The twisting and turning of destiny, a chaotic tornado resembling a loop. You are not lost, you are clinging on for dear life.
When the storm passes, quietude falls upon your chest. Dignity is something you can finaly strive for, but it seems you don’t want to. Storm or not, you are not interested in honor.
You have never planned to be a knight in shinning armour, and you don’t have to be. You can release yourself and always be carried away by the wind, from moment to moment, listening to destiny, waiting for it to call your name.
You do not have to seek approval from honorable men. You can start to become wise, deep, unattached, non-judgemental, forever present.
You can fly high with your hair loose, dimples and pimples, wrinkly skin. You can find the place beneath clouds to safely fly, be of service, and not be in competition with men.
Not to compete with the honorable, but be their ally, carrying the right type of ailment.
Spirit of Tara 