i suppose you’d find it hard to believe that at my age i can easily climb to my treehouse but i can and do it’s where i go to be alone with my thoughts trying to make sense of the senseless or finish a dream that i didn’t want to end i’ve been going there for years whenever life becomes chaotic or just too depressing for words i go there for a little r&r now if for some reason you can’t recall your childhood treehouse or hiding place you may want to increase your cognitive load and reconstruct it you’d be surprised how much magical healing is still there
before you rise or even open your eyes recall a moment of pure joy breathe deep into that moment fill your body with its radiance and let that purity sustain you throughout the day
each of
life’s
travellers
pauses
to survey
the path
that
they’ve travelled
some marvel
that
they’ve survived
the climb
through rough terrain
full of hazards
and
hostile actions
but
they quickly turn
and
continue on
others
tarry there
when they look back
numb
and
unable to relinquish
the view
since the journey
has been
so easy
and
full of lovely scenes
and
moments
they wish to relive
so
they stand there
looking back
for the rest
of
their existence
others
linger there
overwhelmed
by
their painful journey
unable to separate
yesterday’s pain
from
tomorrow’s promise
so
they lie down
exhausted
choosing
to die
where they are
lord knows i’ve my share of pain ’bout the same as other folks i suspect so there’s no need for me to list for you what ain’t right you’d just pull out a checkbox list of yours marking off what we share and when we’d compare you might be worse off than me so you see ain’t nothing more for me to say ‘cept i be keeping on
not much
to
look at
a struggling plant
in
a plastic
abandoned pot
but
i’d argue
it’s
a thing
of
beauty
for
that little sprig
signifies
resilience
and hope
and
maybe
just maybe
we’ll
be able
to engender
the same
characteristics
in
our lives
wrapped
in a blanket
of
self-pity
an old man
struggled to roll
his wheelchair
through
the grounds
of
a hawaiian garden
his discontent
blinded him
to
all the beauty
around him
beside
one small path
there was
an ancient grave
undisturbed
by
vacationers
or
world progress
with
an inscription
that
simply read
be happy with what
you
can do
life’s tragedies weigh
differently for each of us
though the same crises
the strength to rise above them
comes not only from ourselves
but from those we choose to lean on
club’s
well short
of
a quorum
just
a few old jazzers
with
hearts
pulsating
to
piano notes
no one
but
the musicians
on
stage
seems
to notice
the lack
of
patrons
all that matters
to
the old jazzers
is
the music
the antidote
to
the world outside
it’s
been that way
forever
it seems
music
counteracting
the poison
of
the world
releasing
a flood
of
sweet memories
with
just
a few chords
and
notes
Read Between the Minds 