Spo-fans occasionally write comments criticizing The Board of Directors Here at Spo-Reflections as a bunch of oafs. It cannot be denied. Regardless, I feel a need to defend these demented Danes, for they aren’t all bad. Indeed they are a source of vitality for me. I would go so far as they are a necessity for my Psyche. They are my foil, my lancers, my Shadow side. True, they are a boisterous bunch who seldom wash and they have truculent tempers of Trumpsters. On paper they are precisely not the type of folks I would want to hang with. Their lack of interest in personal growth (or personal hygiene) combined with Groupthink is challenging. At their meetings and in their cups they resemble a GOP rally minus its charms. However they keep me on my toes and provide vitality (and weaponry) that is so often void in my dull Midwest mentality.

While they continually threaten bodily harm and ‘action plans’ that rival anything The Krampus does, in all my blogging years they have never once followed through on their threats.* When I ask for things like a new laptop or office space they bellow there’s no room and no Danegeld blah blah blah but they always put out. They are dears; please don’t feed them buns and things.

If I portray them at times in a harsh light they remonstrate like my family and Someone I am embellishing the facts for the sake of entertainment. In my defense there is nothing true about any of this so one or two small evocations aren’t too bad.

For a full and vital Psyche one must recognize The Shadow and come to some agreement with it. You can’t kill Shadow nor exorcise it. To try otherwise is folly. Better to be plugged into it with eyes open for bon viveur. Would I have a more refined Shadow representatives with better dentition! But there it is and there they are and we are stuck with each other for good and bad. The annual renewal of my contract is pure ceremony. They would no sooner dump me than their favorite broadswords. And I don’t want to ditch them either. I just remember not to use words with more than three syllables in memos at the monthly meetings and to wash everything when I return from the potlucks.

*The Furies (or someone like them) remind me in 2017 during a particularly rough weekend spiritual retreat I was hung by my ankles from Heorot Johnsons I and was forced to listen to The Poetic Eddas (in E-flat) until I cheered up. The Board of Directors Here at Spo-reflections later sent an email with that rare thing: an apology. It wasn’t about the hanging per se (which they defended as well-deserved) but for the singing which was off-key. But it was something.