The Frog (Or, Comfortable is not always right)

I find comfort in the songs, sung a capella, in an echoy place.
I find comfort in the benches, hard, but familiar.
I find comfort in the monotonous cadence of the minister as he speaks.
I find comfort in the blessing, the same one I heard as a child.

I find discomfort in the hipocrasy.
I find discomfort in the closed minds.
I find discomfort in the exclusivity.
I find discomfort in the judgement.
I find discomfort in the ideology.

While temporary comfort is a solace, the frog didn't jump out of the pot when it started to boil. His comfortable world warmed up around him and he didn't notice the overall feel. That resulted in his death.

We all know that story and how it goes, so why do I keep jumping between the hot pot, that I know is hot and a cooler one. Why do I feel the need to sit back down on that hard bench and hear that monotonous voice when I disagree with every other word? When I no longer find solace in that hot kettle and I am searching for one that won't boil over and leave me feeling empty.

More Life and Death

There is something about witnessing a death that puts life into perspective.

Pulse fades

Breaths slip

Stop

And what was, still is, but isn’t

Breaths catch

Tears come

Silence

And Truth sets in

Sobs begin

Jaws shake

Reality

Arms reach out for something, someone

Even if you didn’t know him

You can feel the presence of this man

As his family holds his hand
In this body, in the bed, minutes ago lived a man -who now is dead.