Inside me there lives...

Inside me, in a warm, little house made of wood, there lives a free woman. She is free because she doesn't have to pick a man to love, because she doesn't have to fight and she chooses not to fly. She is free because she just lives.

Inside me, there lives a woman who is very unlike me.
She breathes deeply and separates orange scents from cinnamon, ginger scents from clove.
Down there, there is a lot of time for doing such kinds of things.

The moon knocks on her door, in the evenings, sometimes.They mend their broken hearts over tea and biscuits. Not many people may know this, but the moon is in love with the sun who doesn't care much for such kind of things. When the moon has left, the woman realizes that she has always been the moon.

Inside me, there lives a woman who is neither young nor old. She sips tea in the afternoon smiling at the memory of an old song while looking outside her window, at the lake beside her house. She likes to write with sharpened pencils and chop vegetables with sharp knives.

Inside me, there lives a woman who doesn't remember her name. Some people call her Meera, some Mary, some Shabari and still some Radha.
Sometimes, there are deeper stirrings in her heart. During these moments of great gratitude and inspiration, the Guest pays her home a visit. The rooms and corridors of her home, that she constantly cleans, airs and frees of clutter in preparation for the Guest's arrival, are flooded with sunshine and filled with the fragrance of the sweetest flowers the instant the Guest steps into them.
Inside me, there lives a brave woman who is not afraid of waiting endlessly for this Guest to arrive.

Inside me, there lives a woman who is Free.