Mahasamatman

December is coming. The season of the rains is here, and it always reminds me of the start of Roger Zelazny's epic (but short) 1968 novel Lord of Light. The only difference is that my life is a lot less interesting than Sam's. The similarity lies in the fact that December is downtime for me; I feel that my essence is captured in a standing wave for about a month. Then, I am summoned back to the world of humanity in January.

Thinking about it, I realise that Herman Hesse's bildungsroman about Siddhartha the not-Buddha is not half as well constructed, nor as interesting, as Zelazny's.