Garthar Chöde, 2004

In our cell a monk, smiling with all thirty-two teeth, brought me two thermoses of hot water and a bucket for washing my feet. I noticed it was the same bucket the monks’ food had been served from, and was moved by such a degree of respect. The monk had no intention of leaving: he wanted to help with the evening foot-washing. I found that unnecessary, tried to explain with gestures why we had ice axes in our cell, and politely showed him to the door.