Between one world and the next, when the waters had swallowed everything and nothing yet existed, a banyan leaf drifted on the flood. On it lay a blue child — ornamented, unhurried, one knee drawn up, chin resting on folded arms. The fish moved beneath him. The lotuses opened anyway. He was not waiting. He simply was.
There is something in this image that has nothing to do with mythology. It is the stillness of a child who does not yet know the weight of the world — and in that not-knowing, holds it entirely.
