3 December 2011
I keep hearing the voice
calling me into silence,
to hear, to write.
More separation from materialism,
more closeness to simplicity;
letting go, opening up.
Asceticism
I have not yet rejoiced in the freedom
I have crafted for myself.
Bound by self prescribed rules of vocation and success,
I look ever forward to what I'm 'supposed to be'
neglecting that which I am,
forging 'shoulds' where 'coulds' want to emerge.
Where is that freedom?
Who is its jailer?
I know - my mind - I know.
Such a dear, exquisite, simple child,
arrogant in its feats, ignorant of its limits,
ever the first to step boldly forward,
always the first to fall,
and the last to recognize its own folly.
I do love it, this precious, if oft misguided, mind!
I keep hearing the voice
calling me into silence,
to hear, to write.
More separation from materialism,
more closeness to simplicity;
letting go, opening up.
Asceticism
I have not yet rejoiced in the freedom
I have crafted for myself.
Bound by self prescribed rules of vocation and success,
I look ever forward to what I'm 'supposed to be'
neglecting that which I am,
forging 'shoulds' where 'coulds' want to emerge.
Where is that freedom?
Who is its jailer?
I know - my mind - I know.
Such a dear, exquisite, simple child,
arrogant in its feats, ignorant of its limits,
ever the first to step boldly forward,
always the first to fall,
and the last to recognize its own folly.
I do love it, this precious, if oft misguided, mind!
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