ducks. Mallards. Photo by Lori B. McCray

I was not made for this world, with its density and loss, its suffering and pain. Its focus on the material and suspicion of the ethereal. I can’t prove most of what I know, or explain what I believe. This hurt me, as a child, among scoffers and judgers. For awhile I didn’t care (perhaps I’m dis-remembering). Now I’ve returned to the weight of the opinionated, never having learned that ‘water off a duck’s back’ thing. I’m still an easy target. It only takes one well placed stone to send me under.

Before I leave this Good Green Earth, I should like to stand firmly in a powerful position, and state my truth with no defense, no explanation necessary. “This is what I have chosen.” Time will reveal the efficacy of my decision, but until then, I don’t profit or grow from your conjecturing. I welcome personal stories, of course. “That happened to me, and this is what I did and learned; this is what I might consider next time.” When people start speaking in always and never, I run away.

Whimsy is a dear old friend, though she causes a good many people discomfort. Why is that my problem? Just once, I should like to lay down an unequivocable truth and stand behind it with every fiber of my being. There are simple ones: Love heals. Hate hurts. Something personal to me, such as “one’s intentions are discernible to the wordless, even without words.” The snake in the garden, startled, begins a hasty retreat and I stop to admire it, and it stops to look at me, and we’ve connected. If I had been afraid, or tried to whack it with a broom, no connection.

There’s a bitter divide in this country, a seemingly insurmountable, unconquerable chasm. I don’t know the way through chaos, except to drop duality. Both sides must agree on some mutual merit. Every Life Matters, it seems to me. Without exception. Are we ready to embrace this as the truth, or will we go on having preferences and judgments? There’s a whole lot swinging in the balance. We must choose wisely and carefully, or there’ll be nothing left to choose.

LBM 6/26/2020 (I know the preferred word is ‘unequivocal’ but I need the extra syllable. Poetic license, lolol).

Photographer, Poet, Musician, Mother, Mystic, Gardener, friend of wild creatures, swan whisperer. Find me on Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/wingthing/