riparian
“How we reply to the world has nothing to do with the world and everything to do with what we carry in our own souls.”
Death Defeating
Your words are shaped like the sand we used to lay our white blanket across at the beach by the Kasbah of the Udayas. Warm. Malleable. Exact. Our idea of God is the same; it drew us together like two points at the end of a page. The ink-dried sheets rustled between fingertips. I'd wake to you singing verses from the Qur'an, and you asked me to sing a song for you to learn. I chose a mantra, my favorite. What is that? It's Sanskrit. Sing me something in English; I want to learn to speak as well as my friends.
The wooden poles snapped at the tips where you'd tied scarfs so our backs wouldn't burn. Your tent leaned with the wind. The dogs barked all night, and I couldn't sleep. The sand stuck between my teeth. We ate gingersnap crackers and eggs cooked in the same pot we boiled the mint tea. In the evening, we'd layer potatoes, carrots, and courgette in the same metal pan and scoop with the thick slices of Moroccan bread I'd buy at the market.
We cannot be friends for the same reason I always rinsed the pot between breakfast and dinner. The flavors do not mix, and I rinsed the residue in the saltwater with my hands and a little cloth I'd hang to dry on the spiny-boughed bush. I hung my pants and chemise on a bough, and the spines stuck as I slipped on each garment, tearing the skin. If I cried out, it was never to get your attention. It was a reaction to the elements; if you noticed, I didn't care.
Did you love me then? In the purple light at dusk when the cold rippled over the sands and the waves shuddered against the shore? There's a picture of you carrying my bag, and you're all smiles, looking up at me perched on the stairwell, climbing toward the road. I thought you were full of adoration for me, and now I know that tenderness could have been for anyone.
I don't want to delete the photographs because they remind me of when I flung my heart far out into the dunes, and you caught it. You leaped up and received it graciously, taking your time to respond. We traveled together for four days, though it feels like centuries over hours in my heart. Time bends when our consciousness expands. We are sentient beings, and my hands on your chest felt the strength of your heart.
You must choose to be free; it cannot be granted. Portals open if we devote ourselves to the mystery of seeking answers to questions that have never been asked before.
What I say in this realm is merely an echo of something I experienced somewhere else. A snag in the line; knots I untangle with my hands on my abdomen. This is how I pray.
You say all the correct things because you've heard them time and time again in the passages of the One Book you adore so deeply. I have read far too many books to follow just one. I am in the darkest night, and not even the stars give my soul a spark of hope.
I've been sleeping for eight, nine, ten hours. My body is weighted as a linen blanket tossed into the sea. I drift and bob at the surface; the current keeps me afloat. I have yet to sink to the bottom, where the coral takes care of the ecosystem.
Unless you enter, you cannot get out. If you don't go through the entry, there is never an exit to discover. You're simply standing at the edge of something, looking at a wall. If there's no doorknob, push. If there's no keyhole, you've nothing to peer through. You cannot sneak a peak at the mystics!
A teacher used to say that the way through the world was to create the key if you could not find one. That every doorway could be unlocked. You must want to be on the other side so deeply; you are willing to become the wood. There is no room for boasting when the will is bending and breaking. Splinters may get trapped beneath the skin, though I know I am not what I carry with me.
I've realized something about lying; if it feels true, I can say whatever I please. If it resonates in my heart, it is true. It doesn't matter what occurs through the other because every person interprets what they see, feel, hear, touch, taste, and smell through their own design.
My work is to put down the subjective qualities and step into the sacred chamber of my heart where the truth vibrates on the floors and causes the walls to shake! I don't want to ignore my body. I don't want to neglect what I feel. I have been fighting these sensations since I was a kid, and it is the death of one thing to preserve the other.
The mind is the most fragile. It is fed from the heart. It translates the sensation into sequences to digest. Bite-sized. Palatable. I am starving myself of all analysis! I am removing myself from the machine. I am standing in a dark room with one wick burning, and the light is from the screen. I've dimmed the brightness, and each letter looks red. My mind is playing tricks on me.
I have not been kind to everyone I've been within a close and communal fashion. My method is to poke! To kick and rip the curtains from the window to let the rain and cool breeze inside. Why stay in a space that's warm and cozy? There's nothing to learn when you're lavishing on that Mother's lap!
Kali Maa is the Goddess I rever. Playful and fearless, reckless and brave, compassionate through provocation, she does not hide how she feels and does not care for surface-layer interactions. I've invited Kali in for the first time through formal invocation.
My dreams are back, vivid and arousing.
Last night I dreamt it was raining, and the sky ripped open to show me the blue beyond the clouds. Bliss is a choice. Misery is a condition of a mind trapped in the demands of a society that does not know who the Mother is. It is the point of no return: do I look ahead and abandon your total idea of who and what you are? Or do I stay where I am, hanging on to the balloon string even as I watch it deflate and whimper its way to the ground?
I have been saving a sweet memory of us from last summer in the desert dancing. He in the linen trousers and me in my silk dress. I spun, and he held me, and the sand was so thick in the atmosphere I could taste it. Most people at the festival wore scarves over their mouths. Not us. We sang and howled and kissed with tongues. We ran with sweaty palms back to the tent and made love and afterward laid in each other's arms until the music stopped and I had to catch my ride back to the camp.
This is the moment that fills my heart with so much warmth.
This is the recollection I will hold when I think of him.
This is where I felt like the Goddess Shakti, and he was Shiva, watching me shake and twirl and stomp and swirl. He held out a hand to catch me and hold me close when it got cold. What sweetness to have experienced!
We planned on going to another festival for New Years. We did not go. Something loosened in my body when I felt the No inside of him. Contraction. My wings were tucked discreetly to my sides, and I nodded with him. No, it will be wet and cold; the trek will not be worth it.
I felt it in my body: adventure is always worth the effort! No matter how turbulent the environment or expression of emotions is! This is how I learn. This is how I come to life! This is how I meet the Creator. This is how I pray.
Mrityunjaya Mantra - Death Defying
Om Tryambakam yajamahe
Sugandhim pushtivardhanam
Urvarukamiva bandhanan
Mrityor mukshiya maamritat
Photo source.
