Dangerous Compassions

o life, banana boxes, judging judgers

If you leave bananas in a banana box, in their plastic bags, they get wet.  I guess they’re living things, so they breathe or somehow, I dunno, water comes out.

So I think it’s good to unpack them.

I’m trying to center this morning.  I’m trying to be ok–ok with people, our pettiness, our self-important crap.  Our arrogant, hurtful shit.

There’s so much tenderness.  Then there’s coldness, cruelty.  Pain of being judged.

Well, I judge.  So here I am, judging the judgers.

I slept half the night without Ming.  He was building monitor at the church from midnight to 7am.  I did fine.  I dreamt of…eggs for sale from a farm, many colors of eggs. a mountain lion idea. weirdly overly-ornate bathroom no one was using. store with too much religious propaganda in it.

I’m hiding out as much as I can.  Maybe tomorrow will be the hardest day. 

I keep telling myself: in a week and a half, all this will be over.  I think of it like getting my life back.  But this is life too.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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