Returning to my home turf, I started thinking about my collections. What have I got sitting on the shelves of my ego? Dusty memories, antique grudges, and hurtful platitudes (still in their original containers) line the shelves of my mind. It’s easy to store wounds, put them away in glass cases where I hash them over periodically from a safe distance. Forgiveness takes work. I don’t want to dust the toys of indignation and self-righteousness I have stored.
Visiting my attic, I see several skeletons. Maybe I’ll take them out for Halloween--give them a good cleaning.