Photo by Johannes Plenio
Please read “The Seaside Where the Snow Fell,” a two part poem that I wrote years ago. What we do in life— this repeated pattern of working and laboring to achieve something that is more than ideal, but best suited for our talents—seem to be in hopes to retire or simply live our life happily.
The only things that stop us, aside from ourselves, or what could be described as submissiveness, indolence, or not being capable, is the structure of our society and what the current economical masterpiece seems to need.
School, religion, belief, tradition, the past, greed, selfishness, fear, ignorance, arrogance…. these are what you could call our limiting factors.
Some are able to disregard these items, supersede, and advance beyond them, despite them. Some fall prey; others would be willing to push forward if not already concluding the exercise to be pointless.
These are but a fraction of the things we fight against every day. Warring in ways our active habits neglect over time; but, they are still there, and every so often we resist this grip that we know to be wrong in some way. Not a farce, but, what do you call potential that is wasted? Is that our effort?
But it is effort nonetheless. And it falls, and it is accumulated, and whether the source of it is not peculiar to our awareness, it is noticed in some way by someone. Appreciated in a light that sees its worth in a different form.
It is more than beautiful. We all, as a group, urge each other to achieve what we know we are capable of doing all the time. What we do is not meant for just one person, it is for every one to enjoy, and to reach, obtaining closer the same reward in the end.