I was racing down the highway of hypocrisy, measuring the distance by the headlights of my short sightedness. False confidence, the rush of speed and power holding me firm in its embrace.
I smiled to myself, secure in my justifications to build and profit from weapons that would kill for a God made in my own image.
Lost in my reverie, contemplating my complete freedom from conscience, the road of self-righteousness I was traveling narrowed. The canyon walls of cause and effect rose high above and pressed in upon me from either side.
I saw the hair-pin curve of consequences ahead and suddenly speed and power were my bane. The distance that had seemed so long, now drew near and my glory shone empty and useless before me. I slammed on the brakes of desperation and prayed for mercy to the God of my own making but there came no answer.
The screeching of my realization straining against the pavement of false pride and heinous pretense rose in my ears like the sound of a million children screaming. Where the black lines of my destiny crashed through the guard rails of my humanity, I left the road.
I found myself standing on the edge of the highway, watching as the remains of my mortal existence were received by the eternal desert below, a glow rising into the night like the campfire of an ancient truth.
I turned to look back up the road of horror from whence I had come and there before me stood a child. In her hand she held the bullet I had made for her, the bullet that killed her.
I have come to take you home where you will remember that we are one, she said.
She took my hand and together we walked out of that dark canyon of consequence and into the light of understanding.
A progressive ex-big city girl writing about her post-corporate American life in the Appalachian mountains. Progressive prospective on living and politics from off the corporate ladder.
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