With
red flowers between my fingertips I prayed, palms pressed together at my
forehead. Lift this burden from me. Let
me start over.
Breathe
deep.
Tuck them behind your ear,
he said, and get in. Cold water. Deep
laughter. God watching. I was hoping he’d clean up all the ways I twisted
myself into disaster: the smoking, the bad eating, the constant you-suck-at-life
chatter. Wrapped in the sarong, patterned shades of brown, orange and cream…I
felt myself very earthly.
All
of those forgiveness flowers floating. Confetti on the water. Offerings were stacked
on the statues. Crammed. In. Everywhere. Square trays made of reeds stuffed
with tokens, bits of candy and string. Proof that we’d give anything to make
our lives better. The smell of incense reminded me of a funeral pyre. We
followed each other, spout-to-spout, pausing to pray, to ask again and again at
each fountain.
The
pool reflected the grey-green stone, I could see the bottom, the pebbles smooth
beneath my feet. One foot in front of the other. The path, the long distance
from home to here. Halfway around the world to break the pattern. Monster koi
fish close enough to touch. Those faces, whiskered wisdom, those feathery fins.
Their calico patterns of orange, yellow, white, black, silver and red. Fat,
slippery, good-luck-dragons.
Be brave.
To
purify by water. To wash clean. If purification isn’t a heavenly virtue, it
should be. Purify: to remove the dirt, to make new. To start over. A clean
slate. Rebirth. A way of viewing yourself in the world…as a person. To once
again make whole the parts life chips away.
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