my careless contagion

Warning! This is a long post but worth it. Before I begin, let me say a few words. No one knows who wrote this. I will explain what it means to me at the end.  Judge Gently  Pray don't find fault with the man who limps or stumbles along the road, unless you have worn the shoes he wears, or struggled beneath his load, there may be tacks in his shoes that hurt, though hidden away from view, or the burden he bears, placed on your back, might cause you to stumble, too. Don't sneer at the man who's down today, unless you have felt the blow that caused his fall or felt the shame that only the fallen know. You may be strong; but still the blows that were his, if dealt to you in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time, might cause you to stagger, too. Don't be too harsh with the man who sins, or pelt him with word or stone, unless you are sure, yea doubly sure, that you have no sins of your own; for you know, perhaps if the tempter's voice should whisper as softly to you as ...

I decided, after enduring one of the worst years of my life (2019), it's clear this new year needs to carry a different tune. In my praying and soul searching, I've gone to God to ask what kind of attitude I should have through all of these harsh realities. The answer was I should rejoice, I should praise Him, and I should be thankful. So I will focus on those themes in 2020. I do, after all, have a lot to rejoice about, praise God about, and be thankful for.  God's answers to my many prayers are in themselves something to rejoice about, praise Him for, and be thankful for. But I was reminded of a moment when I was told to essentially discard a great blessing, at least, symbolically. It involved a bad sweater.  It seems like a long time ago, but it wasn't that long ago. When my ex, Kate, and I moved to the Black Hills nearly 6 years ago, we were starting over. We barely had any money. She was working part-time, and we had crazy bills to pay. She cashed in her ret...

Although it seems like all has been lost and all has been taken away, I know this thing in me won't stop until all has been laid waste. This thing in me wants to burn down this house, burn it to the ground, and laugh as the rain unsuccessfully tries to put it out. There will be ashes in place of me. There will be a new day, but I won't see it.  There's a hate in me that's turned inward, tearing as it screams its way from bone to sinew, from organ to meat, from synapse to socket and back. It's furious, and it's tired and bored. There's nothing to see here but the end. And it will see it.  The end is near for me. I feel it quivering in my chest. I feel it whispering on the wind. I hear the layman and the scholar alike tell of it. There's nothing left in this world I want to do. Nothing left I want to say. All my love has been taken away, replaced with a bitter and vile substance called life.  When my world burns, I will feel a final warmth. When ...

  The author's letter to himself, written in 1996. Perhaps he was too bored to write "death." The last day of high school in 1996, my Physics teacher assigned the class the task of writing ourselves a letter. I don't remember exactly what the point of the exercise was, but we had to wait a significant amount of time, say, 10 years after graduation to open the letter. It's been more than 22 years, and I still haven't opened it. I'm a little annoyed by the fact that it has been sitting there so long, just waiting for me to open it. I tell myself I know what I wrote so I don't have to open it, but, honestly, I have no idea. I know I was a dewy-eyed young man with some untarnished ideals, but I had also endured quite a bit of heartache in my 18 years. Graduating from high school seemed anticlimactic. My mind had already started to wander down the path I thought I was going to take. There was college to look forward to, a career, lots of f...