Every time my heart hardens with complaint, I contract, a universe going the wrong way. Why swing myself with my own choice momentum. Toward the pain of return. Every time my heart hardens with unforgiveness, I feel encircled by fear, closing in, the voice that says "I will let you eat salt, not just taste it. I will replace the too plain joy, at least your act convinces, and give you the better joy of suffering."
What tragedy before I ungrip this moment to just let it be, to let it breathe? I can only pray, pray, pray, and pray again. When will I? Rise above the clamor, mirrors of this house to what I wear inside, below the reasonable voice and cool skin trying to keep everything inside from turning out. It's all kind of coming apart, maybe just today, but I can't somehow wrap a single thing around this universe, or even, around a shred of why or wisdom. It sounds too desperate to sound desperate, but oh. Maybe that's the shred I was being led to write.
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