I am at the last veil of nakedness. Thin fabric giving the illusion of opaqueness. However, with the right light nothing is hidden. Lets call this light Chinnamasta Devi. Commitments to the next relationship have been internally made and I cling to this veil like a blankie.
Truth be told I am weary of the dangerous edge. The paradox of the burden of unburdening. Yet I am attracted to the glint of the blade like a child with shiny objects. I never wanted a tiara, but a sword. I knew as a child I could pull it from its stone. I did not want wedding dresses & prince charming, I wanted the skull on a stick like Vasalisa in Baba Yaga.
My impulses are too strong. I am too compelled. Perhaps the weariness is a worn and true path. Lose the will to fight. Become discontinuous. Step out of the momentum and become dispassionate. Its true, I alternate between the passion and the dispassion. Two sides of the same coin, made from the same source. Sometimes heads, sometimes tails. Same, same.
The original power of Chinnamasta has now become introspection of what actually powers my motivations? So I sit, dispassionate, untangling the threads of karma from divine impulse. They remind me of Ma's hair. Wild, free, untamed and streaming in every direction.
Ma has given me everything I have wanted. She is a good Mother.
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