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