If beauty permeated the earth
the way we wished it did...
on a concentrated level
like a jar packed tight with fireflies,
could the beauty be recognized?
Would we be able to move, breathe, or think?
I fondly remember moments
where life’s magic
made itself so undoubtedly present,
I nearly escaped human form and became one with it;
with peace and bliss,
with the rhythmic dance of life;
like all moments do.
The fireflies scurry away,
children wait for nightfall with their jars
in the hopes to catch and release just a few.
To trap and keep a jar-full
of these illuminated specs of hope
would eventually kill them,
depriving others of an instant enriched with life.
The jar will always be there,
stained with the residue
of what we value so dearly–
what helps us feel alive,
so that the pain and suffering
also passing through our jar won’t stick to it,
won’t hold onto us like it once did.
Living involves being with the dark and the light
Acknowledging their fleeting existence
Learning from these
Giving back using this wisdom
Passing along beauty, peace, love, & rhythm.
These never leave;
it’s the strength of their presence that varies,
shifting who we are.
the source does cultivate what we need.
It’s a matter of allowing it to fill our jar.