It seemed we had always sat here, with the mummies and demons in ourselves, as well as the radiance which penetrates the demonic reaches and shows them to be flecks of dust and shadow. We end our chant, and a chorus of crickets and cicadas, which has joined us, continues into the night. The name of the mountain range immediately in our view is Reclining Woman, although it might be more aptly called Woman Giving Birth Mountain, as the silhouette of these mountain peaks shows a woman reclining in childbirth, the baby's head emerging from the womb. We too come forth from the womb of this retreat, reborn and renewed. Life is here.
Water is here.
Perhaps with the invention of indoor plumbing. When one walks into the spiral, one walks into the experience of life, into the labyrinth. One walks in search of life-sustaining water, in this land of little water. Water, like clouds, comes and goes. As always, we attended to work.