It is like, you wake up,
And everyday revive yourself.
With other peoples words,
Your own thoughts. Rituals.
You place the pieces back together
Work on it. Time and again,
Tirelessly.
This isn’t a job that you asked for.
And you know there are people out there
Who wake up with a clearer image.
Who don’t need to talk themselves down-
Talk themselves up.
But this is your job, so you take it
Stoically.
Sometimes it helps to talk
Other times it feels like this pain
Is private. To ruminate
Gives you freedom to dwell
Within the parts that need fixing.
So you work on them
Eternally.
The infinite game of being human
With a finite end in tow
So you read the words of others
And write your own
When it fits.
And the picture becomes clearer
Incrementally.
Yet does the picture become
More than a fogged reflection
Over that sink? Are you destined
To find that wholeness? But carry on
Regardless. ‘Cos somethings gotta give.
So you do the work
Dutifully.
This focus is its own form
Of narcissism. For outside
The walls of your mind
There are people to be served
Other lives to engage with.
So shake off the reverie, helping others
Carefully.
For service is a gift
For giver and receiver.
Offer it and find your spirit
Both capable and willing.
Simply because showing up takes
Strength. And your heart leaps
Blissfully.
Yet within this hides a tipping point.
One that will have you falling
Headlong into joy. Or burnout.
Be cautious, tread lightly
Understand that there is only so much.
Yes, use this abundance
Sparingly.
But give yourself over to love.
No fear, nor greed should dwell
In the heart.
In love of all things you teach — and learn
Gratitude and joy. So that your pieces,
As they fuse together, they do so
Unendingly.
