Guilt

When I saw the Chernobyl-sized mess I'd made, it shocked me. But 'my' shock wasn't the only impact. He was already involved. He was burning in the painful, forced leaking of the truth with me. 

The understanding of why I did what I did wasn't lying on the floor, bold, italicized, and underlined. It took an excavation deep into my psyche, and the exhuming could not be done peacefully, mindfully, because I had to attend to the external casualty.

I made the humane mistake. He offered me the godly forgiveness. I couldn't ask for anything more. So, I wrapped myself in a warm heavy blanket of guilt and sat at his feet. I became quiet, outward and inward. I stopped conversing with the world; my mind stopped conversing with me.

Unwrapped, out by the doorstep, laid my passions, my desires, my voice, my authenticity, my dignity, all exposed to the elements, to burn, to soak, to blow away, and to finally get buried.

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