. . .

She might have spun on her mother. She might have taken her mother’s hands and her eyes might have danced as they met her Mom’s. She might have said, with a fervent energy, “It is so hard to live in a world, mother. It is so hard to be a person, who is living in the world. Scissors fall. We have desires. We make mistakes. We are imperfect. We do not know how to live in the fashion that is correct. But oh!”

She’d have turned. She’d have pointed.

“There, suddenly, and with such swiftness, my life is filled with beauty, mother. Can you understand what this has given me? Suddenly it’s slipped in, it’s touched me in some place beneath my consciousness, it’s speared right through the unfinished structures of my mind and now my heart is suddenly awake. Suddenly I am bursting with it, mother, suddenly I am full of knives of joyful feeling, they are cutting, cutting, cutting, they are letting out the sorrow and the blood. Suddenly the world is so big, so very much bigger than I am, mother, and so bright, and so beautiful, and so loving; it must love us, mother, it must be a gift, to be given consciousness must be a gift, to know and experience a world like this one must be a gift, mother, because, oh, look at the jaguar move!”

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