It’s not that I can’t be stubborn and hot-headed. I am far from human perfection. In my defense, I’ve developed my enabling spirit into a negotiating spirit. There are always two-sides to every whole. The question remains, however, what if one of those sides is so badly injured and toxic that a cure is unlikely—at least in the present?
This floodgate of what I now call “sparks of light from the prism” amaze me. It is everywhere. I find good deeds in my newspaper’s letters to the editor, on Facebook, in books I’m given, and from random discoveries. A heightened awareness of good seems to foster more good. It also spins my Irish temper into an Irish toast. What would once have given me cause to jump all over some nincompoop now coerce me into smiles and humor.
Because I own and drive a vehicle, live in a home thick with petroleum-based products, and the miscellaneous impacts of my carbon footprint, I am a part of this ecological nightmare’s cause.
To say that my heart dropped to the lowest ocean depths possible with the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, and to say that my fury with loud mouthed hypocritical politicians and their pundits has raised my blood pressure to blast me out from the lowest ocean depths, is more than a marginal metaphor.