What does waiting on the world’s approval do to us?
When we lose and lose, and the land we’ve invented
continually falls away underfoot,
a time must come,
a place emerge,
within us
when and where grasping stops.
For there is no service
to the wind, the passing butterfly, the breaking wave, or
the stone resting, thousands of years on,
inches from where we stand,
to hate ourselves in response to another’s judgment.
Think the butterfly bothers?
Or the wind?
We’ve much larger things to become
than the tarnished expectations we’ve clung to.
Move like the water,
sit with the stone,
they’re whispering a wisdom far beyond
what we’ve been told.
And it makes all the sense in the world.