Our Origins
ས་ནས་དྲན་པར། དྲན་པ་ནས་ཚེ་སྲོག་ཏུ།
From Earth to Memory, From Memory to Life.
རང་གི་མ་ཡིན། འདི་ནི་བརྒྱུད་པའི་ལམ་ཡིན།
We don't own these stones.
We're just passing them along.
I · Gemstone: Where Light Sleeps
Every stone is a piece of the mountain.
Every line on its surface is time, made visible.
Born of fire. Shaped by ice. Awakened by human hands.
1. The Mountain's Pulse
At 5,400 meters, time moves slowly.
Tashi, a stone gatherer, kneels on the frozen ground at dawn. He removes his gloves and presses his bare hands to the ice — an old ritual his grandfather taught him.
"Before you take," he says, "you ask the mountain."
He waits. Listens. Then begins to dig.
"The mountain doesn't give you stone," he explains. "It gives you what it's ready to let go."
2. Three Kinds of Quartz
Milky quartz — soft, clouded. Like morning mist.
Clear quartz — sharp, transparent. Every crack tells a story of pressure.
Smoky quartz — dark, quiet. Light turned inward.
Each one holds a different memory of the mountain.
3. The Hand That Remembers
In Gacuo's workshop, a stone must first "meet the light."
The artisan closes his eyes. Runs his fingers over the surface. Feels for what the stone wants to become.
He uses diamond drills. Yak-bone polishers. His breath steady, patient.
Forty days later, the crystal is ready.
Before it leaves, he holds it in his palm one last time.
"So it remembers warmth," he says.
གལ་ཆེན་པོ་ནི་ང་ཚོས་གང་བཞག་པ་མིན། ང་ཚོས་སྒྲ་མེད་པར་གང་ཁུར་བ་ཡིན།
What matters isn't what we keep.
It's what we carry in silence.
II · Heirlooms: What the Mountain Gives Back
We don't collect objects.
We listen to stories that need to be told.
4. The Bead and the Prayer
A stone hut. Wind howling outside.
An old woman named Drolma hands us butter tea. Her prayer beads are worn smooth — no pattern left.
"I've carried these through thirteen pilgrimages around Mount Kailash," she says. "They were with me when my husband died."
When we leave, she presses one bead into our hand.
"Let it travel with you. Beads remember paths better than people do."
5. The Bell That Wouldn't Stay Buried
We were helping repair a monastery roof when we found an old bell buried in the rubble.
The monk said, "Every year on the full moon, people passing by still hear it ring."
We asked what to do with it.
He smiled. "Some sounds aren't for us to decide."
We cleaned it and buried it again.
A year later, we came back. The bell had surfaced on its own, sitting in the sunlight.
6. The Medicine Bead
A herder family on the Changtang Plateau brought us their daughter's old Dzi bead.
It was a "medicine bead" — hollow inside, once filled with herbs.
We resealed it with traditional Tibetan medicine.
Months later, a letter arrived: "She's better now."
Inside were a strand of the girl's hair and a piece of dried cheese.
In Tibet, this means: you are family.
རྒྱུད་པ་ནི་ཐིག་གཅིག་མིན། དུས་ཚོད་མི་འདྲ་བའི་ནང་དུ་ལག་པ་མང་པོས་བརྩེ་བ་གཅིག་ལ་ལན་འདེབས་པ་ཡིན།
Tradition isn't a straight line. It's many hands, across time, answering the same call.
III · Artisans: Hands That Continue
Tradition isn't a straight line.
It's many hands, across time, answering the same call.
7. The Nomad Who Stayed
Yangjin Drolma was 55 when she first held a weaving needle.
Her hands shook.
"I thought it was just temporary work," she says. "But when I wove the Eight Auspicious Symbols — the same pattern from my grandmother's tent — I cried."
She stopped moving with the herds. Settled in town.
"My husband used to say the yaks were his life," she smiles. "Now he says watching me work is."
8. The Mother on the Motorcycle
Sonam Beidzon arrived with her baby strapped to her back.
"I want my daughter to see that a mother's hands can create beauty," she said.
Every winter morning, she rides her motorcycle through frozen roads. Tools in the front basket. Baby cradle tied to the back.
She holds up a polished Dzi bead.
"When my daughter grows up, she'll know — this was made while she slept."
9. The Weaver of Three Rivers
Tashi Lhamo stayed in her village.
"The thread can't break," she said.
She weaves a pattern inspired by the three great rivers of Tibet — the Mekong, Yangtze, and Yellow River.
For every piece sold, we donate 3% to protect the Sanjiangyuan region.
"We're not weaving products," she says. "We're weaving prayers for this land."
