So many things are the enemy of so many other things.

I got into reading political blogs because of the snark. The delicious, glorious snark. I love snark. But then there’s compassion. But does that end? Where? And do I believe that we’re all born compassionate? Of course I do, except when I won’t.

jagged lines of stress
medicate and steam, then sit
three drops slip and run

And I try to sit, and be still. Then those drops of water trickle down my back, and I’m reminded of a haiku I read a few years back, and then I’m off! and trying to compose and then I think of my blog and how I’m going to talk about it here, which is so. not. why I’m sitting there with my string of beads, the long string, the one I’m thankful for because I can rest in it, imagine that the beads go on for ever, that I can stay in that circle long enough – and then it ends and I bow, and start again.

All my demons are who I am. I’d better love them.

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