Some great sage burns candles for me in a far off bathroom alter; marble and gold and white, white candle wax. My mother's tiny white feet with knees bent over feather pillows books in piles and reading glasses on. Hot tea everywhere and Dakini dancing on all four walls. Rescued me in the infinite blackness. Just one thread to pull through the needle, the tight weave, the labyrinthine cave. A Mother-light a Moon-shadow, a mighty space, a voice uttering in the dark by means of thought. Hundreds of prayers whispered in the humid night air.
thank you thank you thank you thank you.
A little nourishment for your belly a little beans for your bowl of white rice. Some sunshine in your spirit and last but not least, at the bottom of the box - what was it, Mama? Hope. A little bit of Hope, too.
and one tiny rose to remind you not to fall asleep -- for too long, my pretty.
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