ࡱ> :<9 bjbj ." k+++++???8w ,?)$/j+++LLLd++LLLLu+?TL0)L;XZ;L;+LHL); : A POEM ABOUT LIFE We spend so much time on what life should be, Rather than accepting what is. So our choice now is whether to Resist what is or To love what is, Be happy with what is. And to know that all is well And as it is meant to be in life. Our choice is as to the vitality we live it in, Or live into it, The appreciation of it, For the glass is, joyfully, half full! (The empty part is just something we made up!) And we get to choose to live into our purpose, to serve, to love, to contribute, no matter how small our mind makes it to be. Then we try to escape judgment or loss of someones love and approval, so we compare and judge ourselves and others, and we feel the cut of this two edged sword. Looking good becomes the game, but we always note in others but even worse in ourselves how we dont measure up to this artificial, fictional, idealistic image of what it is supposed to look like to be perfect. Each missing we carefully note, And, in so noting, We deem ourselves short, And we are not happy, Though we sought to be happy and loved. We have a choice To sustain the energy generator, To feel good, To love exercising, To love stretching, To love weightlifting Or Our job is to combine the chemicals into a masterpiece, a burning, Living fully, Intensely, Beautifully flaming. Some people can say they have it all, But then realize that they have nothing that is worth having. I want to experience people and clarity washing over me. To shift my identity from being a body To being a spirit. Not worshipping the God of Looking Good. The price of not forgiving Is to create this gnawing hole in the center of what could be my happiness. Always esteeming not only ourselves but all others For what is inside (potential), Though in the short term they are making mistakes Based on simply a lack of awareness. Look at how I sabotage myself, Not at how others do it. Pride, Self-righteousness Hold the spirit a prisoner At some point, You will look back and See how all the pieces fit together. We must, like the caterpillar, Let some things die, Ego, The basis for shame, The littleness we hold ourselves to be, The pretense, The making wrong (of others, but even worse of myself). Be a victim or a victor; It is your choice. Though to be a victor, You must let die that part of you That believes pity Or sympathy Equal love. We must not identify with the problem (or diagnosis, in some cases), But the gift in it. We are so much more than we think we are. But we are so much Virtuallly magnificent abilities, Feed self takes time Caterpillar thinking to butterfly thinking Crawl around on earth, Believing this is all there is. See the butterfly in others, Must die first to transform. A caterpillar or a butterfly And see self, as the butterfly, In the caterpillar, More whole More complete More compassionate Like is a flower in full bloom The irony is its all an inside game, Played outside.      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