Unsanctified

  

 My process isn’t so different,

 Though terminal uniqueness would have me be.

 Not so different, am I, from slaveholders, dictators, murderers, the average or above- average you.

 “But for the grace of God go I”

 A worthy saying.

 Fettered in my own chains,

 Offensive in my own lack of remembrance,

 My insistence on my own comfort and my own way,

 Demands and rights and prejudices so thoroughly dyed in my own wool 

 They’re scarcely recognizable

 Practically – entirely? – unavoidable.

 I watch you sometimes:

 You who seem so utterly offensive

 – In all your offenses –

 Wonder at how you got to where you are 

 And how I am where I am.

 Then I remember

 My own unsightliness 

 Self-deception

 Laziness

 Time frittering wastefulness

 Other-irritation

 (to name but a tiny sorry few)

 And wonder why you are where you are

 And I am where I am

 And realize

 We are both in various stages

 Of unprocessed

 And so

 Un-sanctified

 Life.

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