A maiden dancing, dancing
on the rim of the world.
Resplendent, Radiant.
I blush to see you rise from your bath
the colours of the morning drip from your bosom
as you open the ways for the sun.
Greetings, Usas, who opens the gates of heaven.

I remember watching the dawn break on Mt. Olympus, far above Litichoro and the sea. As I stood in the gray light of early morning, watching the mists roll over the mountain, I understood a little better the presence of the dawn in the mind of the poet, and the presence of the divine on Mt. Olympus. Truly, the blushing bride of the sun, the virgin innocent who blushes fiercely and beautiully when she is seen at her bath, the girl who comes quietly through your window in the morning and brushes her warm fingers across your face and chest and thighs. . . truly, she was there. . .

In my mind's eye, when I view the dawn I am looking through a keyhole at a young woman bathing in her room, which is richly furnished in dark wood, draped in fabrics with warm hues of orange and red. She may sing to herself, or hum, as she slowly and joyously washes in the deep waters about her, the colours reflecting in the ripples where the waters meet her skin. At length, she rises from the bath, the waters dripping from her bosom in the many colours of the morning, and though she is alone she blushes a deep and soft blush, the colours radiating out from her skin. . . but this vision does not last for more than a the most fleeting of moments, for in a fluid motion she draws forth a cloth that covers her nakedness, walks swiftly across the room and throws open the window to the blinding light of the sun.

In another vision, I see the cool, grey mists of morning enter through my open window. Coming close on the heels of the mists, the dawn rests her fingers upon my window ledge, warming it and drawing colour to it. She then creeps over the sill, gazing down upon me in my slumber, and rests her hand upon my brow, lightly warming me with the warmth of her own touch. Her fingers trail across my face, brushing my hair behind my ear, touching my eyelids, and trailing across my lips and down my neck. Her fingers pass over my chest and stomach, warming them and drawing the first sigh of the morning from my body. She paints the room in fiery colours, drawing pinks, reds, and vibrant oranges across earth and sky. It is this gloriously painted heaven and earth that I view when I open my eyes and find her already gone, though I can still feel her touch and see the joy with which she has painted my world.

Today dawns the last of all dawns that have been
And the first of all dawns that will be.
Clothed in light, she appears in the east
Awakening man and beasts and lighting the fires of sacrifice.
Beloved of heaven, Usas unveils the treasures hidden by darkness,
Distributing them to all the pious who make sacrifice.

Usas, you have awakened me to the last dawn and the first,
And though each glimpse of you wastes my life, it prolongs it yet again.
Bringer of wealth, breath of life, warder against evil:
Let this be the first of many days I greet in your blessed light.

1. I'll bore folks out of their skull, or they won't have enough time to achieve a ritual mindset
2. I'll plan a lot, but get so lost in my devotion to Usas or Ratri that I'll forget that there are other people there with me, and I'll either speak too quietly or personally to the deities for anyone to "follow along" into a ritual mindset

1. Strike a match
2. Sing the Clergy Charm while lighting the candle(s)
3. Pray a seven-line prayer to Usas.
4. Stand "still" for a moment
5. Put on my necklace
6. extinguish the candle

vi.1. Prajapati, being desirous of propagation, underwent penance; from him when heated were born five, Agni, Vayu, Aditya, Candramas, and Usas as fifth. He said to them, 'Do ye also practise fervour.' They consecrated themselves; then when they had consecrated themsleves and had acquired fervour, Usas, offspring of Prajapati, taking the form of an Apsaras, came out in front of them; to her their minds inclined; they poured out seed; they went to Prajapati, their father, and said, 'We have poured out seed; let it not remain here.' Prajapati made a golden bowl, an arrow breadth in height and similar in breadth; in it he poured the seed; then arose he of a thousand eyes, of a thousand feet, with a thousand fitted (arrows).

Last night, after a good evening of talking after yesterday's trips, I found myself unable to sleep. there were a lot of thoughts moving through my head all night, from ADF issues to work problems to women. And of course, last night's little discussion of love for a goddess.

But I woke up several times last night after I finally fell asleep, each time because of a different problem. It was the last problem I found myself most worried about.

Well, not "worried." More like "baffled."

In my dream this morning, which was actually a half-awake musing after I was awakened by zylch's alarm clock, I was hanging out with a girl When I saw her, I leaned in to give her a hug, and she pulled away, hard. I was confused.

"I'm not going to kiss you," she said.

"Fuck," I said. "If I wanted to kiss you, I'd ask you on a date first, and probably ask if I could kiss you. My heart's been broken too many times for me to try and pull a shitty stunt like that. Now, can I have a hug?"

And, of course, the rest of the dream has us wandering about a bookstore like old friends, but something has changed. She is no longer as close, no longer as flirty, and now, where there was nothing between us, there is embarrassment and suspicion.

And that simple fact breaks my heart again.

*laughs*

I've never been good with love, it seems.

Other highlights of my restless morning include watching the sunrise through the windows (more correctly, watching the sun's light increase) and having an argument over whether to get up and do a devotional to Usas (I decided not to because I needed the sleep so badly), worrying about ADF elections (very common), and enjoying thoughts about women (not like that, no). (well, maybe just a bit)

Oh, and I saw a ghost. Well, it was probably another guest at the house, but without my contacts in and in the bare moonlight coming in our small windows, it sure looked like a ghost. And since house ghosts are more exciting than house guests, I'm saying it was a ghost.

So there.

