All the things except what you do not choose
So.
Autumn is almost over and winter is creeping up. Slowly. We're still in an Indian summer,and for the past two, three, hell--the whole semester, this whole YEAR, I've been out of whack. I think there were maybe a week or perhaps two days where I was where I wanted to be, mentally and physically. The summer was good; it was long, it was agonzing, but I took it for what it was and I was really, really happy the whole time. I don't even remember feeling lonely. Just hot, sometimes bored.
Now, it's been nine or ten weeks. I spent the summer praying. I spent the spring praying. I spent the winter praying. I burned incense and ghost money and poured myrrh and frankincense and strung rosaries over my index finger countless times; I went to chapels and the tops of hills and empty classrooms and bathroom stalls and dark bathtubs and I've cried and laughed and sang and whispered a million little prayers in Latin, French, Sanskrit, Tibetan, Chinese, Japanese, and Holy Mother English.
And the suffering around me hasn't ceased.
and I don't have my other half, or even a silly, meaningless boy.
all I have is one good friend.
I suppose there, I should stop complaining. I've found more than I've had in years, perhaps more than I ever have had before.
But the Gods haven't answered my prayers. Kuan Yin hasn't soaked up our tears. Apollo hasn't given me some golden boy to fawn on. So I've come to the conclusion that, if my heavenly powers do exist, they will not give me what I desire right now. Not even the desires I have that are selfless. I must wait. Or perhaps I must do more than wait; perhaps I must just give up completely before I will recieve.
But perhaps today I can change a little. These are the things the tao says I will do. I will stop looking at the desirable--keep my mind quiet from the pain of unfulfilled wanting. I will weaken my wishes and instead fill my belly. I will dig deep into the present and be untroubled by the illusions of the past and the future. I will do my work and let it go, do what I must do and love it while I do it. I will take care of people; be good to both the good and the bad. I will lead, but not presume to rule. I will care for myself, but not treasure myself. I will take pleasure in clothes and food.
And to the end of my life, nothing will trouble me.
Autumn is almost over and winter is creeping up. Slowly. We're still in an Indian summer,and for the past two, three, hell--the whole semester, this whole YEAR, I've been out of whack. I think there were maybe a week or perhaps two days where I was where I wanted to be, mentally and physically. The summer was good; it was long, it was agonzing, but I took it for what it was and I was really, really happy the whole time. I don't even remember feeling lonely. Just hot, sometimes bored.
Now, it's been nine or ten weeks. I spent the summer praying. I spent the spring praying. I spent the winter praying. I burned incense and ghost money and poured myrrh and frankincense and strung rosaries over my index finger countless times; I went to chapels and the tops of hills and empty classrooms and bathroom stalls and dark bathtubs and I've cried and laughed and sang and whispered a million little prayers in Latin, French, Sanskrit, Tibetan, Chinese, Japanese, and Holy Mother English.
And the suffering around me hasn't ceased.
and I don't have my other half, or even a silly, meaningless boy.
all I have is one good friend.
I suppose there, I should stop complaining. I've found more than I've had in years, perhaps more than I ever have had before.
But the Gods haven't answered my prayers. Kuan Yin hasn't soaked up our tears. Apollo hasn't given me some golden boy to fawn on. So I've come to the conclusion that, if my heavenly powers do exist, they will not give me what I desire right now. Not even the desires I have that are selfless. I must wait. Or perhaps I must do more than wait; perhaps I must just give up completely before I will recieve.
But perhaps today I can change a little. These are the things the tao says I will do. I will stop looking at the desirable--keep my mind quiet from the pain of unfulfilled wanting. I will weaken my wishes and instead fill my belly. I will dig deep into the present and be untroubled by the illusions of the past and the future. I will do my work and let it go, do what I must do and love it while I do it. I will take care of people; be good to both the good and the bad. I will lead, but not presume to rule. I will care for myself, but not treasure myself. I will take pleasure in clothes and food.
And to the end of my life, nothing will trouble me.