Democracy until we're all a little smaller, a little hungrier, a little dirtier. You might have to give away half of your bacon, lettuce and avocado sandwich. Maybe two thirds. Hands clasped across the world, holding onto each other, cannot be so clean as they once were. What if, in the end, there isn't enough? What if the mean isn't sufficiently nice? We will all speak the common language of food and sun, water and wind, too cold and too hot and sometimes just right. In the end it is enough for me to have tried, to have lived, to have died like everyone else. Far in the future, when all of this is forgotten, we will gather in a field to dance. We will see each other in everyone's face. We will break bread that we never imagined and drink strange wine, so strong it makes you warm, so cold it make you sigh. We are natives, all of us, of this place. Today we are afraid, but joy is up ahead. We will dance for joy in fields of forgetfulness.
If you cannot forgive, here is what you do: Run yourself through with a blade. Set yourself ablaze. Leap in indignation from the mountain peaks, spilling your ire onto the rocks below. Cut your wrists and drown the world. If you cannot forgive do yourself a favor. Die in your justified rage. It's for the best, believe me.
Today I am searching in the ruins of our cities for clues. I wonder to myself, "What ever happened to us?"
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Love.
P. S. - I just noticed that this is the 666th post on this blog. I just thought I should tell you in case you're freaked out by that sort of thing. Read at your own risk. (Caveat Emptor.) Thanks for stopping by.
