She tells me she feels like mother earth, her troubles wrapped up in her own creation. The mystic nature of her body is at the mercy of the tides and the cycles of the moon. She tells me her tears are the mountain’s icy streams, running rivers of clear and fresh emotions, eventually drying like the rain-starved saltpans. She speaks of her blood, like the rivers current, carrying life giving gifts around her body, flowing calmly one day and raging the next. She expresses the sorrows of her anxieties, sitting in the pit of her stomach, decaying like the earth’s creatures at the hands of man. She tells me her body is a wonder of the universe; old and worn, fighting on despite the odds and shining beautifully even in the darkest of storms.