We went to a thing in the evening, a kirtan, basically Indian call-and-response. People sat on mats facing a dais with half a dozen musicians. The instruments included a harmonium, tablas, flute, cello; this small orchestra made a very rich sound. They played simple Hindu chants we sang along with. The leader had a beautiful clear voice, easy to follow.
One song, the words were too difficult to learn. In all songs the words were in Hindi hence learned as strings of syllables. Not hard to pick up after a bit. But one had too many, and I stopped trying to learn it and just hummed, or grasped my knees and listened. In time I started to feel sad.
Not knowing the words or music and not having them to read is a trigger for me, a mild trigger of feeling left out. I remember similar feelings in church a decade ago when they would throw the lyrics up on the screen but there was no music to read. I felt excluded.
I held the sadness and drifted with it awhile. My visual memory drifted to Sunya, who sat next to me and who, when I glanced over, was absolutely radiant. She attended these events many years ago when she lived in Colorado. Seventeen years have passed and finally she has found one to attend again, and every single note, every single word came back to her without fail. She was completely happy, completely aligned with her purpose and direction. I know her thousand faces, and I know when that brilliant smile is pure and completely uneffected. She is youthful and ageless, posture perfect, strong, and whole.
I held that image and drifted with it awhile. I saw her goddess light coalesce into a star, a fusion reaction contained in my arms. Fusion reactions held by men require containment fields, impossibly strong magnetic bonds that, in Earthly constructs, last only microseconds. In my vision mine could not hold her either. So I pulled it open, not without pain and effort, and watched her star ascend freely to the heavens. I saw myself, Earth-bound, carrying a containment vessel that was no longer needed, or wanted. I held that sadness a little while.
And soon the session ended and we regrouped with our friends and went on with the passage of time. My story was not resolved, but neither are a lot of things in life.
But later, I did see more of the story. The containment field, with all its electromagnets and control circuits and shielding of lead and rock, was very heavy. It was so heavy, and it was not needed. I put it down. I let it go. And thus unweighted, I saw that I too was a star and, thus unweighted, I too could ascend to join her and other stars, shining our light, ever abundant, and whole.