once during my twenties in wisconsin i had a late evening/early morning of lucidity in which i could not escape the inevitability of my essential goodness.
in the early morning hours i sat in a field and looked at a huge willow moving in slow motion. awed by its beauty, i was surprised when my friends expressed concern because i hadn't realized i was weeping.
my little tiny heart overflowed with unconditional love for my companions and for my friends in my thoughts.
my body felt like a natural extension of the earth, like a tree. when i stepped on the ground my feet felt like roots. when i raised my arms-- well, branches.
and though i would not change anything, sometimes the all-encompassing goodness became horrible. it became horrible in the way that greeting cards are horrible. there was something sterile, functional and predictable about it. my sentiments were predictably empathetic. my expression was unfailingly gentle and kind. it became a kind of trap.
these moments of panic still strike me, when a friend calls me "nice," or when i feel neglected because of my apparent contentedness. but they are only moments of panic, and soon they are unimportant.
good. horrifying. good. good. good. horrifying. good. good. good. good. good.
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