faith and spiders

It's one of those mornings were you wake up, get out the sage, burn the hell out of the demons and hope for a better today. I folded the laundry, I lit a candle, had some tea. I even parted my hair on a the other side of my head and made a phone call to a real person. Now I'm listening to this sad, sad song. 

The only way out is through.

Anne is right: there is no vacation from this. There is only the karma I have with myself. If I can figure out how to carry myself gently, like a small bird in my hand. If I can find that. I don't mean to be redundant. Maybe one day I will figure out what I am doing here. 

Someone said to have faith. Faith is my willingness to go sleep knowing very well that this may be one of the eight nights in a year that I swallow a spider, according to statistics. Or at least that one of them will crawl across my body, or my face. At least they don't go in my hears. Though I'm not entirely sure about that - I've never looked up a statistic on spiders-in-ears.

That may be where my faith ends. 

swing swing gently