miraculously, it parted, and a beam of golden evening light shown upon him and the swirling snowbanks before him, and too his astonishment, perched high on a knoll of billowing snow in the distance, there was a White Dragon, shrouded in soft wings of weathering wind.

That the Dragons knew of the Valley was known but it had been so long since anyone had truly seen a Dragon that even the Elders could not Say if there were any left today.

But here One was. Resting in the snow.

The White Dragon also Saw the Monk.

It gazed into him with eyes like Diamond Rainbows.

Fear had left him long ago so the Monk walked calmly up the bluff to where the White Dragon rested its Wing in the snow.

The Monk Remembered the White Dragon from Before.

Their gaze remained transfixed as the White Dragon nodded and lowered its Wing to the Monk, inviting him to climb aboard.

The man reached out and rested his hand upon the silver-white scales of the White Dragon's Armor, feeling the infinitely smooth surface almost like dust upon his fingers and palm.

Light Filled His Soul.

As if he had done so so many times before, he cast his body upwards onto the back of the Great White Dragon and rested with It there in the snow before the Dragon gracefully spread its wings wide as can be and began to fold them into the Swirling Wind, gently carrying both Monk and Dragon Aloft.

They Flew Together Effortlessly Up the Beam of Light as the Clouds Parted Above and the Frozen Mists Around Dissolved Into Emptiness - Filling the Valley with light.

They could See the Temple Gleaming in the Distance like a Beam of Light in a White Sky.

They Flew Together Up

Effortlessly Up

They Flew Together Up

We Flew Together Up.

We Are One.

Perhaps Suddenly.

Perhaps Not-So Suddenly.

We Are One.

As the stars flew up around us, the light filled our minds until finally, the monk began to descend. As he came back down to Earth he stretched out his arms and felt instead great and powerful wings. Claws where once he had hands, and a tail steaming behind him.

With the gentle folding of his wings in the wind, he came to rest on a snowbank.

Gazing through his newfound eyes, he saw an old monk walking gently towards him, lowered his wings, and invited the monk aboard.

We are one.

Our words, like wings, grow upwards from us...

Like Beads on a Chain.