That old, almost-falling-to-pieces kaftan...slipping into it, when the day is done, is like nestling in the arms of one's mother, a gentle lover....or the lap of the Almighty. The kaftan accepts my bumps and bulges; it comforts my bruised and cut skin; it welcomes me home. So...if I open the door to you in a tatty piece of attire,remember...I am wearing my CGH....Cotton Garment of Heaven.


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