confessions p 22

Sometimes, I can see all the world's ills in myself. 
To some degree or another 
I can see that which we recognize as good or evil in my own heart. 
If that is the case, and all our hearts are the playground of conflicting dualities 
why do we point fingers at one another? 
As if we are all not fighting our own battles. 
As if we are all not hosts to a variety of angels and demons 
in the recesses of our own imaginations.

**

To be continued...

confessions p 21

She asked me
How can you judge me differently than yourself?
What double standards
What rhetoric
What mask of your ego
protects you from your own judgement?

How are we different?
What socially constructed right
do you hide your belief
that you are somehow better
different, wiser, more clever
to be measured by your own standards?

Through what omniscience do you know
the context of the hearts' and minds' of men & women?
Through which divine clairvoyance
do you understand why people do what they do?
What sacred knowledge grants you the ease
To judge others and forget that the greatest battles
we fight are with ourselves?

Words hung their heads before the tip of my tongue
They checked their flight and speechless
Recognition dawned.
She was I and I was she.
When I spoke against her
I spoke against myself.
When I tickled her ego
I tickled my own.
When I worked toward her liberation
I worked toward my own.

With eyes like mirrors she looked at me
Twin rivers streaking down my face, my hands
Trying to hold an ocean of forgotten self-inflictions.
She took my hands in her own
wiped the tears from our faces
And watching myself
in the hieroglyphics of her irises
She said
This world is like standing atop a mountain
Whatever you say makes its way back to you
So choose your words carefully 
The only judge here is the echo of our own voice