They say no mud, no lotus.  The lotus though it roots in the mud, digs its strong tendrils downward into the thick ooze.

The winter has come and the tuber is dormant, it waits, asleep in the frozen mud, deep, thick and stuck there.  But in its dormancy it is potential energy, it is hunger, it is dissatisfaction, so comfortable, but so unhappy with this state of affairs, it aches for the sun, for the light, for the soft touch of the dragon fly as it lights upon its petals.  And yet it is all this time still a life, a rich, deep energy.  They say that tropical lilies die when it gets too cold.  Unable to survive the deep dormancy required by hardy types.  And it is the hardy type that digs burrows the most deep, surviving in the harsh winter cold.  It is like a frog waiting to thaw.  Waiting here in the mud.  Waiting here in the mud.  Waiting here.





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