As the wind blows, the clouds roll up and I’m left with damp laundry hanging under a canopy of mist. The was sun shining when I pulled 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 we pray for the weather to cooperate. Only to be outdone by the whims of nature. As humans we like to think we can outsmart nature. But eventually most of our innovations end 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 they make others feel. Fooling ourselves with the delusion that we are somehow supreme. How humbling it is when life us shows us the right way. I suppose I could speak 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 themselves.
But now that 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 reads. 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 ignite our primal fears. And although we were given the gift conscious thought, we often hide it in dark spaces. Covered in blankets of hatred and mistrust, allowing us to become what we’ve become, outdone by our own fear.
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 they make others feel. Fooling ourselves with the delusion that we are somehow supreme. How humbling it is when life us shows us the right way. I suppose I could speak 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 themselves.
But now that 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 reads. 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 ignite our primal fears. And although we were given the gift conscious thought, we often hide it in dark spaces. Covered in blankets of hatred and mistrust, allowing us to become what we’ve become, outdone by our own fear.
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