Dear nutmeg grown for me and mine midst tree and mace and tropic's space [e]quatorial shine., with brown and black in spice-isles sown you're dirtsome cheap sold in hea[p]s, then heapen pile, but dear to me.

She also predicted the tantric sadhanas I would do in the future, both vamachara and dakshinachara. ‘Vamachara? I have no such plan, Mother.’ 'You will have to do lata sadhan, mahacheen kram, kaulik sadhana and mahamudra.' She laughed, for she had just named sadhanas that required a female consort.

Einhorn had a teaching turn […] And with his son at the university I was the only student he had to hand.

After you hand in your essays, I will give both grades and feedback.