PANDORA PEOPLE

I read a story once

about a child in whose every footstep

flowers sprung up, whether on carpets, tarmac or whatever -

leaving a tiresome trail in her wake -

to most people's annoyance,

frustration and expense.

Whata troublesome person they raged: what a to-do!

That sort of thing.

It wasn't perverse reaction, conditioned nor intentional:

just pure, blithe happenings, just so.

Poor kid! Poor world!

unknowing about Pandora!

If they knew anything about stars or Jung

they’d conclude it was Uranus or their Id had gotten wonky:

something to fix, repair, solve.

Something unscientific called happenstance.

So they took out their books and googled like mad,

whilst the flowers went on springing

even in the cellar she was confined to.

Pandora wasn’t interested - let alone surprised:

consequences weren’t her milieu.

See her as a tiptoed goddess, a balmy breeze, a tornado -

instantaneous, native, neutral, albeit

with a chancy box of secrets.

Moral of de story:

don’t predict, expect or control

anything.

She is the synthesis of mind-kind:

bodhisvatta Mahakala.