I See Them, and It Hurts
I see them living their lives,
filled with items on their full-size shelves,
inside their three-car garages
while their hearts remain empty.
And it really hurts.
I see them living as if their consciousness and bodies
were one and the same,
as if their bones and flesh lasted forever;
Accumulating things and more things,
just to lose them all once buried underground.
And it hurts.
I see them complaining all day.
About their jobs. About their families. Their neighbors. Kids.
Yet they don't realize that they would suffer
if these things and people
were suddenly to be taken away from them in a snap of fingers.
And God, that hurts.
I see them having no idea or acknowledgment,
that in a faraway, lifeless room, lies someone who’d give it all
to have their health.
Their pet. Their family. Their warm and simple homes.
Their running water. Their fresh food on the table.
Trust me, it hurts.
But it hurts even more to see them living in a dream or nightmare state,
like zombies fighting their own demons,
most of them imaginary,
when they could be going deep inside,
and connecting to a world of wonder.
A world filled with love, compassion, and deep knowing.
A world where there is no lack. No rush. No needs.
A world of complete contentment and awe.
“Where would that perfect world be,” they would ask.
“You already have it,” I’d say. “Inside of you.”
They would laugh. They would call that world “not reality.”
They would scream that this magical, secret world does not pay the bills,