69. the last of the kumari stick from kathmandu
thank you for being here with me. thank you for making it here with me. thank you for leading me here. thank you for following me here. thank you for being here with me.
there's the hawaiian ritual of ho'oponopono: i love you. thank you. i forgive you. please forgive me.
there'll be a time these words will find me in the moment and they will cover us like a blanket. i just know that.
right now, the stick burns softly and gently. the smoky wisp floats the ceiling like a mountain climber extending higher and higher.
until it slowly stops. it reaches the end. she squeals once in silence and then she dies in one motion. she is pronounced dead. in every accent.
and now her daughters are born.
one of her daughters passed by me today. that's what it felt like. it felt like we passed by, grazed in each other's pastures for a little while, and then we went our merry ways where we're supposed to go. who am i to her? who is she to me? i? me? i guess we're not even talking about the same subject.
english grammatical jokes. i've never heard of 'em.
i learned again, today, that the moment is fleeting. and it has already fled. and now i am here.