Number Thirty Nine

We speak to ourselves like politicians at a rally.  Full of judgments about what's wrong, and demands for action.  Nothing happens.  Nothing changes.

We carry images of the perfect self, what we will never be.  We pretend it's possible, but the ideal becomes less a goal than a source of damage.  A way to dehumanize.  The perfect self is a despot, ready for carnage.  Ready to find failure in every choice.

Seeing the self as it is, flawed, full of pain and the compensations to escape pain, is the only path to something new, and a way to the divine.