Kemala was strangely comfortable with the intrusive company, if only for the epiphany that followed. What was implied eventually settled, and a thoughtful hmm of consideration pursed Kemala’s lips. Suddenly, she realized she sensed the energies of feminine shakti, and a pleased twitch cascaded across her expression. “The wind whispers of others, but this is the first it has shown itself to me.” She bowed her head reverently, accepting of the divine energy just as she accepted air upon inhalation.
Hands resting poised on her knees, Kemala’s lids lowered a moment as she opened herself to the feminine force. Acceptance and vulnerability were the keys, but once the goddess poured herself within, it was discipline and will that molded the energies into purpose.
She looked to the wet paper, summoning the energy of water to call to like kind. The threads pulled a bubble of shimmering liquid to the surface, only to deposit the cold water into the lake where it belonged.
Kemala bowed her head and the shakti force was released. “I was also taught, but not by a woman.” The cryptic hint went unexplained as the mental image of the Nāgarāja and his lordly servant came to mind.
In the typical Balinese custom, she placed her palms together before her chest and bowed ever so slightly. The images of coral and other tribal works of nautical figures inked upon her dark forearms. The ritual was modified to be more informal than what would be demonstrated before, say, a kingly figure. It was still respectful. “Om swastiastu. Halo, it is nice to meet you. I am Kemala, also a traveler. I seek to come to Moscow.”
Hands resting poised on her knees, Kemala’s lids lowered a moment as she opened herself to the feminine force. Acceptance and vulnerability were the keys, but once the goddess poured herself within, it was discipline and will that molded the energies into purpose.
She looked to the wet paper, summoning the energy of water to call to like kind. The threads pulled a bubble of shimmering liquid to the surface, only to deposit the cold water into the lake where it belonged.
Kemala bowed her head and the shakti force was released. “I was also taught, but not by a woman.” The cryptic hint went unexplained as the mental image of the Nāgarāja and his lordly servant came to mind.
In the typical Balinese custom, she placed her palms together before her chest and bowed ever so slightly. The images of coral and other tribal works of nautical figures inked upon her dark forearms. The ritual was modified to be more informal than what would be demonstrated before, say, a kingly figure. It was still respectful. “Om swastiastu. Halo, it is nice to meet you. I am Kemala, also a traveler. I seek to come to Moscow.”