Whipping from the Reverend Woodlot Stumps Wood-church of leather in the forest, paper birch, spruce, fir, white pine, jack pine, tamarack, prickly needles, trembling aspen leaves, a congregation of trees gathered to witness the wriggling wigglement of original sin. Permit me to show you where Adam went wrong and how Eve did not fully exploit the possibilities of that juicy forbidden fruit.
Leaving Cain, and his dark cloud, cursed, feeling of being rejected while your brother wins favor, aside for a moment, we could do a signalment into his torture, inquisition, secrecy, initiation, inner sanctuary, holy of holies approach to child rearing. However, my mind was easily led astray by wandering daffodil poet ting ting abbey. Oogah!
Devalued, rejected, expelled, excommunicated, sit hungry outside as the feast goes on inside; they might throw you a crumb. Trickle down effect doesn't work. Rich hold it in, swell up, no limit to the size of ego. Satan led the frustrated man-woman to lash out in frustration and powerlessness. Shouting makes no difference.
The door is unlocked. You can set your burden down. No need to stay in the tool shed, toast and coffee breath, mildew rot, perfume, wet dog fur, damp newspapers and kitty litter. Reverend B. Goat wanted to call a spade a spade. Reality can't be shovelled.
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