A nice older woman in Spain
was once asked,
“If your dream was to walk the pilgrimage,
why have you never?”
To which she replied,
“When I was young, I was too busy.
Now that I am old, I am too tired.”
Too often,
the dream held by a child
becomes a lost box of treasure
from the journeys between the
cities of life’s quests;
That subtle lifelong purpose
is easily forgotten
unwisely replaced by the many temporal dreams
that the collective energy
insists is necessary to define worth.
This all happens at such a young age
many people never are aware
their original purpose even existed.
When an agitator crosses paths with this
young misguided wanderer
(or “disciplined, hard-working pursuer of goals”)
the collision of force is as deeply concentrated
as a wall of tornadoes
forcing a tsunami back to sea
the conclusion of this unbearable marriage
is often too predictable
as one so absolutely self-assured of their path
will often admonish the omens of life
and continue down the dark paths of stubbornness
rather than claw through the hostile jungles
which require of the self
silence and instinct
in order to hear the shrieks
of that particular life’s true destiny;
The purpose of that soul’s existence.
The enlightened instigator will most always
continue on down their own path,
as this rare individual who is aware
ceases to notice the lost pieces of the mob
because I know
goals completed
dreams accomplished
that those old souls are my omens
now too tired to begin living the life originally intended.
My pilgrimage begins…
af
(written with pen on paper)
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