This morning is buried in a heavy fog. I cannot even see a shadow of myself. It makes me feel as if I am bound up inside. I have been thinking about our government and how its pitiful operation kills my spirit for celebrating life. It is too easy to be critical. I do not need to focus on the dark forces that rule me and intend to keep me bound. Discontent is an addiction that ruins life. I know I cannot change what goes on around me. It is better that I change myself.
My writing about current conditions cannot change anything in the real world. My words have zero effect. Plenty has already been written by others. If the life of the country should worsen, I will have some notes to recall the passing swift current. What is the value of joining the squabble? I just finished reading “China: A History”, by John Keay. I see that much of humanity, for thousands of years, has been subjected to the difficulties of money, war, sickness, and tyrannical rulers, while beautiful art still can emerge from the disorganized project we call civilization.
I lose the poetry of living when I align myself with the embittered. It’s better that I am less informed, barely engaged in understanding the mind of our culture, and free to discover beauty beneath the severity of this life. I don’t see any other easy escape. Writers, painters, and philosophers help me find the real life. Oh, and children.
Children bring a mild and gentle spirit into the world that would be lost or forgotten if only adults lived here. Their presence reminds me to dump the weariness of living. I haven’t had any young ones close by me for a few years. The two I raised sent me much joy from their cradles, when the war-torn world of the 1960s bound me in anger.
I want my own inner child to be awake and guide me. As I reach closer in staring death face-to-face, I hear a calling to look for a peace in my spirit that can escort me into the next world. The years in the middle, between birth and death, are the most troubling. I want to enjoy them by cultivating a celestial sense of beauty, rhythm, and artistic purpose. That’s my earthly trial and mission.