23. Om padma raga siladarsa paribhavi kapola bhuve namah: I bow down to Amma whose cheeks excel mirrors made of rubies in their beauty
My token says G3. It's a long wait but a pleasant one. Between doing some volunteering, line monitoring, visiting the toilet and grabbing a quick lunch, I finally see the magic figure flash on the screen. The drill is well practiced. I keep my slippers to a side. Throw my bag impatiently under a chair. And begin chanting. As the line slowly snakes forward, the anticipation grows. It's the moment I've waited a year for! The months of having been away from Her chokes up my heart. I want time to be my ally and co-conspirator. Move slowly so I can take Her in as much as you allow me to. And yet, hurry up, so I may finally bow to Humility.
I'm now being told to kneel. Right in front of Amma. Two more to go but everything blurs. Amma's white saree is stained with tears, kumkum and secrets. Her beautiful hair is being blown gently by a nearby fan. The smile on Her face never waivers. Amma's listening, reaching out.
It's finally my turn. Time, stand still please. Tick softly, slowly. For I'm in the presence of the Universal Mother. And She's everything divine. Loan me some time with Her. Please. For it isn't everyday that She reaches out, hugs me with a love I've never felt with anyone else and then whispers words of endearment. But it isn't the words. It's the feeling. It's my face against her shoulder. It's Her strong arms around me. It's Her hair brushing gently against my face. That sweet aroma of roses. Of gentleness. Of motherhood. Of acceptance.
And of the softest skin resting on my face. Her lovely cheeks, whose radiance can outshine a million mirrors made of the brightest red rubies. Those cheeks that rest reassuringly, like a mother's on her baby's face. Whispering silently: "I got you here. I'll see you through"
You always do, Amma, you always do!
Om Amriteswariye namah!
My token says G3. It's a long wait but a pleasant one. Between doing some volunteering, line monitoring, visiting the toilet and grabbing a quick lunch, I finally see the magic figure flash on the screen. The drill is well practiced. I keep my slippers to a side. Throw my bag impatiently under a chair. And begin chanting. As the line slowly snakes forward, the anticipation grows. It's the moment I've waited a year for! The months of having been away from Her chokes up my heart. I want time to be my ally and co-conspirator. Move slowly so I can take Her in as much as you allow me to. And yet, hurry up, so I may finally bow to Humility.
I'm now being told to kneel. Right in front of Amma. Two more to go but everything blurs. Amma's white saree is stained with tears, kumkum and secrets. Her beautiful hair is being blown gently by a nearby fan. The smile on Her face never waivers. Amma's listening, reaching out.
It's finally my turn. Time, stand still please. Tick softly, slowly. For I'm in the presence of the Universal Mother. And She's everything divine. Loan me some time with Her. Please. For it isn't everyday that She reaches out, hugs me with a love I've never felt with anyone else and then whispers words of endearment. But it isn't the words. It's the feeling. It's my face against her shoulder. It's Her strong arms around me. It's Her hair brushing gently against my face. That sweet aroma of roses. Of gentleness. Of motherhood. Of acceptance.
And of the softest skin resting on my face. Her lovely cheeks, whose radiance can outshine a million mirrors made of the brightest red rubies. Those cheeks that rest reassuringly, like a mother's on her baby's face. Whispering silently: "I got you here. I'll see you through"
You always do, Amma, you always do!
Om Amriteswariye namah!
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