I walked past a hanging Goddess and her head came off and accosted me
with a terrible stare. I took her in my arms and sat with her on my lap,
and she became very mournful and distraught, slowly dying. She searched
with her eyes and ears for anything, even the compassion a mere mortal like myself
could give, to alleviate her pain. I tried to soothe her and tell
her that it would pass, that she would become beautiful again, but the
reality of her imminent death and separation from beauty manifested
itself in the form of a flower which appeared before us, glowing from its petals. She envied the flower its health and
youth -- or, she would have, if she'd had the strength of will to feel
envy; she could only feel hopelessness, exacerbated by the radiance and
indifference of the Flower. She cried quietly to me that the flower was
mean to her, and I said "that is just the way flowers are, don't let her
trouble you..." Caressing her forehead while she closed her tearful eyes, I soothed her, saying, "Sleep, now..."