It is clear to me that I love her, but love and I are old enemies.

I fall in love, and I know love well, but always, I fear it is fleeting and prone to disappear.

I know that I love this goddess, this divine cow, Usas. But my question, as always with love, is "what do I mean by these words I know are so true?"

I pray to see her again, for when I see her blush in the pale mornings, I know this answer.

I simply cannot express it.

I can safely say, it is as dawn breaks over the first day of a trip to Greece that I find myself truly embarking, and it is the break of dawn that affords me with my first new experience on the trip.

Waking from a short nap, I groggily shook the cobwebs out. I dislike sleeping on planes for a number of reasons, but most of all because of the amazing discomfort. The in-flight movie was playing on my neighbor's seatback, while mine was tuned to the time/temp/velocity/map infoscreen that so many planes now have. As I shook out my tiredness, I noticed her looking at my screen, and so I looked at hers.

But the thing that caught my eye was not the movie. It was the view from her now-opened window.

While I was napping, she must have opened it, because I remembered her asking if I minded if she closed it. Now, I was enraptured.

Far on the horizon, dawn was breaking. A line of the most brilliant and deep red was painted across the edge of the world, a line no wider than if it had been drawn upon a black canvas with a fine brush. Below, the lights of cities laid out in grids were mostly dark, and I knew that this spectacular red was not available upon the surface of the earth, that no eye below the clouds could see it.

And I knew I was gazing on something sacred.

For the first time, I found true understanding in the Rgveda's poetic frustration, and how it was tempered by aw, reverence, and a desirous lust at dawn's magnificence.

Before this morning, I believed I understood what it meant to see Usas rise naked from her bath, to see her blush. I had seen amazing sunrises, been warmed by her touch, and blushed myself at the fleeting glimpses I have had of her. For all this, I thought I had seen an intimate side of her, one few others could.

But now, looking out on a show I knew was meant for my eyes, meant only for me, I realized that the depth and breadth of Usas' whole being was laid out before me, and that such glimpses are not given without definite purpose.

And now I feel the same deep pain that the authors of the Vedas must have felt, the same frustration. Usas' beauty and personality and splendor cannot be captured on paper, nor in any words or language known to man, but yet we who know it also feel compelled to share it, to talk deeply about it, to help others obtain that fleeting glimpse.

A sunrise is just a sunrise, though: there is nothing more predictable, nothing more set in stone. Sunrise is simple to most, easy. This is how, forty-five minutes later, with my rapt attention flicking between this page and the awe-inspiring sight beyond the window, my neighbor casually reached for the shade and drew it tight. Usas had not yet given way to Surya, but my glimpse was meant to be fleeting, so I did not protest. Sunrises, it seems, happen for some people.

Sunrises, though, happen to me.

The Rgvedic hymns to Usas, it has been said, are some of the most charming and beautiful in any language, and this may well be because those who could write of her must have a special knowledge. Theories abound now in my head about how the poets obtained the knowledge they did: my experience was in flight, so did they somehow climb above the clouds on a high mountain? Did they obtain the knowledge through flights of ecstatic trance, aided by Soma? Did they experience a different astronomical phenomenon all together?

However they obtained this knowledge, their poetic language fits my experience perfectly. I know that this morning, I saw Usas rise from her bath, and that the colours of the morning dripped from her bosom. I know that this morning, she was blushing in her innocence, but choosing to reveal herself to me because she rouses her worshipers and lets others ("less pious" as the RV says, though I prefer to consider them "differently pious") sleep on. I know that this morning, as she opened the gates of heaven for her lover Surya and the rest of the world, she opened this adventure for me.

It is no coincidence that my first thought upon reflection was: "On the threshold of adventure / god I do love this job so." Usas has opened this new adventure in the most beautiful way possible.

I have now been writing and thinking for two hours: I began this entry just south of Frankfurt, Germany, worked on it as we flwe almost directly over the house in Austria I stayed at a year and a half ago, and end it now as we fly into Greek airspace, and I see the outline of what I have always know as "the Balkan powder keg."

I look forward to this new adventure, and sharing my experience with someone else who knows the Vedas well.

Thank you, Usas. Your gift humbles me.

• Practice my ASL
• Work on my book

tesinth

7:22 AM, September 25, 2006

• Stumble in front of the altar, no contacts in, wearing only a towel, fumbling for a match.
• Try to strike the match two or three times; finally get it lit.
• Light the three candles, and suddenly realize that I'm on my last match and that one of the key points of my devotionals is my attempt to light all candles off a single match.
• Decide to put off Usas' prayer, because my prayer to Epona indicates, "I light your candle," and that sounds really silly when you're not lighting a candle, or the candle is already lit, and I was holding the lit match in my hand.
• Say prayer to Epona.
• Say prayer to Usas.
• Realize I forgot to bring my triquettra up from the basement, and thus can't put it on.
• Take a moment to center myself anyway.
• Blow out my candles, and continue with the mad dash of getting ready for work.
• Go back to the basement to find my triquettra, and put it on.

1. Get your ass up on time. Rolling out of bed, dripping wet, half-naked, and completely unkepmt is no way to meet the Gods.
2. Evening devotionals ensure that all your morning devotionals will be set up and ready to go.
3. Epona has to come first in this, because of the wording of the prayer. Rituals should start one minute before the recognition of the sun setting or rising to time things right.
4. An old episode of the original Star Trek is not a valid reason to stay up until 2 AM the night before a major ritual change.