These constant strivings
for equilibrium
though your stability
is assaulted.
This battle to retain
equanimity
to not veer blindly
from a lifetime of
vicissitudes-
and be left as a typhoon- battered
shore
littered
with useless debris-
just garbage, mere junk
but to salvage what's good...
like the same after- storm beach
strewn with seashells,
so intricate and beautiful
though deposited by destructive
winds.
Cherish such small, subtle gifts,
pick them up
take them home.
Learn to sift,
quench your thirst
then leave the dregs.
Winnow
and allow the chaff
to simply fly away...
keep your nourishing grain.
Take only your fill
and realize
sustenance may come
but handfuls at a time,
not flashy-
but precious nonetheless.
Seashells after a storm,
drink for your thirst,
grain for hunger
whatever these things may be
that lift you,
that foster your flame.