the hardest part about caring for humans is when you have to tell them things that are hard to say… and hard to hear. things you know will land heavy and likely hurt, because they are not polished or polite. things that speak life and truth, but often have sharp edges and are prone to nicking as they arrive, things that land in tender spaces where callous has not yet been built.

Over the sands, feral, I hear your fearful whispers on the wind. After all this time, still you shiver and rage for an obesiance denied, dominance defiled. Over ages, you have called me many names. Each of them, horrified homage that is as much supplication as stratagem. Such shakey fingers, raised in ancient motions to protect you. As if bone and flesh could ever save you from the demon you tenderly feed there, within your soul. As if ever you needed protection from me.

do you know what it is like to give unceasingly? the sages praise it as if some lofty and sacred ideal; ignorance breathed as prayer, green incense that smokes as it rises, fouling walls and ceiling. it is a supreme humor that from my hand, such as this would spring. i, giver of all gifts, made into deliverer of all torments save one. or so the story goes. would you hear the truth? then listen and if you can bear it, carry the weight that i have these many, many moons. we all know, of course, that we, humans, are […]