I pray. I ring Jesus,
Mary, and other Saints'doorbell often. Praying happens often when pain shows
its ugly face. I don't think They mind. My Gods & Saints are an
understanding bunch. That's a good thing, since my being nice isn't always
stable.
I have done the I love
me & you retreats, meditating, visualizations, tai chi, Reiki, buddha
shrines, countless help me books. A deep sense of peace enters my body as I
breathe in and out. I'm there spiritually with all the birds, flowers, and the
world. I want to hug a tree, but...
Some creepaloids stole
our catalytic converter off our Toyota while we were sleeping. My Buddha switch
went off. The "I love you, you love me, we're just a happy family"
took a dive into a stinky slimy dumpster. I wanted to kick Barney in the shin.
Purple anger. I'm hoping that the thieves' thing-a-mawdoo gets a rare uncommon
rash and falls off. Sending love their way is not happening. A second robbery
happens. A box full of dog treats and soap to be delivered by UPS
never makes it. I want to stuff the crook's mouth with an entire bag of dog
bones and soap followed by a cool glass of antifreeze. I want to snap their
little head off their shoulder. I'm censoring my other PG-18+ thoughts.
Time to go ring some
Saint's doorbell.
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