Collecting bottles, tossing leftovers, taking out the garbage
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It is my birthday,
I am 41,
and as I write, I feel a rising
in my chest,
a sense of doomed hope, like Navajos feel
when they charge into a canyon, in war.
The earth is ours, and we must begin to bless it.
But how can I do so, when the above sentence
embarrasses me? Perhaps embarrassment is the path
to Higher Truth. This year I will try to do
what embarrasses me.