THE TIME OF MISSING PLANES. Can something so large disappear from radar screens? We have measured and documented the world. Still there is a space of mystery and unforeseen consequences. Territories not recognized. It reminds me that when a wind blows the leaf of a tree in one place in the world it might cause a storm in another. There are wildernesses unknown like other worlds in fairytales. But we think they are make-believe. Giants in one story wreak havoc and are stupid. In another tale they are the ones who guard the most profound secrets for how to heal the world and ourselves. We have no idea of what we are doing. We assume the nature of reality.
THE TIME OF EXECUTIONS GONE WRONG. The awful agony of poison not working as we expect, becomes public. We live through this murder together. What usually occurs in private, unrecorded, becomes an instant replay into our living rooms. The entire idea of justice is questionable. In a folktale a man who sought justice arrived at a small house with burning candles. Each one a human being’s destiny. He was shown his own. It was splattering and small, about to go out. He panicked. “I didn’t know that I was dying?” He tried to steal another’s candle that was large and seated in a pool of oil. An old man put his hand on his shoulder saying, “Is this your idea of justice?”
SEEING is occurring. How long can we remain blind to what is actually the result of our disconnection from interdependence? THE TIME OF OUTRAGEOUS RAPE as 200 girls vanish. A mad man reigns with terror. Confusion of concepts and politics of greed and theories, ideas and secret pacts are revealed. It is time to awaken Durga’s compassion. It is time to ask her to save the world. Her response was seduction of monsters. “If you are as powerful as me show me your female side?” Enraged the monster battled with her. She defeated him by exposing his soul, his goodness, his female self.
THE TIME OF MELTING ICEBERGS. Polar bears walk into cities and mountain lions sleep on verandahs. It is beauty. What takes place that we cannot control haunts us. We need to fall in love again. We think we do not have to learn to live with others including elephants and our demons. Elephants—our teachers reminding us of gentleness and mourning and love. Hunted, they go on rampage. Once they were clouds in Indian myths. Now come to earth. Ten young Aboriginal boys, huge, painted in white, climbed up the rickety steps to my Broadway loft. They sat in the living room in a circle. Playing didgeridoo. I feared the floor would collapse. Then I entered the room in time to see them dancing the dance of the crane; leaping into the air and landing light as feathers. The air cleared. The heart strengthened. Somewhere a goat separated from a horse cried until a woman brought them together again. A hippo adopted a turtle. A boy in Rwanda slept in the arms of his parents’ murderer and unknowingly found solace. 
