Are you passing on love, or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Good morning, soulmates. Welcome to Soul Sunday, when our precious little thought museum called Adulting – Second Half, turns towards the emotional conclusion of the week, with our poetry workshop, well into session. What poetry are you going to make with your life today? What stories are you going to add to the rhythm, and to the flair, and to the details of your most incredible, personal creation – the story of your very own, precious life?
My regular readers know that I make reference to “my thought museum” a lot when posting writings on my blog. I would love to have more of your exhibits on loan here. I know that I have quite a few creative, artsy types here, quietly reading. You’ve shown me some delightful glimpses of yourselves, here and there. I feel your presence. And I want you to know that I appreciate it. I appreciate you. Your presence inspires me. You inspire me. I love our warm connection. I love Adulting – Second Half. It is one of my most favorite places on Earth. So in extension, I love you. Please post your poems in my Comments section. Or show us your artwork. I would love to see an artistic rendition of what our shared thought museum looks like visually, or by having it described in words, or in music. Please share. Your outpours are safe here. We have good security guards. (they have white wings) If your ideas are still privately percolating, get them out somewhere, even if it is just in your own personal journals. Your creations deserve some space in this world. Your creations want to come to life. Bring them into the light.
Here’s my poem for today:
Good Riddance
I lost an hour today.
What can I do without an hour of today?
What does wasted time look like? Consider it.
Wasted time looks like a dusty little pile of pointless panderings,
Ruminations of the nasty, negative variety,
Often dwelling in the corners of the angry past,
Or in the entangled cobwebs of the fearful future,
Or in fruitless gossip and judgment, guises of my own insecurities.
I don’t have time for an hour of that dreadful dialog in my head.
I lost an hour today.
Good riddance.