Pain Is A Forcing Sieve That Turns

We Live In A Media Soup And Are Constantly Being Programmed Or Are Fighting That Programming. Thus Any Truthful Account Of A Life, Every Part Of A Life, Is About Society As Well As An Individual.

Praise Our Choices, Sister, For Each Doorway Open To Us Was Taken By Squads Of Fighting Women Who Paid Years Of Trouble And Struggle, Who Paid Their Wombs, Their Sleep, Their Lives That We Might Walk Through These Gates Upright. Doorways Are Sacred To Women For We Are The Doorways Of Life And We Must Choose What Comes In And What Goes Out. Freedom Is Our Real Abundance.

Every Baby Born Unloved, Unwanted, Is A Bill That Will Come Due In Twenty Years With Interest, An Anger That Must Find A Target, A Pain That Will Beget Pain. A Decade Downstream A Child Screams, A Woman Falls, A Synagogue Is Torched, A Firing Squad Is Summoned, A Button Is Pushed And The World Burns.

The People I Love The Best, Jump Into Work Head First Without Dallying In The Shallows.

I Mourn In Grey, Grey As The Sleeted Wind The Bled Shades Of Twilight, Gunmetal, Battleships, Industrial Paint.