You, out there.  Yeah, you outside the whole selfsystem — the one with the facet wanting to kick my facet’s childish ass.


I know Others who suffer.  They throw shadows around my own suffering that make it look like a picnic in the clearing in the light under a beautiful summer sky.  I know joy beyond expression, and (just like everyone else) I forget it in the twinkling of an eye.

But don’t you go thinking that I don’t remember.  When a loved one breathes his last, ending pain only by ending life, and I’m soon helping to shovel dirt over him.  When a friend sounds despairing in her pain that laughs at her through the likelihood that it will not go away.  When I stand with family and friends who have been forbidden even to be who they are for most of their lives. When I know not only that I will have pain and that I will die, but that my children will too.  I remember.

I remember.  The part of me that remembers wants to kick ass right back.  But I love you, too, damn you.

If I make it about me in just the right way, it will also be about Others.  If I make it about Others in just the right way, it’ll also be about me.  I won’t make anything “in just the right way” because I am fallen.  But I do want it to be about Others, even when it’s about me.  That’s a want of mine, so it’s about me too.  But Others haunt my wants, and I welcome the wailing and the rattling of their chains.


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