need is honed by the whetted knives of appetite & truly, Shiva, i hunger for You. gone are home & husband: only You remain to feel my need & only You, my panacea, can satisfy it. after the hard fall from grace comes humility. after the blessing of divine presence comes also humility, for what on earth can long endure? i am like an autumn butterfly floating in the wind as if a bright & tattered fallen leaf spiraling in circles not of my own choosing. i am being carried home, Shiva, on this long journey of return to You, yet another weary old butterfly coasting on worn ragged wings & deeply rooted instinct as the days grow shorter & cooler & the nights fall even colder. the crisp clear nights are overseen by orion & the pleiades, who make their promises & work their spell upon my stuttering heart. i am promised to You, Shiva, carried & cloistered by messengers who are following Your firm command. my life is not my own. even my need & appetite do not originate with me but come as endowments, strange puzzles concealing Your calling card & messages written in subtle sensory glyphs which You have taught me how to read. they say, "wear it out, burn it up, let it go & seek Me everywhere as we play hide & seek in this burning ground of purification called daily life on planet earth. I will carry you home at the end." "are we home yet, Shiva?" i ask Him like a child, again & again, & we giggle & play tag in body after body one more time.