amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/[1]) – bears the name of the shepherdess in virgil's pastoral eclogues. it stems from the greek ἀμαρύσσω (amarysso), meaning "to sparkle", and it is rooted in "amarella" for the bitterness of the bulb. the common name, "naked lady", comes from the plant's pattern of flowering that blooms when the foliage dies. in the victorian language of flowers, it means "radiant beauty".
the sun in my mind aging by one the tinkle of golden anklets calling from the forest of monal the blood of my womb coalescing into bruised grass the clouds of silk blushing against my cheeks the burn of my skin drying before the unforgiving light the sound of my shame vibrating in my chest the cold untangling my fingers’ grasp on fears seeded into me as child
i sometimes wish i was satisfied by easy by swinging my feet over the white picket fence holding hands with perfect suitability but the fire in my belly scorches and i know i’m not
i sometimes wish to rest but the fire in my belly scorches and i know i have to keep moving
i turned 25 in the Himālayas, on the resplendent Khaliya trek, and camped in a remote meadow that can only be described as the land of the apasāras.
hiking, i reflected on 24, which was the year of the great heartbreak: of fierce grace. the path burned through what i had worshipped as truth and held most dear, and violently pushed me to transform.
on last year’s pilgrimage to the Himālayas, i had prayed on a trek to Gomukh: “free me. i will do whatever it takes.” when the whatever it took came, it was not what i had imagined, and it broke my heart. i had thought i had known heartbreak, but all paled before the pain of facing the untruths i had clung to under the name of God. seeing through your own deceptions is a harsh business.
as the projections i had built my spiritual life around began crumbling, i was left feeling disillusioned, and i was tempted to renounce my search for God. one of the darkest nights of the soul of 24 was one of doubt, in which i doubted everything. i bitterly cursed my trust, and felt repulsed by the dynamics of modern spirituality. i reasoned, if such power dynamics can be built on spiritual teachings, then the teachings must be false.
and yet my intuition, which i had cut myself off from, arose gently; a tiny voice silently telling me that the truth i was seeking does exist. it is pulsing underneath the mirage. my intuition told me not to close myself. to trust the play and uncover the teachings. to keep moving and follow the energy.
diving deep into disillusionment paradoxically opened my system to increasing expansion as well as to a love of an encompassing nature that i had not tasted before.
followingly, one thing i have experienced, is this: freedom rests in autonomy on the spiritual path. the teachings, the dimensions of God, such as the Mahāvidyās, the Devas and Devīs, are real – only not in the way we tend to think about them and not in the way they are taught in modern spirituality. you have to experience them for yourself. you are intrinsically worthy of it. keep moving.
amaryllis 