As the wind blows, the sky’s cloud back up. And I’m left with damp laundry hanging under a canopy of mist. It was sun shining when I put the clothes in the washer. But here in the South that usually don’t mean a damn thing. Being a slave to the elements is nothing new. Here in rural farm country you pray for the weather to cooperate, only to be outdone by the fate of the wind. As humans we like to think we’ve outsmarted nature. But eventually our innovation and one-upsmanship, ends up making things worse instead of better.
The same holds true for how we treat ourselves. Scurrying about thinking we are superior in our beliefs and traditions. Never giving a thought to how demeaning it makes others feel. Fooling ourselves with the delusion that somehow even in our humble state, we are still supreme. What a sad state to find oneself in when the life around us shows a better way. I suppose I could “act up” and call out the hypocrisy, but I’d only be wasting my breath. Because an addicted soul never finds salvation unless they seek it out themselves.
So now the clothes are hung out, all I can do is wait on the elements. Right now, old Buffy is laying down asleep on my belly while I type away these words no one really believes. But that’s okay, my conscience is clear. I’ve said all I can really ever say. Getting along with nature, ourselves, and other people is a noble endeavor. But often we allow the voices of paranoia to excite our primal fears. And although we were given conscious thought, we often hide away in our safe spaces. Covered in blankets of hatred and mistrust, becoming what we’ve become, outdone by our own fate.
The same holds true for how we treat ourselves. Scurrying about thinking we are superior in our beliefs and traditions. Never giving a thought to how demeaning it makes others feel. Fooling ourselves with the delusion that somehow even in our humble state, we are still supreme. What a sad state to find oneself in when the life around us shows a better way. I suppose I could “act up” and call out the hypocrisy, but I’d only be wasting my breath. Because an addicted soul never finds salvation unless they seek it out themselves.
So now the clothes are hung out, all I can do is wait on the elements. Right now, old Buffy is laying down asleep on my belly while I type away these words no one really believes. But that’s okay, my conscience is clear. I’ve said all I can really ever say. Getting along with nature, ourselves, and other people is a noble endeavor. But often we allow the voices of paranoia to excite our primal fears. And although we were given conscious thought, we often hide away in our safe spaces. Covered in blankets of hatred and mistrust, becoming what we’ve become, outdone by our own fate.
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