The Fool
There is so much pain in the world, yet I defer to the path of slight distraction even in the rare graceful presence
of peace
of beauty
of love in all its forms.
Of all those things and all at once I have been presently and willfully ignorant
The Fool watching his dog’s tail disappear down the cliff he just ascended.
No matter the shuffle
the path unfolds
obscured or obvious
as it will.
Yet no matter the will
there is so much pain in the world.
Is it not precious as peace?
(franticreasoningbegins)
Whatever is in and of
the world is
-simply by being-
rare.
Nothing matters if everything matters.
Nothing may matter anyway, and still
There is so much pain in the world.
Fill the water bowl
The dog is thirsty