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the innocence

There are dreams that come to me between the chaos like breezes, like quaking leaves, like blackly ringing bells in my five year old lucidity. How a white filigree Krishna temple rises from the ash of crackle dry fire ant utah farmland and surveys the landscape from the hill beside the fountain that Id seen before in four months ago visions of things unfound. The minute it loomed before me I recognized it from my dream and I lost my footing. All visions of travels and things lost and searching, all weighty and memorable and ringing in my ears since Id dreamed them. All culminating in a day to celebrate Ramayana and the most beautiful of full belly moons Id ever seen shining her light upon me and reminding me gently powerfully of my Aphrodite. Burning effigy Ravana burning tragedy of a wedding dress burning baptism arthropods of yesterday.

Leaning in at coffee with Matthew I saw the Om in a store window white, warped laughing and admonishing. There was no great epiphany there on top of the anthill skirt hiked knees bare hair dripping, pen pontificating. But, utterly Caucasian Caru Das and his strong British painter wife calmed me and fed me and reminded me silently how to let go of my ego. Let it slip gently from my fingers into the koi filled water of uncontrollable possibilities and trust the ways my ancient one whispers that it is time to jump blindly.

I am afraid of the things they will say. I am afraid of the dream of the melting faces and the alone. I am afraid of the ways I cannot control it. I am more afraid of the ways that I try.

These days my lion in a stadium fear has been diminished to older and creakier and less a piece of myself and more something my warrior woman and my sage can tame can quiet over and again reminding each time it rears that I am the master, that I am the Queen no longer the princess.

My life has been liquid. Moving gently rustling tree leaves in oceans of one lovely brutal life experience after the other and building upon the things I remember from centuries before.

And the plastic painted lady stands sentinel at my dashboard with gum on her shoe holding her belly full of infinite possibilities and blessing me with no fear of the ways that I am reborn daily and how the innocence is not weakness but infinite eternal wisdom and strength.

~this temple is in Spanish Fork, Utah - yes I was just as surprised

11:37 a.m. - 2005-09-21
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