18 July 2025

Is there such a thing as death by dust? wonders Shirley.
Keeling over from aridity overwhelm?

Here, babe: have some water.! How is it that he always anticipates her unspoken needs?
Dehydration, that’s what the world is suffering from. Him with the most moisture wins.

He sprays her with the mist from a plant sprayer bottle scented with jasmine. Smoke and Shirley are alone in the vast desert. No need to uphold professional standards. She strips off her shirt and coos revealing bare skin: Ahhhh ahhhhh ahhhhha…. more , more , more…My kingdom for a mist.

He says I love you in a comical way, through his tongue turned into a tunnel that he sticks out of his mouth. It is startling, like a limp yet moist misshapen penis.

Don’t post THAT as a selfie! The penetrating enervating ever-present heat had sucked humor right out of her. It feels good to hear herself laugh.

An Ayruvedic doctor in Ahmedebad showed it to me: Breathe in and out through your tunnelled tongue, it actually cools you down.

She starts hyperventilating through her tongue tunnel, feeling like a heat-crazed ant eater. God, you’re right! God bless the Ahmedabad Ayurveda masters. Gosh those healers of old must have lounged around alot in their earth clinics letting their bodies express themselves in all kinds of non-conventional ways.

Ya think? He responds cheerfully. Ain’t that our great discovery here in the forgotten recesses of the Rajasthani desert?

They have been granted special permission by the Archeology Department of the Governments of Rajasthan and India, to examine a striking circular shaped stone complex, several hours’ dusty drive from Jaipur.

Archeologists from Delhi University declared this a Buddhist temple retreat, an ashram for monks with personal meditation cells, facing a Master in the center.

Researchers from Christian University of the Eternal Law (Birmingham Alabama) claim the site proves that the earth was created in 6 days. Their logic is impenetrable.

But Shirley and Smoke are here to verify the presence of the Sheela Na Gigs. Their last encounter with these striking sculptures was in some digs in the Greek Island of Oceanos, proving that the images of the crone exposing her open vulva was more widespread than previously thought.

The Sheela Na Gigs (from Ireland) were reverentially examined by shamans from Chinchero Peru, Putan Korea and Bulgaria .Their explanation? These geographically far flung, strikingly similar structures are part of a Goddess Presence (they do not say: “Cult”). In Ireland common folk protected the images; it’s astounding the Vatican ever allowed them to be preserved over entrances to Christian churches.

Victorian ethno-botanists were shell shocked at what was (to them) a salacious display of ancient women opening the fold of their privates for all to see. Not to mention, over doors to places of worship!. Recipe for unleashing the strong, ripe women! And ripe for eradication from the archeological record. But their attempts sprung leaks: the folk knew better than to mess with the ancient carvings. Shirley and Smoke are part of a new breed of paleologists thinking outside the box.

They are weaving an explanation that elucidates how such sites have been intentionally excised by the “experts.” These complexes, they conclude, were healing retreats for the regeneration of injured soldiers. They were financed by the state; staffed by women healers who were part of a special caste. These women were profoundly skillful at restoring dismembered fighters to their wholeness and humanity. Weaving and reweaving them with each fellow’s five songs, specific to them, designated at birth. Redeemed, retraced, reconfigured by skilled intuitives who knew how to recover the original encodements.

What was passed down through archeological convention was sourced in stiff, brittle, dry, humorless, rigid, white, colonial, male psyche—with its odious bias against vulnerability and innocence. Out with: all womanliness. Healing arts. Love-making. Womanly beauty, womanly love, womanly touch. Childbirth. Midwivery. Mothering.

How unmanly for the White Man’s Burden crowd to contemplate: that manly equine riders and foot soldiers of Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Nepalese Gurkhas, or the ferocious Celts could be restored to vitality by commoner maidens and maids. Quiet invisible weavers of healing songs, embedding life and sensual vigor into traumatized tissues. These sacred maidens preserved the Five Lavendar Songs of the soundless nameless Void: Void, Gestation, Birth, Decay & Death, Rebirth.

Through human touch. Woman’s touch. Body to body entwinement. Bodies being re-sacralized. Life being holy. The wounded being restored to their bodies’ natural state of wellness.

Perhaps the records of these ancient healing refuges disappeared because so many of the warriors went AWOL— choosing, instead of mass slaughter, the draught of redeemed Life.