I Am No Little Angel, Nor Have I Wings to Fly

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So, these emotions.

They tell me I am ruined. They tell me my child is ruined. They tell me the world is ruined.

Ruination. 

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Nor is there goodness. Nor succor. 

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Present moment awareness. They say it's key. Also, breathing. Also, not killing everyone. Or at least those you want most to kill. I am bitter as a blue ruin. There are snakes everywhere and poor rations. When the ones for whom you strive disdain you it is a cold weather. When your best efforts are for naught and worse, and worse.

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This past week I have done things I had no business doing. I got away with them but still. There is when provoked in me a great and terrible thing. I would say that these things were required, necessary. 

There is within me a force that should not be set loose upon the world.

For all my gentle lovingkindness, there is a beast that hungers and is blind with fury.

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We already have the answer we seek.

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Some dark things you look into, and recoil from. Some you embrace. Some you hunger for. Some you repudiate.

But you will feast upon the darkness as the light. 

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With one hand you bail out the craft and with the other you chop at the hull with your axe.

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Singing and weeping all the while. 

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As the storm rages.

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As sharks thrash in the shallows.

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I am no little angel, nor have I wings to fly.

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Namaste, for what that may be worth.

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