The chemo is for the cancer, the perpetrators …” I find myself rising, slowly walking to the center of my loft, toward the window with the antique golden sari curtains. I lay the pink material down on the floor carefully, as if preparing for a picnic on a beach. I walk back to the bedroom and face my Tara statue. Tara, mother of all Buddhas, who appeared in a woman’s body. Tara, who fights off danger, fear, demons … hopefully cancer. Tara, who came through the Buddha’s heart.I lift Tara and I hold her in my arms. My heart is pounding because she is very heavy and I am weak. I should wait for someone to help me but I can’t. I carry her out of the safe nestle of my room and rest her on the outstretched pink cloth. I need you now, Tara. I need you in the center of this space, this room. I lower her. I dress the pink cloth around her feet and make a kind of shelf. Then I find a turquoise stone and a medal and a collection of trinkets that friends have sent to make me better.
