Grim Shit

My mother has been dead for almost seven years now, and still - still - there is one who continues to demonize her. And me, too, it now seems. This is a shard so sharp 'n' slippery I can't get myself to pick it up for closer examination. And yet, I must.

I won't be able to nurture understanding, compassion or forgiveness until I am able to handle this slimy razor-edged particle, and I must - must - work through this. Failure or delay to do so will poison me, and already I feel a hideous seething. I'm feeling a deep disgruntled disdain for the shitty, piddly-ass problems of others. Even the bigger-than-piddly-ass ones. And this is unfair. Because this challenge belongs to me, not to others. This challenge is brought to me by one, not many. And, as a Medicine person, others are my Medicine. I rely on them as much as they rely on me. ::nods::

Yet in this moment I find myself wading by degrees in grim, toxic waters. And there's no way out until I pick up this shard, poking up out of the shallow, mucoid murk.

Day one, I stoically digest, pushing away feeling as much as possible. Day two, digestion continues as I acknowledge and honor the feelings. And there's lots more feeling to do. Today, day three, I digest, feel, and begin to acknowledge the darkest of dark feelings.

And it's some grim shit.

Peace. 🕊