Dear Mister Master Almighty,
I am totally cognizant of the fact that your schedule is as overflowing as Mitt Romney’s offshore back accounts but is there any way you could assist me with opening up my gaze the next time I catapult like a World War II tail gunner down the wormhole that is my psyche? Could you remind me of the vast, gorgeous simplicity of it all? Could you nudge me gently and tell me to sit still for a HALF A SECOND and just look up and out and over across the landscape?
Could you tell me: Look, over there, a large juniper sitting in the middle of a kelly green field, near the place where the continent ends and the ocean starts. Go wander over there and forget your troubles. Go force yourself to remember how very severely you are not in control.
And then could you make me let it all go and just hope for the best? And then could you make sure to show me the way to the tea pot so that I might make myself a nice cup of tea when, for the nine millionth time, I forget everything you’ve ever told me, okay thanks a ton, you may be seated, amen.
Oh Lordy Lord Lord,
Nellie Never Giving Up