Let it wash over you sometimes


Physician, heal thyself.

The election has passed.  The results are in.  The inevitable is delayed but the outcome feels known.

Thankfully, in New Zealand all this happens without riots on the streets, and blood being spilt.  Everything I wrote before I believe.  Then I remember about hypocrisy.  I drink the milk of the farmers I castigate.  I fill my kids’ lunchboxes with the packaged products of the conglomerates I berate.  You know, I contribute to the mess.  It’s easier to shrug and carry on.  The world is destroyed by that.  Not Hitler in modern form but the convenience of takeaway coffee cups.

Keep versus love.  If only life was so simple.  Can we have both?  Can we have neither and something else, please?  Of course.  I don’t know.  I’m good with words.  Sometimes when the writing is good I can smell their power, their ability to stir the heart, and it intoxicates me.  It’s a kind of drug for me, and it stimulates my ego, and plays to my vanity.  That’s ok.  It’s natural.  I do need to remember though, when I write like that, not to throw stones in glass houses.

I should be hard on myself but not too hard.  The difficulty with too hard is that you become a lot less human.  Think about how much trouble has been caused by people following strict ideological principles instead of compromising.

So, I am changing tone again.  I thought a lot this week about myself instead of the world.  I’m an ok person most of the time, but perhaps I should look to myself a bit more before castigating a world that is not of my making, and of which I know little.

Heal thyself.

Here’s my favourite song of the week.


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I wrote a book called Kaitiaki o te Pō