Ask the Priestess

It is snowing, and Christmas is on the radio and the markets. I often wonder at my own response to the idea of a White Christmas, at how it ties me to my past, my cultural origins, family members I never met - never even knew/will know they existed - who either believed or didn't yet felt emotional at the flurries, the carols, the sight and smell of the trees draped in sparkles, in baubles, in hopes, in childish wishes met whenever possible. I know rather well the whole history behind the stories: the mythology, the astrology, the astronomy, the anthropology... All that study throughout the fields of humanity that strives to explain the reality. My brain knows it, my logic understands it, my own personal choice of belief acts in accordance... All that to ultimately reach out in joy at the first flakes, to react with a giggling heart-rate to the first beats of a seasonal song. I am no more "grown up and jaded" than a toddler! Squee! And, d'you wanna know something?...

I have quite a few elements from daily life which regularly remind me of what I honestly believe in but sometimes seem to doubt. One of those "elements" is bus drivers. Let's face it, we have all been in a situation where we have ranted and raved about bus drivers, bus services, and what nots. Most often, said drivers appear sour-faced, unfriendly, short tempered, impatient... Who wouldn't, in their shoes? Stock brokers who complain of stress at work should have a a reality check with these guys/gals: driving all day in circles with few and far-between toilet breaks at set times (rather than answering to immediate need). Not only that, they have to do so while struggling to keep up with a fantasy-inspired schedule that inevitably brings frustration and complaints from both passengers and supervisors. To top it all up, they have to spend all that time trapped in traffic jams surrounded by aggressive SUVs, unexpected motorbikes and vulnerable cyclists. Still, I hav...

We often dismiss things as being only "skin deep" - insignificant, superficial, not really felt, non-threatening. Ha! Our skin is the largest organ in our wondrous bodies; it is superficial but multi-layered, multi-characteristic and colourful according to area and sensory requirements; has more nerve-endings than any other organ; and it is our true "first line of defense" which, if infected or over-exposed, might break down until it, unsuspectingly and unwittingly, kills us. My feelings are skin deep, and from that moment on, they seep in, they burst out. My skin remembers, writing itself with lines, colours, textures. It talks, tells, warns, encourages. A palm-reader can describe my destiny as though looking at a hieroglyph, and a doctor can tell how much sun I took as a child. An angry red splotch, an enticing blush, a shiver. My skin speaks loud and honest, like the tail of a dog. I trust my skin when I doubt my mind. It does not know how to lie. And yet...