The Tandava—which Shiva performs at the end of an age
Our world is ending now. Those who expect one massive explosion that lifts them, saved, out of their shoes and into the arms of a hot muscled savior, do not see it. I never thought the end would be so constant, so continuous, so utterly devoid of finality. There is no door to close on the courtroom vortex while we rest down the hall. The jury deliberates, but blood shit and breath, the acting tribunal, have exhaled the verdict for now and all parties are bound. I step outside in the rain, watch the wheels of change roll down the city street during prime chaos hours, see an addict dance between traffic, recognize him as my own son, blue-faced and covered in ash, wave him down, cup his cold wet cheeks in my hands, and smiling at me, he whispers, in the cycle, growth happens next.
Amy Baskin is interested in the juncture where despair and hope meet. Her work is currently featured in journals including armarolla, Friends Journal, Every Pigeon, and apt.