A Measured Human Being

To be lost and confused

Is the naivety of freedom

Which requires artfulness

To acquire meaning.

Freedom, although a given

Must be sought

And understood

Through a sincere quest

Of your purpose

Of your reason-to-be.

You must come to know

Your talents; develop skill

And intuitively learn

The art of self-restraint

For in order to be a free spirit

You must first learn to be

A measured human being.

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The Art of Giving Form to Your Content

The truth that gives your words

Their power and beauty

Abides in the heart

And therefore

If you must speak

Speak your heart

And never your mind.

 

The heart is immersed in silence

While the mind rides

On the waves of sound

Speak your silence

Therein lies the mystery

The truth of which

All men yearn to see manifest.

 

It’s not the art of speech

That makes a man eloquent

It’s his mastery

Over the art of silence…

Chisel your words such

That you leave around it

A meaningful silence.

To Be is To Care

Why must it be so exhausting

To care…to act on your vows of love?

Why is it so fraught with frustration?

Almost always going unappreciated

Undervalued…

What if I decided to stop caring?

What if I refused to act on my concern?

Would that cut down

An excess of involvement, of investment?

Why do we get involved?

Why are we invested in another?

What hopes are we pinning to our caring?

Care is not a ‘project for improving’

Care is not a charitable act

That you are called upon

By your conscience to do

Care is not a duty towards another

It’s an obligation to yourself.

Care is the essence of ‘human being’

Creatures of consciousness that we are

Care allows us to connect

With our source

Even as we expand into infinite dimensions

Care is the path we pave

To complete the pilgrimage

Back to ourselves.

 

The Ritual

Our everyday has become

A joyous never-ceasing

Repetition of the same pattern.

 

We wake up

At different timings

Me before you

 

And in the strange assurance of that

I’ve noticed

You sleep even more soundly.

 

That makes me smile

I tread over the cold floors of our room

Softly, so as not to disturb your snooze.

 

You sleep through

My repeated opening and shutting of doors

Of packing my bags…

 

And then sleepily

Grip my hand

And give me your cheek

 

For that seal of a kiss

Knowing well that even as I’m leaving the house

I’m not leaving us…

 

That’s the great thing about patterns

They work in sync, symphony

And revel in simple predictability.

 

The Way We Were

I look at old pictures

Of me…of us…

And marvel at

The play of time and space

Tricking us into believing

That we’ve changed

For the better

That we are today

A truer version of ourselves

Didn’t we feel the same way

About our old pictures back then?

Memory is an echo

That travels from yesterday to today

It’s the sound of the dreams

We saw together

Change is discernable

Only because it plays out on

Something unchanging

I know we’ve changed

Because something about us hasn’t.

What Makes Me Angry

When justice is what I want

Injustice makes me angry.

 

When truth is what I want

Lies make me angry.

 

When perfection is what I want

Imperfection makes me angry.

 

When agreement is what I want

Disagreement makes me angry.

 

When respect is what I want

Disrespect makes me angry.

 

When strength is what I want

Weakness makes me angry.

 

When ‘one way’ is what I want

‘Many possibilities’ make me angry.

 

When power is what I want

Disobedience makes me angry.

 

When morality is what I want

Immorality makes me angry.

 

A burning desire for one thing

Burns down everything that comes in its way.

 

It’s not imperfection, injustice or disrespect

That’s the cause of my anger.

 

It’s the desire of that thing

That stands outside of me…

 

Unreachable. Unattainable. Evasive.

That makes me angry.