Self #3: Guilt—The Scavenger
No work or love will flourish out of guilt, fear, or hollowness of heart…
Guilt stalks the past.
It roots around with its pain-encrusted snout.
The more decayed the cadavers of my mistakes, the more gleefully guilt sniffs them out.
The Scavenger then dumps them in the central square of my awareness.
My heart bears the weight of a billion universes.
The detritus of the past coats my face, clogs my pores, suffocates me breath by frantic, gasping breath.
I shrivel, become insubstantial, insignificant, unworthy.
I am nothing,
Identifying with The Scavenger/Guilt is an ever-present pitfall.
Instead, I observe it from every angle.
I study it until its roaming patterns reveal themselves—until a map emerges.
(Is introspection the most profound form of cartography?)
I acknowledge The Scavenger’s cyclical nature.
I expect it to come and go as a noumenal tide.
I brace myself just before it comes—and exhale with relief and gratitude as it departs.
And always—ALWAYS—I keep its guesthouse room clean and airy, making sure it has all the space it needs.