Primal Pain

Last night. Again, the blue lights. This time not a baby, a man. On the ground, surrounded by people in uniforms, people with guns, pale skin catching the blue light. His dark skin shadowed by his hood, by the moonless night, by the dark shadow cast by the car. Yelling orders. Through his wail he cried "Please don't shoot me. I didn't do anything. Please don't shoot me." It was the same wail. Pain made into sound.

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Sabbaticals and the Proverbial Pebble

Most people I know working in giving-spaces, healing-spaces, grant-funded spaces, are stretched so thin in their time, physical abilities, emotional reserves, and spiritual core. There a never-ending demand to do more, people actively asking us to betray our own boundaries, and often not enough money to do what needs to be done. Everyone needs time to rest, reflect, and recharge.

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