I often asked myself why I did not love the Earth
Who had made me so tender and imperfect
The secret to living a life well lived?
Happiness was not the goal; it is not a thing
But a process, an awakening to loving everything
And you can work a lifetime at the heart
And dream an eternity with the soul
Until your history is swallowed up in compassion
And your drama disappears into a
Moist blanket of empathy where you transcend
The ignorance of your own missed opportunities
A savage garden of needs that would convince you
In the solitude of an unmarked place
That you are a stark nomad so unlike the unsettled world
Yet in the light of the sun, your body still aches
To be swallowed up into a bigger purpose
Your cells still crave the call of other stars
There’s no armor of God or golden goodness
We are the same, mistrustful and at times miserable
By-passers of creation, haunted and hunting for
Always something more, further than what we were
All experience is for the drinking of inspiration
A fountain of faces and seconds, of floods and races
And we’re already there; we’ve already arrived
We are just always catching up with our own divinity
The world is filled with too much to say
Yet in the end it matters now what we’ve told ourselves
It only matters what we do in our chosen projects of love.
Wuji Seshat 