Art by Botticelli
We continue on into the sacred heart of the city. Spiritual body of custom and wisdom unfold into another realm. In a round room with a round table, a large circle cut out of what would be the center of the table, just empty air, the table like a raised, colorfully tiled circular walk. Around the hollow center we sit, myself leaning with elbows and heart on the table, each of us with an individual stained glass puzzle. We meditate and maneuver puzzle pieces, worship in a form of parallel play. Stained glass muse, Maya slips into the circle from a fold in thin air above the empty center of the table Her eyes wide sparkling globes. Super natural light parachutes down covering Her like a shroud. Her hands cup air before the solar shrine. "I am talking to you," She says. For my ears only. Solitary angel. I begin to sob. A puzzle piece falls loosely from my hand. A woman jumps to her feet, to my assumed rescue, breaking the silence in a dramatic sweep of arms, cheeks afire, shouting "Hallelujah." Silent eyes fall from her to rest on tile. Maya settles the woman down to heart, in a calming voice, escorts her back to her seat, cradles us all back to that silent place in our hearts, of tinkering artistic gesture toward the divine. Prayer of the holiest magnitude. Later, Maya shows me Her holy book, inscribed with pictures of ornate erotic muses, luring me off to Nirvana.