draining's Diaryland Diary

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All the goddesses I am not, by Sampurna Chattarji

All the goddesses I am not
are gathered at my door.
It is an old rejection they come to reverse,
perverse and unbenign.
I do not let them in.
They are not like me.

Not Kali, the loudest,
clamoring for attention
the slow dance of skulls around her neck
bone music to my ears.
She is aggressive, that one,
and rude.
Look at the way she sticks out her tongue
at all who dare to look at her.
A red tongue, thirsty
for another demon to quench.
She drank his blood,
each self-perpetuating drop,
a furious suckling that saved the world.
Blood mother,
you would have killed us all.
It took a husband to make her stop
(Lord Shiva trembling
half-trampled beneath her feet),
and bite her tongue in shame.

Not Lakshmi, the meekest,
sprung perfectly beautiful
out of a tumultuous ocean of milk,
a lotus at her breast,
she, a lotus at the breast
of Vishnu, Lord Protector,
inseparable bride
gentle breathing light
riding her white owl
into the homes of the propitiary
casting dark glances and blight on those
who dare to slight her.
Mother of the world,
a whimsical tyrant,
feminine and full of wiles.

And not Durga, the fiercest.
A cosmic blaze of energy
in her eyes,
a pinwheel of mace and trident and sword.
Terrifying, but derived.
Free of husband, lord, or lover,
but formed fully of all their powers.
A sum total of gods then,
an essence of,
Shakti, distilled, concentrated,
burning the throat as it goes down.
Mother to none,
a lion between her thighs.

But
(and now I sense them listening, hushing,
pushing flat against the door)
I have taken Kali's anger and made it mine.
My black moods are hers,
my irreverence.
I whoop, I rant, I rage.
My hands girdle my waste.

I have swallowed Lakshmi whole.
She runs through me now,
a river of desire.
I drown myself again and again,
I rise, a dreaming weed,
clinging to love, unworldly wise.

And Durga?
Durga has given me freedom,
and I have paid for it,
gladly.
She made a fighter of me.
She taught me when to raise my weapons,
screaming,
and when to lay in my mother's lap,
a daughter come home again.

*note: I really admire Kali. I have a framed picture of her hanging in my room, a statuette of her, several books on her, and I wear a pendant of her whenever I feel angry or like being obnoxious and inappropriate. I used to have a Durga coin purse, but I lost it. Now I have a Hello Kitty coin purse. :

5:28 a.m. - 2006-04-18
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