Musings on Ma Matangi

 Traditional painting depicting Goddess Matangi as She plays Her vina amidst the burning bodies of the cremation ground.

Traditional painting depicting Goddess Matangi as She plays Her vina amidst the burning bodies of the cremation ground.

This life is vibration. This life is music. And while we may think we are the musicians, or consider ourselves composers, we are really always only the Mother-strung cords of Her instrument. Her fingers have held us down, released us, plucked us, fine-tuned us. And every time, slack or taut, we have vibrated. Everything we create is only Her expression: Her wish is our command. And every impulse, every ideal, every indulgence, every denial, every passion, every friction, every fall, every rise, every endeavor, and each and every success is only Her song, Her melody: Her command is our wish. She but opens Her eyes and a trillion universes arise. She closes them and a trillion universes go dark. Everything we could ever want or hope for or accomplish in countless lives is gained and lost, conceived, created and destroyed in one blink of Her eye, in a single, ever-so-slight sidelong glance. We tremble at Her touch, and long for Her to hear Her song in our ear, and to find Her joy in our heart.
This life is vibration. This life is music.