In this latitude, we are quite insulated from the concerns over tiger attacks. I find this to be a very fortunate thing, having had quite a grave fear of this for some reason growing up. It must be my sensitivity to the possibility that I lived in India during my last lifetime, in a vulnerable period where the land was wild and untamed. I can feel the beauty of that land so sincerely, so much so that I actually wish for a dung floor in my home sometimes. So strange, to be an American, with so much at my fingertips, and to wish for something so earthy. By the way, in no way does a dung floor resemble "dirt" to me, a la my last post regarding the scummy stuff at the bottom of a lake. A dung floor smells of grass and heather. It is cool and easy to sweep. It will keep the moisture in during a very hot season. I know all of this, without ever stepping foot on one, and never having discussed it with anybody. I have no fear of a dung floor . . . only tigers.
Tigers on the prowl must be very sure that they are willing to do battle with my fear of them. It is such a chilling fear that it can squeeze the love out of me completely. A tiger must have drained me of blood at one point, because in the face of them I become bloodless, indeed. I am willing to face one, as I always do, but I will have my guard up. Be careful, tiger. Be gentle and warned. I love to face my fear of you, I love to overcome, and I do love you dearly. You are majestic and beautiful, and I long for the day that you will rest your snarly toothed head on my lap in surrender. I would love to stroke your face and gaze into your eyes, unadorned by sunglasses. But, those eyes hold a terror and a longing that entrances. Be ready for my Arabian daggers and gently lift the veils. I come to you via Allah and Baba and the forty thieves. Krishna was a happy man, but was too entranced by his flute to protect me from the tigers. It will be a much better day when we become brave in this land, together.
Blessed be.
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