In love, we are united;
in anger and fear, we are divided.

Anger
is the inability or unwillingness
to accept what is.

Fear
is the inability or unwillingness
to accept what might be.

They are the seeds of chaos,
sown by those who would prefer to see us helpless,
unable to meet the ups and downs of life effectively.

Anger and fear are the toxins that sap our power,
leaving us paralyzed by negativity,
unable to relieve our own suffering,
or the suffering of others.

To fully own each new experience
that life may offer you,
you must purchase it
by how much
you pay attention.

The more you are willing to pay,
the more you may receive.

And that is all
you may ever truly own.

There is an illness in him,
driving him always
to share his bad ideas,
his anger and his fear,
so they will spread like a virus,
until he does not feel so alone.

We could pity him,
or offer our compassion,
if his will were not so corrosive,
inflaming the worst
that lies dormant in all of us.

We could even forgive him,
if, through some karmic twist,
he were stripped of his power,
moved from the center of things,
and left, like most of us,
in his own private world.

But now,
we are all culpable
for the spread of his disease,
until we share responsibility
for this fevered dream
we share with him,
until we will ourselves
to awaken.

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing. - Helen Keller

Our purpose in life
is not to hold on,
but to let go,
enjoying each moment
as best we can,
sharing our joy
as much as we can.

And the way to let go
is to just stop holding on,
to give up grasping so tightly
at the myth of safety and security.

There is no effort in letting go,
just a giving up of effort,
an abandonment of fear,
a surrender to what is.

The purpose of your life
was not to hold on,
but to let go
and surrender to what is,
always determined
to enjoy each moment,
and to share your joy
with us all.

Freedom does not mean
doing whatever you want.

It means
having the same rights
and opportunities
as everyone else.

Until we understand that,
we will not be free.

There are those in our government
who have no concern
for our wellbeing,
but only for their own.

They are drunk on power,
guarding their interests
with every ounce of control
they can manage,
twisting the narrative
of what concerns us all
to their own advantage,
serving only those
who serve them.

Their weapons are words,
levers to pry away our reason,
flames to ignite our fears.

But words are only dangerous
when they are believed,
supplanting our natural knowing
of what is right and wrong.

We are not helpless,
when we listen carefully,
follow our hearts,
and step up when we are called,
to use our citizenship
as it was meant to be used,
and express our will
as a people.

In all these years
of striving to be human,
I have caused myself
no end of suffering,
needlessly repeating
the doubts and fears
born of an overactive mind.

I regret the pain
I have caused myself,
and I forgive myself
for causing it.

Regret and forgiveness
are my blessings.

Without regret,
I would forget
that all my suffering
need never have been,
if I had seen
that it was all my own creation.

And without forgiveness,
I would forget
that I have always been worthy
of the peace that comes
when doubts and fears dwindle,
and the suffering ceases.

Sometimes I hear arguments
inside my head,
and I wonder:
“Who are these people,
and how did they get in here?”

They are only passing thoughts,
of course,
but, over time,
they grow louder,
more solid and real,
the more I believe in them.

When I stop to watch and listen,
I am like the viewer
of a pointless movie,
wondering how and why
I gave my time and energy
to such flimsy fictions.

And when I see myself
watching from a peaceful place,
I lose interest in their noisy clamor,
and they seem to fade away,
back to the emptiness
from which they came.

I am consciousness;
I move around a lot.

Sometimes
I am human,
or I’m a dog or a cat,
a rat, or a rock.

As I move from form to form,
I don’t remember what it’s like
to look through each pair of eyes,
or feel what each body feels.

All I remember
is how rich it is
to be alive,
and how grateful I am,
just to be.

That smudge against the night
is probably the moon,
or maybe it’s something
far more mysterious,
perhaps a thing of myth.

I know it is the moon,
and yet its magic,
splashed across the sky,
is not diminished
by my knowing.

What I experience
and what I know
are the stuff
of two different worlds,
and that, in itself,
is the greater magic.