Forty-Five

I was in cave or a small shrine with a group of chanting Buddhist monks. They were sitting in a circle, with me in the centre. Some threads were spiralling from me to them, and each monk held onto one of them as they gently circled clockwise around me. Then they lit the threads, which started to burn slowly, like incense sticks. When the fire got close to me, it burnt the air around me. It felt like fresh breeze coming through a window. I felt lighter, almost transparent. Then the threads turned into water, and I was like a fountain. And the monks, still holding the end of the strings of water, started to weave them in beautiful, vivid colours. They were creating a beautiful, rotating cloth above my head. I opened my arms, and my fingers became threads, and my whole body, too, and the monks weaved me into this piece of fabric: light, vibrating, intricate. I was caught by the wind, and taken out of the shrine, I was flying above the mountains, above the rivers… dancing in the air.

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