Durga’s Blessings


I have, as of late, been so demoralized by “pronoun trouble” that I had fallen into grim acceptance and an impenetrable hopelessness about my identity. My whole sense of identity had, in fact, been, so I feared, hopelessly crushed forevermore. I, simply put, had given up. I had accepted that I am not nor will ever be compleat–not merely physically, but in my heart.

This evening, and I had no idea why, I have caught glimpses of myself in the mirror, my hair tamed into curls, my face fleshed out sweetly, my makeup just right, and thought… “Justine… you are SEXY!” Hell, even “FOXY.” And it felt good. No, it felt like salvation, so far down in my sense of self had I fallen.

And I recalled, just recalled moments ago, that just yesterday I pleaded with Goddess Durga to fill me with strength and pull me out of this black sense of self. I had forgotten my prayer. And not thinking once about that, not intending it, I had, on a whim, gone out today and bought a Durga murti for my altar.

Furthermore, my faith as of late has been hanging by a slender strand. I have felt distant from my Deities, but today, Durga once again, made it clear that She and They are forever with me. She listens and she sends me signs and strength.

And just as she sent the white snake to me, so she sends me this. And I know–cynics be damned–in this clarity, that my Gods are real, far more real than words and the science the tiny puddle of trifling pudding in our skulls devises to explain away the divine.

Durga is real, more real to me than constructs from the pudding will ever be. And I must leave flowers at her altar.

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