I entered the temple quietly and slowly. Each step with purpose. Slow as to feel each step with my feet, cold stone and dirt ground, and watch the quality of light change as I entered. I hear the water in the pool and give offerings.
A large statue of her stands erect in the middle arms up and open. I sit and empty myself as usual. I ask why I have been feeling so off. I’ve never felt shame in her presence but I have felt inadequate in some way.
She spoke to me and showed me that it’s not a deity I’ve ever felt shame in or inadequacy. It’s amongst other humans Don’t you recognize how at ease you are in meditation and spellwork? That this work and other work I’m doing although it seems separate will come together and make sense in the end…
She was a vision as always, tonight her body was marble white immersed in black liquid.
‘My joy is in your joy’… So simple, it seems. But what for the girl who has forgotten how? Who’s joy gets trampled by the eyes sick souls of others that cannot see the inherent beauty or is made meaningless by feelings of her own inadequacy.
What for the girl who haunts her own space?
Yet you call and beckon and writhe so she will remember. My joy is in your joy, my joy is in your joy, my joy is in your joy…
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