Me as Antidote: Second Dose

We do it all the time, choosing the poison of retaliation as modus operandi. Our operating system often looks a lot like living under the control of impulse and convenience, blaming and targeting others as interlopers to our expectations. But antidotes restore vitality. We are the antidote(s). And personally, here are a couple of stifling realities I experience that poison me. #1 Racism #2 Classicism #3 Theft. These toxins mess up everything they touch and they’re easy to both hate and replicate. One minute I’m complaining that a non-black doesn’t understand why I brush my hair or keeps mistaking me for the other black guy. The next I’m using broad strokes in a conversation to demonize that group of people. Two wrongs still don’t make a right. Sounds like poison being prescribed to cure a snake bite.

I’m convinced more than ever, though, that we are the antidote. An antidote is meant to heal. But maybe most of us humans, no matter our religion, really enjoy getting even more than we do healing. Somehow we think that one middle finger begets another. We think that the best way to protect our children is by isolating them and keeping them in view. But I’m convinced that there would be less Amber alerts if the village at large was allowed to look after our kids a bit. The villagers would dispose of pedophiles and the like.