Face down in the gravel, on the road of life

I spent most of last night in pain from the wine I drank to be polite.  Dad’s guests brought it and the rest of my family wouldn’t drink it.  Their religious prohibition.  In the early hours of the morning, I realised I’d probably feel better if I took responsibility for my choices.  So yes, it was my choice to sip the wine, but no, I didn’t realise it would make me so ill.  Not my choice to overeat, but mine to accept the overloaded plate, thinking i could stop.  Painful little, little details. 

And the comment about saving the whales was a low blow.  Shockingly catty for my grandmother.  But the ferocity with which it cut me suggests that something here is not built solidly.  I’ve probably made a value judgement.  I’ve judged my choice as better than others’. 

The pain subsided somewhat when I realised these things. 

I thought today would be a kinder day.  There was a channelling session on, and I thought I’d finally ask another question.  Just ask for some advice, whatever they thought could help me.  But the channelling was somehow vague, convoluted and scattered.  It didn’t all ring true.  Some began whispering furiously that the scheduled channel was letting someone else impersonate her, that it wasn’t her there channelling at all.  And I felt betrayed, and so far from comfort.  I let my turn pass.  I couldn’t trust anything that was said.