Pyrite

I wanted to write about the gold. I did. The words wouldn't come. They stayed locked away just as the gold was locked away. It was in the vault so it would be safe from intruders and thieves. Rainy day safe. Yes.

A thief can come in many guises.

A thief can wear a hockey mask or stocking cap or pantihose to disguise his face. Or a thief can hide behind the face he wears every day. Hide in plain sight and, if asked why, will produce some sort of psychopathological excuse which the hearer can accept or reject. In any event, the thief has done what thieves do and it is up to the victim to accept or reject.

Love the sinner, hate the sin?

And when the sinner hates you? Despises you enough to steal and despises you even more for acting as if that theft was acceptable behavior? What then? Hate the sinner, love the sin? Does that work any better, feel any righter in my gut? No.

Hate the victim, hate the sinner, hate the sin. Yes. Because we all get what we deserve, I get what I deserve. The karma of the universe has its own balance that I am too small to see or comprehend, but there is balance nonetheless.

I am Stalin, Hitler, Genghis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Papa Doc and Baby Doc, succubus, tsunami, the iceberg that hit the Titanic, the Bartholomew's Day Massacre, blood libel, jihad. I am every evil that was or will be. I am weak. I am a coward. And I will sit here and wait for whatever happens next.