Green Tara is a goddess of compassion. Rock on, green Tara, even though you are the color of an artichoke. Same thing for you blue Krishna. It is so bananas that you're blue.
Green. Blue. It's like damn, how come none of my gods had twelve hands? Kali, with a necklace of skulls. Jesus, Mary, God the father, the dove for the Holy Spirit, it's such a small nuclear family. Anemic. Plus they're all one. Or something. I was that kid at church camp who was like, "Is any of this making any sense to anyone?"
It was like this: Two and a half hours on a Sunday. Blah blah blah. Some guy died for you. Oh, yeah, and here's this tiny, sidekick altar for his mother who was super important. And there's this mean greybeard in the sky, saying Be Good, You Awful People. Wait. Nevermind. Y'All Are Okay. Have A Rainbow.
I know its way more than that. More metaphorical. But the images: the human features, the desert, the flowing robes. The scenes took me to that higher place. I like looking at Green Tara in the same way way I was drawn to the stained glass medieval, metrosexual-looking, ruby-winged angels whose expressions were so hard to determine.