The Jewel In The Lotus, Hum

Om Mani Padme Hum. Compassion. Or, Om, The Jewel in the Lotus, Hum!  Needled that into her skin, forever marking herself, one of seven rites of passage. Lots of moving forward colouring her landscape, some fading, others bleeding into the edges, all of them clear, concise markers of specific moments in her life. Some are beyond explanation. Over the years they have altered their course, and now represent something so far removed from their original intention she can no longer explain them to new lovers or curious ladies in the locker room. They are what they are. A road map in technicolour and black and white fading into muted navy blue. There's always a moment of sadness before she starts a new piece, a farewell to the virgin, naked skin soon to be irrevocably altered. Capturing this time, this place, this heart, this desire. Forever. Or until she sheds her skin and generates a new one, untouched, unblemished, and begins again.

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