Rajanaka Jāratā

Door 7. “Stripes!” “Spots!” “Stripes!” “Spots!” “Dark ripples across the water—STRIPES!” “The stars, the constellations. The very heavens above. I must insist—SPOTS!” “ENOUGH!” She stood the ground between the Cheetah and the Tiger. “Haven’t we all had enough bickering in our lives? Are our hearts not big enough to encompass more?” For two cats, they began to look pretty darn sheepish. ChiChi, the newest of the travelling companions, was a cheetah of a rather churlish disposition, and justifiably proud of his lush freckled coat. This all-too-obvious self-satisfaction rubbed the Tiger the wrong way—in his irritation, striped fur stood on end. Their dispute had brought the night’s expedition to a standstill, and in the distance the red flames of dawn licked across the sky. “You are both exquisite, and you have every right to be proud,” the little Canadian girl assuaged ruffled feelings. “But why not be proud of each other, as well? You’ll double your enjoymen

Hope writes, Door 4. Formal, archaic in his speech, he greeted her with a thousand blessings. She found herself quite relieved to come across Ganapati again. The grounds of this temple are tangled, expansive, and its alleys ever so dark. To find Ganesha a second time—or had he found her?—seemed of formidably good fortune. The Tiger, while a distinguished travelling companion indeed, as all cats large and small, preferred his own company. Wandering off, dissolving into the shadows, he often would leave the little Canadian girl to her own devices. Ganapati’s steadfast alliance, then, was much appreciated. “Pursue your path,” the Great Being encouraged. “Even when it undulates like the cobra of my belt. Even when the trail seems broken. A path twists, bends. That is its way. To follow it, you must bend with it—even be willing to break.” Nodding, she listened intently as he continued, “Look to the wide sky, to the stars, to get your bearings. But keep this ever

FROM HOPE WEST It began with a Temple, and box of 24 doors. Every morning for 24 days, the next door would reveal a surprise gift—a tiny token. The challenge? To weave a story over those weeks, without knowing which character might appear the following day: an Advent-ure Calendar. Each day, one short chapter, illustrated with a photo of the day’s gift. The story would be of the search for the Lost Temple, a kind of children’s story for adults. What magic awaits? Door 1. Dreams still ghosting my consciousness early this dark morning, I spy it on the breakfast table. My husband’s handmade advent calendar awaits me, and I delight at this unexpected gift on December’s first morning. Really, I still had no idea… Pulling at Door One, sliding fingers into its small opening, I extract a rubbery flat ballon and a safety pin. (???!) On the balloon, enigmatic painted runes and a message: “Blow Me.” Giggling, I do its bidding. More symbols emerge—a further message—as it i