Watching Woman

One day not so long ago, Watching Woman entered a meditation with the intention of exploring heavens and hells. She breathed, and followed her breath, and agreed to hold herself in witness consciousness as she observed what there was to observe. Then she followed a line of energy to a small greyish temple in a minor hell, the temple of the cult of disbelief. She  found it odd there, noticing the forgeries of love and the ragged-voiced mongrels snarling over morsels of non-union. As she watched the high priest of logic administering his garbles, Watching Woman wondered at the droning of the machines plugged in to the north wall, and she investigated the area. She found a hypnotic humming and blinking there, with words flashing across blue screens, and occasional downloads and print-outs of dogma, accompanied by furious bobbing and nodding of bobble-head dolls, and the sh-sh-sh- of a broom being pushed around by a tall, angular manwoman who apparently agreed with the dogma downloads; at least, s/he bobbled and nodded in concert with the dolls.

There were more people there than Watching Woman could count, but they had no originality shining; nothing about them stirred her soul. The energy of the temple was dust on her tongue. There were red spots on the floor, and then a surprised crying as a disembodied heart was pounded flat with a meat hammer. The dissing over, heart reinserted in its comatose owner, the temple was cleared of all but Watching Woman and the machines with their weird blue light. Watching Woman unplugged the machines before she left, and gathered up the dogma download printouts to put into the nearest recycling bin. Then she went outside to apologize to the trees which had died for the printed blather of the unholy ignoramus dissing cult. Once out, she knew she need never re-enter that hell temple. Her curiosity had been dis-satisfied enough for one lifetime. Watching Woman asked herself if there was work for her to do there before she ended her meditation.  As soon as she asked, she knew. She visualized herself with a box of colored sidewalk chalk, and began drawing icons and thangkas all over the sidewalks of that cold grey hell. When the chalks were used up, she came out of her meditation, washed the chalk dust off her hands, rinsed the dissing dust off her tongue, and went to do her chores in the monastery kitchen. She had a special appreciation for the colors of the vegetables she was preparing for supper; and she noticed how even the tiny mouse who was such a nuisance, could stir her soul.