Regrets

When I was in Vietnam I wrote a poem which I titled “My heart is like a small brown bird “ to describe feelings of total vulnerability in a landscape of hostility and danger. Unfortunately it did not survive an episode of ego immolation when I burned all of my attempts at literary expression, perhaps to hide my vulnerability.

Recently, I read a piece by Gunter Grass where he described his recent confessional writings entitled “Peeling the Onion.” A masterful title by a man of genius and honesty. His critics attacked him for hiding his early Nazi connections while presenting himself for years as a moral authority yet I find no inconsistency. If confession is said to be good for the soul, why demand consistency and perfection in the human experience ? Christians contend the last perfect man was Jesus Christ, I suspect no such person ever existed.