With my fists up by my face,
ready to take you out with a punch,
addicted to being mad,
I sold my soul to the devil
and I didn’t even blink.
At my age and in these times,
can old habits at least be seen?
But this is still safe territory,
what if I burn the book of your transgressions?
Then What?????
Will my soft round animal body be ok?
Will it flourish?
Will it laugh out loud?
Delighting in your smile
and seeing all manner of things reinvented.
Fighting is not winning,
What story do I want to tell?
her soup pot 
So well said. So glad.
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Sally I Love your Poetry explorations .. a form of Shobet.
So in conversation
A couple understandings I’ve gathered
1. holding my hand in a fist is so fatiguing.
1. We must bring back the Art of compromise.
1. From Mandela’s reconciliation : that Forgetting is different than forgiving.
0. And this quote by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche
“The bad news is that you are falling thru air, nothing to hang on to, no parachute.
The good new is
There is no ground.”
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