Do I then bring her down through the rushing of light and matter?
Or does she descend like the gentle starlight: flowing down the empty void to fill up this vessel?
Does she descend gently and loving like dew drops, like the high pitched electrical vibration?
Does she come to me as ambrosia, sweet nectar from above touching the tongue, filling the heart with the most sublime, soft, gentle love?
Is it just the mind that sits by the well in the full moon?
Is it just this silly mind of mine, divided between thought and feeling, that sees a difference between the graceful descent of the utterly tasty and satisfying dew of ambrosia and the rushing of the falling from grace?