She wept as she told me, two years ago, that I would have enjoyed the restaurant she and our friend had had lunch in. She was still preparing to leave the city, and the emotions were still raw. I remember feeling glad that she wept. I was neither being mean nor gloating, but it did show me that she was in pain too. I found myself dining there for the first time today. I wondered where she and our friend had been sitting. With the whiteness, the bare plate before me, I meditated on the cleaner slate my world is in.
Rearranging, redecorating, relocating, remembering, reawakening all day today. A new, healthy, more personal purpose has found itself in the temple room, where my rituals may hae more to do with keyboards and dreaming than wands and chanting for a while. It's still ritual to me, for me. Rituals for new creation, new expression, new goals to be achieved. The spirits are not offended. They, like I, embrace the change.
Papers to purge, place, put aside. Memories and testimonials. Letters from lovers. Lovers pledging their devotion. Devotions that are absent now. The power of this now brings me closer to the fruition of my own Self.
I dined by my Self, so I did not dine alone. I feast on the green shoots of spring.
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