Things blew all over the place on the day that I was born. It was windy. Dried leaves crashed against the walls of the homeopathic hospital. I was alive. I was alive in the horror. The

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givers huddled over me like a football team. They started to give me things and then to take them away. The things that didn’t fit they chucked back into the funnel of the void. The gifts were many and many were the warnings that went with them. We are giving you great heart but if you drink wine you will begin to hate the world. The moon is your sister but if you take sleeping pills you will find yourself in the company of unhappy women. Every time you grab at love you will lose a snowflake of your memory. My mother was lying not far away and I heard her cry “He isn’t mine!” My noble parent cried to my ears alone from her bed of blood and water. I heard her say it and I thanked her for the truth with a shriek of joy. I was not born into a family. I was fully protected. The hammers fell on the infants everywhere but i was saved on a river in the beautiful autumn land of egypt.

I’ve seen this passage attributed to Leonard Cohen, but I have no idea where it comes from. Does anyone know? It’s

been haunting me for a week …

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