Lessons on the Bull - 1

# my heirophant mother

a young woman, hardly nineteen yet, married off to a distant village on the same side of the river finds herself becoming the eldest in yet another household, only to play funambulist among her husband's quarreling brothers:

twenty-six years later, here she is stitching her soul through her favorite designs onto her blouses and her collection of pator, muga, buwa and ghisa mekhelas:

( bulls are a little too fond of their clothing and their food in an incomparably adorable way and you don't fuck with that )

yet, the same eyes that sparkle with an unknown universe at the sight of new fabric also give brother and i a glimpse of stone age, where reason and logic don't exist except for trivials, at the slightest of nuisance or public nose-picking, the latter being father's way to piss her off;

( bulls are stubborn too to an extent not found in the english or any other dictionary )

nevertheless, mother is why i understand that stubbornness needn't be a bad thing, that it can sometimes represent inner passion and loyalty to whatever it is that she is stubborn about, she is why i never needed too many friends because tranquility and silence were life-long lessons, she is why being real is so important to me because she is a genius at snatching the truth from the pit of my lies and wouldn't have it any other way, and she is why my dawns will always outnumber my dusks, no matter how many dogs chase me down the street:

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