originally uploaded by discordiasdharma.

I remember my time in India fondly; it clouds my current melancholy with hues of gold and bright azure blue. The smell of spices waft lazily through the cobwebbed corridors of my memory and I smile. I think of all that these brave young women fought against to get to freedom. They walked for months over the Himalaya mountains, evading Chinese guards. Sometimes they were unsuccessful and endured beatings, rape, torture. Some made it to Nepal only to be turned in by Nepalese working for the Chinese. Yet still they pressed on; their belief in the Dalai Lama, in freedom, in their religion keeping them going.

I long to return, to refill my own flagging spirit with their overflowing ‘great mother’. They all have such a feeling of mothering. Of each other, the world, even of the people who hurt them. I am very sick, spiralling out of control. At least that’s how it feels. I would love to be able to return and cradle in the arms of the nunnery. Rest, eat, pray. Listen to the chants echo over the still morning mountains. Everyone in India is a friend.

Everyone in America is an enemy. Someone who will steal your car, rape your child, or shoot you.

Maybe that’s what’s killing my soul.

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originally uploaded by discordiasdharma

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