by Allen Tate Wood

Resentment is the great demon, the mind killer that sucks awareness out of the self, out of the soul and rivets it on some person, place, thing or event outside. On things one can not change.

To practice resentment is to feed a demon, a demon whose mantra is, feed me, help me remember and savor the evil, the injustice inflicted on me by others.

Once fed and strengthened through practice this demon will stand guard before the doors of perception. He will with singular fury and exuberance strike down any hint of grace, any stream of mercy that would presume to approach the mind’s eye.

He will obsessively scan the horizon: mining memory and experience for transgressions, sins, faux pas, insensitivities, forgetfulnesses: the building blocks of a fortress of isolation, “The only safe place for a wounded heart.”

Come let me lick your wounds and through memory and song burn them indelibly into the fabric of your heart. Eyes once luminous, the windows of the soul, now become the gatekeepers to the forestries of hell.