right

other

I was thinking about the times forgiveness and I have crossed paths, when was it easy and when was it not.

Entirely buttfuzz-in-the-teacup backwards of what would make sense, the toughest for me is to forgive is the idiot. The person who really had malice in their heart is easier to forgive. (Well, it could also be that I’m confusing forgiveness with willed forgetfulness)

One idea: maybe because there’s a good feeling to forgiving the bad person, kinda like being a martyr or giving money when folks are watching, but not quite.

I’m editing this draft from a few months ago, and having thought about it more, here’s another thing I think: the idiot who won’t admit (to others or themself) they’ve been an idiot is the really hard one to forgive.

 

ideas

Maybe trying so hard to eradicate poverty is all wrong;

maybe we’d do better to just figure out how to de-problem it.

Hmm.

stories

I’d come around
In the early winter evening.
The skies were cloudy, but broken enough
To let through some of the golden light,
As the sun began to set
Over the Northern Sea.
All the times I’d come here to be
The peace had always helped.
It was never quiet,
Not with the waves, always
Breaking over the rocks below,
But so it was, and it was peace,
and it had always helped.

I set the diamond on a rock,
It blazed in the golden sunlight;
It didn’t seem right, though.
An eastern wind blew through the grass
On the bluff where I sat and listened;
I listened to the tranquil place where I was.
A moment passed, maybe more than that;
Here, time had always meant less.
Looking over the sound,
I could see the other two islands
And the Northern Sea, where I was.

I picked up the last piece, and held it
Up to the dying light of the sunset.
All the others I’d thrown into the wind
As a heavy gust blew out over the sea.
It had only taken one careful swing
Of a good sized rock
To shatter the diamond.
Now I held the only piece left
Of what was.
It didn’t blaze at all, but was beautiful.
It glimmered simply in the last light;
it was right.