Each morning I begin again,
Hopeful, clean, open to try once more.
I see and remembert the truth in slices,
Pieces of sky crack open in my heart as I remember,
I am as God created me.
And so I am untouchable.
My daily actions are simple attempts
To rearrange the figures in my lucid dream.
Finding it impossible again, and happiness eluding.
Truth is, all I can show up for is me,
To present myself to my own insides.
It is only there I can make any change that matters.
The universe gives me circumstance after circumstance,
All the same, yet dressed to convince me differently.
The same mistake seen everywhere,
I believe my lying eyes and stone-deaf ears
Telling me it matters what you do, and what I do
Is somehow more than nothing.
But when I sit quietly in the morning,
I know in my soul, the only one important thing.
And so there is nothing in this day to fear.
The dream is futile and the end is sure.
My only work is to release my guilty chains.
So when the habitual grind of the day begins,
And I find myself believing I’m being unfairly treated,
Martyr to the stars, in all my ego glory.
I’m gently reminded that I can’t crucify myself.
I need my brother’s help for that.
And I’d much rather save us both.