GODDESSES INC

11

Naret sat by the pool, her legs dangling over the edge, her toes skimming the water. A pad of paper rested on her lap, a pen in her hand. The page was blank. Mostly. At the top, in large curvy handwriting, she wrote Job Skills List. The 'o' was a smiley face. But there was no smile on Naret's.

Naret tapped the pen on the pad and stared into cherished memories. The festival of Loi Krathong, a full moon bright on the twelfth night sky above and its reflection shimmering in the river lapping at her toes. Krathong made from sliced banana tree bark, banana leaves, and spider lilies. The fragrance of incense sticks wafting in the air, the candle's glow, and shiny coins. All offerings to the river spirits. Mortal wishes floating on the water. Mortal desires for forgiveness. Mortals invoking her name. Phra Naret. Phra Naret.

Naret's sigh returned her to the backyard. The ancient rituals no longer held power. They had become a holiday. An excuse to host corporate competitions and beauty contests. A tourist attraction. A photo op to post on social media. The magic was lost.

Naret closed her eyes. Let her mind wander again. Ah, there they were. The orange-robed monks on the riverbank. The countless twinkling boats. Like stars in the river. A breathtakingly beautiful sight. Romantic and inspiring. Otherworldly. But Phra Naret's name no longer fell from their lips. At least, not from enough of them.

Naret blamed herself. She let the magic and purpose and power wilt into nothingness. It was a slow withering. Infinitesimal increments fading away. Too tiny to notice. The world's greatest changes were achieved with barely recognizable alterations. Like a single grain of rice taken from a rice patty. No one noticed until it was too late.

When did the slow erosion begin? Naret did not know. Maybe the erosion began the moment of her inception.

The world was different now. Too different to begin a return to the old ways. People were too busy and cynical to fold banana bark or lily leaves with spiritual hands and prayerful hearts. Few mortals found delight and peace in the simple things. They had become too restless to create beauty. Too distracted to seek peace within their souls.

Naret kicked at the water. The sun filtered through the splash, infused each water drop with a spectrum of hues. She smiled, kicked again, and marveled at the play of water and light. Of the symphony of water in motion. How long would she notice these gifts? Appreciate them? Give thanks for these simple pleasures? Would her new mortality disintegrate like the krathong in the water? Would the gift of forgiving transgressions and harmful thoughts wash away in her new mortal current?

There was no doubt. It already began. Phra Naret refused to forgive herself for her carelessness of neglecting her sole purpose in life.

Naret tossed aside the list. Her soul needed an infusion of hope and serenity. And she knew how. She stood, drew her dress over her head, tossed it aside, and dove in. As her body glided through the water, Naret envisioned her creation.

Several hours later, her wet hair plaited in a tight braid down her back, Naret shouldered her oversized designer tote, her hope wrapped in soft cotton, and headed for the car. The old ways were still best.