Hiro, this one leaves me a stunned, stuttering f-f-f-fool.

Love and thanks, as always.
Erika Harris’s last post … I’m coming out! The purple lips edition.

I don’t respond to all comments. Some contributions shine a lovely light, illuminating whatever we’re discussing, and require no other response. And today, I have a cold and a very foggy head.
Hiro Boga’s last post … Sunday Poem: Kali, Queen of the Night Sky…

I’m thinking a lot these days about the Kali in all of us, how we don’t let her out, because we have to clean up whatever chaos we participate in.

But…I didn’t mean to get in the way of your poem, thoughts, or day.
Bridget’s last post … Feelings are Not Pizza Toppings- Safely Handling Emotions Pt. 2

Kali is another form of Shakti. The dark mother, the creative womb of the universe, she represents the matrix of out of which all manifestation emerges, and to which it returns on its journey back into formlessness. She also embodies the power of time and transformation.

While Kali doesn’t need a consort–she is often shown dancing triumphantly on Shiva’s supine body–Tantric deities are always coupled because they represent dual aspects of the same qualities.

These are active and contemplative or peaceful and wrathful forms of particular vibrational fields. They function together, like the right and left hand of a single body.

As with all Tantric teachings and practices, there are many levels of meaning attached to Kali, from the purely devotional and conciliatory to the “hidden”. The powers and qualities attributed to Kali have evolved over the centuries. She encompasses a multitude of forms.
Hiro Boga’s last post … Sunday Poem: Kali, Queen of the Night Sky…

In the paintings we see her
wild-eyed, panting, her fury whipped
up like the winds around her.

we see the severed heads, the blood, the dance.

And then the party is over
and Kali Ma goes home and puts the new heads on her shelf.
She has quite a collection there.

These heads, they stare at her
as she sighs and wonders how she’s going to get the blood out of her skirts.

She’s got entrails in her hair
and she’s not sure what to make for dinner.

For this moment, she forgets she is a goddess.

The blood sticks in the cracks of her hands. It wants to hold her fingers together, like a cup.

She remembers the homecoming queen’s wave, how she held her hand just this way, in a golden dress on the back of a convertible.

How subtle and pernicious this world is.

Ah, this stain will never come out.
Bridget’s last post … Feelings are Not Pizza Toppings- Safely Handling Emotions Pt. 2