Pocket Full of Angels

27 Feb

I sometimes get a little embarrassed, inwardly, when I’m reminded of how many years I spent fighting you, he, she, them, it, that, those, etc, continually failing to identify the real foe: myself -subsequently failing to have any of this fighting lead to freedom… The wreckage I was able to manifest was fantastic and surreal, unbelievable and factual, unlivable while the seeming only way, in a delusion of survival… scrapes with death, injury, sickness, horrible scenes, horrifying behavior, offenses to the world at large, left and right, hurtful, pain inflicting, disharmonious life crashing, willfully blind to my causes and effects… and, not to be exaggerated or hyperbolic, when I feel I’m not getting enough done, achieving my height, creating my best world, etc, blah, blah, I must also be mindful that it’s easily, simply, only, solely by plain dumb luck, and perhaps a pocketful of Angels, that I am even still alive. -BDF

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