i saw the timeworn tumbled stones of a great temple where once the mother goddess prevailed in peaceful times long gone. the mountain had another name then. we all had truer names & spoke in warm clear vowels that blessed the trees leaning toward us in the sweet communion of celebration. now our names are clipped short & our words clash & clatter sharp against the stone, like bullets ricochetting upon the broken temple walls. the stones weep. i hear them late at night when the owls call into the darkness that has crept across the land & over our minds. this night we lean toward the promise of dawn, toward the morning song of the wood thrush. the hands of the heart reach out in tender supplication. like the old scattered temple stones, we wait for another era, a coming time, a milder season, & we give new names of soft syllables to the old things. we lift our hopeful eyes to the mountain top & the sky & sing. we sing. can You hear us, Shiva? we will not stop our singing, we will not close up our throats again, but loud & strong we will ever sing of beauty & wholeness that never ceases pushing toward the light. hear us, Shiva! we call You now, laying out the breadcrumbs of our invocation, lighting the path with our love & urgent need as we voice our song. the mountain calls out through us to You, Shiva, offering itself as Your temple in these times that beg our response. we will build a new temple from these tumbled mother-stones & sing in calm flowing syllables nestled in silence.