Milton comes in. There is little poetry left in the man. He's shoeless. Toothless. His face traduced and trampled. The cracks on his face are dry. Saltiness settles in the hollows under his eyes. The dead see, too.
My recovery from work addiction helped me to see that my issues were not unique to me. I was able to put things into a perspective that enabled me to recognize the cultural, social and institutional factors that contribute to the dysfunction that showed up at home and in the workplace.
Like most of you who screw around reading stupid articles on the Internet instead of actually blazing a path towards greatness, I too yearn to reshape the world in my own image. So here is my latest idea.
Staying steady in the wake -- when emotional detritus slams the walls, and tears stain the faces -- may be what is needed to allow for the very next moment, when indeed a step forward actually might occur.