Where the future begins

As a man thinketh

By James Allen

Mind is the Master power that moulds and makes,

And Man is Mind, and evermore he takes

The tool of Thought, and, shaping what he wills,

Brings forth a thousand joys, a thousand ills:—

He thinks in secret, and it comes to pass:

Environment is but his looking-glass.

What was this young lass thinking? I had wondered at the time, and even now.

We had arrived in the old Lada with little warning, had interrupted her life. She had seen the curiosity and excitement on our faces yet hers had shown tentativeness, a shyness, which differed from her siblings. Had heard our strange language. Had craned and giggled, tip toed and squeezed closer, as she peered over the youngsters to see her image on our high tech screens. Had quietly helped her mother around the Ger, stirred the big container of yaks milk yogurt by the door, 50 times this way, 50 times that, all the while giving us fleeting glances. Had likely been in awe of us guests sleeping on the special thick woolen mat laid closest to the squat potbelly stove.

And there we were, up at first light, with the women, lending a hand with the morning chores, milking the yaks, untethering their penned up, share milk calves, latching them on to suck dry the almost drained udders. Likewise with the in-milk ewes and does while the men looked after the frisky mares. All livestock, be they yak, sheep, goat, horse were treated like family for they contributed to the well being of all.

And she, quietly confidently naturally did her thing.

What were her secret thoughts?

Were we like some disruptive technology that spurred her to break the mold?

Was she thinking, this is where my future begins?