Life by the DropONCE again Myla held Lenin and his electric blue worms in her arms. His bony cheekbones rested on her chest. His bronze head made a dull buzzing noise. It was his bust that she embraced in this recurrent dream. Hundreds of phosphorescent grubs wriggled at the statue’s base, like so many Jungian intimations of death and decay. But Myla mistrusted Western science and preferred the Buddhist allegory of the inevitability of death:
A distraught woman once went to the Buddha for help. She was inconsolable as she had lost her firstborn, and only beloved son. The Buddha gently told her to go to each of her neighbors and to ask them to give her a grain of rice. But the rice grain she was to bring back to the Buddha, must come from a house that had never known death, or suffered the
