Full to the Brim

This world is full to the brim. Spilling over God knows where. The opposites have always been out of control. Careening wildly from birth to death, love to hate, sickness to health, et cetera and so forth. No way to get a handle on it.

Religion has tried.

Spirituality has tried.

But oil slicks and spills of darkness proliferate.

We wall ourselves up to hide our despair. Pretend we don’t care. Split a hair.

We open up to share the woe, defeat the foe, no place to go.

Angels no longer dance on the heads of pins. Where did they go?

Laughter and tears mask our primal fears. What do they know?

My grandfather used to “saucer and blow” his coffee. That is when it is too hot to drink, so you pour some into your saucer, blow on it and then slurp it up.

We can’t do that with the world so full of scalding suffering.

Let’s take a break, for God’s sake.

Let’s admit, maybe for the first time, that we don’t know what to do.

It doesn’t count on you. It never did. It never could. You’re made of wood.

No life in you at all. At least not in your false papers that claim you were born and died.

As hard as you tried, you cried and lied, claiming to be a “person.”

Enter the dilemma to end all dilemmas. “Who am I?”

Please don’t answer that. You’ll just add to the spill.

Vicki Woodyard

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