Know Enough to Clap
If I know I’m happy I can clap my hands, but if I’m happy and I don’t know it, what then? Will my face display tell tale signs without whispering a word of it to my mind? Will I whistle a happy tune therefore revealing my inner state? If I can’t demonstrate my reality does it cease to exist? Does my retarded ability to reflect my emotion condemn me to remedial society? Is there any other society? If I become well enough to reflexively feel and exhibit my mood will I graduate to the advanced class or be forever alone no longer having a place amid the emotional head bangers, hair twirlers and cobweb pickers? Is it a choice of knowing happiness in isolation or confusion with a crowd? Could I know? Should I know? Would I know? Who knows?
Iron your will
Falling and flying are the same, save the landing.
No matter what you do in the air, how well or how poorly
In the end, if you don’t land, it’s a fall
And if you do, a flight.
How we begin seems of ultimate importance
But is seen as a farce in the face of ruin.
The most promising of starts can be sucked ground ward,
Compass and instrumentation rendered useless, through lack of humility.
Piteous starts, starts without plan or goal
Are viewed as triumphs when safety has been captured from defeat.
Willingness is my aileron
It contributes to my lift in ways I cannot explain.
It smoothes the gusts of life which forever blow in my face
And willingness brings the ground up to meet me.
All I have to do is be willing
And stick out my feet.