I spent the day in ventilation mode. Opening up my closed mind to ideas I’d rather not have entertained. That’s not a bad use of the clock that’s working hard to reach midnight. Listening to points of view that differ from one’s own is a monstrously freeing and frightening experience. Certainty, in such situations, becomes questionable. Madness becomes legitimate sorrow. Rage becomes tolerable, but only behind a cage built of hardware cloth and distance. Even people whose motives are dark and demonic and whose goals are fraught with poisonous outcomes merit examination by unbiased observers with sharp pencils and open minds.
I am so sick of darkness I could scream. And the scream, of course, would be my own voice directed at myself. For I am the purveyor of darkness. That is an ugly burden to bear, but it’s factual. Tomorrow will be a different day. Tomorrow, I will begin to wash the contents of the cesspool down the mountain. They may flood highways below me, but they won’t sully the air I breathe and the wishes I hold more dear than my life and the lives of those I love.
Together, the decent among us can reconstruct cathedrals to honesty and decency and honor appreciation for our differences and love for diversity. We’re in a post-apocalyptic world; we must behave as if the future depends on it because, most surely, it does.