Lhasa: Sunlight and faith in the holy city of snow.

When the plane flies over the Himalayas or the train slowly passes through the Qaidam Grassland, the holy city located at an altitude of 3,650 meters gradually appears before your eyes. Lhasa, which means "the land of gods and Buddhas" in Tibetan, is not only a geographical coordinate on the roof of the world, but also the crystallization of a nation's thousand-year-old faith. Here, the sunlight is particularly generous, almost penetrating every inch of the air; the faith is particularly strong, enough to make every visitor rethink the meaning of life. The Potala Palace is undoubtedly the most spectacular statement of this holy city. This palace-style building complex built against the Red Mountain, with the White House and the Red Palace complementing each other, presents a breathtaking beauty under the sunshine of the plateau. It was built more than 1,300 years ago by Songtsen Gampo to marry Princess Wencheng, and was expanded on a large scale during the reign of the Fifth Dalai Lama. When climbing the more than 900 steps, the altitude makes each step heavy, but this physical difficulty is like a purification ritual. When you finally stand on the White House Square and look up at the thirteen-story palace, with its golden roof shining in the sun and prayer flags fluttering in the wind, you will suddenly understand why Tibetans regard it as the dojo of Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva - this is not a masterpiece of human architects, but the manifestation of faith itself in the world. There is always a flow of devout people around the Jokhang Temple. This most sacred temple in Tibetan Buddhism houses a life-size statue of Sakyamuni at the age of 12, a precious Buddha statue brought into Tibet by Princess Wencheng. In the early morning, when the first ray of sunlight illuminated the golden Dharma Wheel on the top of the temple, people who were prostrating themselves had already begun their worship. They put their hands together and raise them above their heads, then lower them to their faces and chests, then prostrate themselves on the ground and tap their foreheads lightly on the ground, repeating this cycle over and over again. The bluestone slabs have been polished to a mirror-like shine, recording countless prostrations over thousands of years. The most shocking are the pilgrims who come from Qinghai, Sichuan and even further afield, prostrating themselves. They may spend months or even years measuring the land with their bodies just to reach this spiritual lighthouse. Standing at the corner of Barkhor Street and watching these pious figures blend into the flow of people on the prayer path, one will have an illusion: time here is cyclical rather than linear. Barkhor Street is the beating heart of Lhasa. This circular prayer path surrounds the Jokhang Temple and is both a religious place and a stage for life. In the early morning, people circumambulating the temple move slowly in a clockwise direction, and old men holding prayer wheels chant in low voices; during the day, it turns into a bustling commercial street, with Tibetan jewelry, Indian spices, and Nepalese handicrafts shining in the sun; in the evening, the aroma of butter tea wafts from the teahouse, and Kham merchants wearing cowboy hats sit at the same table with lamas wearing crimson robes. The yellow building of Maggie Ami Restaurant still stands. It is said that this was the place where the Sixth Dalai Lama, Tsangyang Gyatso, met his lover. The contradictions and deep affection of the poet Lama who wrote "How can one achieve both in this world, without failing the Tathagata and without failing you?" seem to still linger in the air of Lhasa. The magic of Lhasa lies in the fact that it allows different worlds to coexist harmoniously. Outside modern department stores, Tibetan women still maintain the habit of weaving traditional braids; the flashlights of smartphones and the ever-burning lights of butter lamps illuminate the temple halls; tourists from all over the world sip sweet tea in the same sweet tea house as local Tibetans. This coexistence is not a superficial compromise, but stems from Tibetan culture's tolerance of differences. This quality is particularly evident when watching monks debating at Sera Monastery - the questioner high-fives when asking questions, the respondent responds calmly, and after the heated debate both sides will smile at each other. This state of mind that combines the pursuit of wisdom with a peaceful mind may be the best gift that Lhasa gives to impetuous modern people. When night falls, the Potala Palace is outlined with majestic lights, and the starry sky seems to be within reach. At this time, the Lhasa River Valley became quiet, with only the sound of turning prayer wheels and the sound of Buddhist bells coming from distant temples. In this place closest to the sky, people can more easily hear the voice of their own heart. Lhasa is not a tourist destination to be glanced at, but a spiritual place to be felt with the heart. It teaches us: in this age of pursuit of speed, some values ​​need to be approached with the piety of bowing; in today's material abundance, the height of the spirit also determines the quality of life. When leaving Lhasa, people take away not only the photos in their cameras but also some indescribable changes - like the marks left by the plateau sunshine on the skin, or the echoes of the chanting engraved in the memory. The gifts this city gives to every visitor are different, but they are all definitely related to faith, sunshine, and a deeper understanding of life.