I’m picking up the pieces of my delusions,
each a shard of glass
wounding swiftly, without mercy.
So it must be.
It was so much easier to see the guilty without,
treat him with my self-righteous scorn
and justifiable hatred
and, thus, hold myself blameless.
After all, I didn’t pull any trigger.
But hatred is just as deadly.
My indifference and entitlement
and white privilege perpetuates
your pain, your suffering.
My Shadow side had moments of emergence
that could have been redemptive,
but I was so good at avoiding uncomfortable truths.
And finding someone else to blame.
“It’s too late,” my Shadow says persistently and loudly.
“See without blinders, your racism, your genocide,
your colonialism, your tenacious grip on the status quo.
Name it. Claim it. Don’t look away. Then, only then, in Truth, act.”
The Wise Ones say, “If you are still here, you have something to do.”
Act! Love! Now!
While you can.
As you must.
Turn the shards of death into
the jigsaw puzzle with thousands of pieces