It is a precious moment to walk into someone's house and be part of it. Sometimes, just by admiring the beauty of gestures, I felt the dedication and the and the magic of being part of faith. Here, I was invited to take some pictures by a budist monk. The first monastery I had ever entered. He shared it's mistery with me. The following day, I searched and searched the same place and was never able to find it. I think it disappears when it doesn't want to be found, as all powerful places do. Instead, I ended up inside another monastery, at a budist ceremony, among hundreads of monks. A moment I'll never forget... so deep, introspective and full of stenght that I didn't want to take any picture of it. The magic stays only in my heart... as the smell of yak butter candles that gave every place the dimness of faith, secrecy and dedication. 
