I am women. Hear my plea.

Oh Little Saint,

I am women. Hear my plea...

I am battered. I am worn. I come from a sad place.I knew how to weep before I set eyes on my first sunlit day. I have stood naked, my strength laid bare before an army of men. They slaughtered my thoughts like a cry of hounds feasting on a wounded fox. They tore my dreams away, telling me I had traveled the forbidden world.

I fear my own laughter. I fear my reflection. I fear sight, smell, sound, taste and most of all touch. I fear to touch human flesh or to be touched - even to touch myself

It is nasty.
It is dirty.
It is bad.
It is evil.

I ask you, daughter of man and lover of god.
How did you learn to disregard the heavy words and sharp, solid stones of your fathers?How did you learn to love your Giridhari when they told you such love was wrong?
Please, lift me above these whirlwind fears like your Giridhari lifted the Mandara mountain.








Loving sisters,

I am no saint.
I have not risen above my fears.
I fear that my Krishna will forget me.
I fear that he will let me go and take up with some other gopika wench.

I do not fear the pain man might inflict upon me, simply because I have something far greater to fear.
The greater fear always takes precedent, just as the greater love, rendering all lesser fears and all lesser attachments trivial.

My suggestion - not advice - is that you find your true fear and true love.
Realize that all else is ephemeral.
Hold your fear and love as an impenetrable shield against all else and you will emerge through this battle victorious.
Dissove the bond that holds you within your oppressive shell and you will glow as a pearl of perfection.
The day you glow, victorious in battle, is the day you will find solace in the arms of happiness.