काली | See the wheel of triangles behind her shoulder, the storyteller says — that is the Sri Yantra, a window into the heart of everything. She sits before it like a queen on a throne made of skulls, and beneath her feet Shiva sleeps the sleep of the worlds. The severed head in her hand is not a person; it is the ego, the little self that thought it was everything. She has cut it down kindly, the way a gardener prunes a tree so it can grow better next spring.
