Stop Trying to Be Comfortable.

Just talkin’ to my Self again…don’t get all…ya know.

“I just need you to bla bla bla bla….so I can be comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable with….rennne rennne renne….so we need to leave.”

“I’m cold.” (Los Angeles be havin’ a cold snap!)

“I’m too hungry.” (In the First World, this is heard all the time and it’s usually from being on social media too long. Where did the time go?)

So. I watched a mother bury her son on Sunday.

Right here in L.A. A mother and father and brother and sister — chose to stand before a community and talk about him before he was lowered in the ground…at twenty.

And he was exceptional already. He had just become a man, found happiness. It hurt like hell to be in the room. My head split open and hasn’t mended.

I wonder how if felt for the mother.

I watched a father bury his boy in Botswana last April. He was my neighbor. The villlage came together for 7 evenings to sing, pray. Then we had his service under a tree and walked to the cemetary up the road and sang over his coffin and tossed flowers and dirt.

And the villagers of Motopi dug the hole and put him in the ground. No one was seeking to be comfortable that day.

On a stupid note, I hate spiders. I faced that fear in Africa, where I go — usually alone — and where the house spider in Botswana is steroid level size and happened to…