The Point of it All

I've always felt the need to bring poetic justice to this world. A place I simultaneously find myself infatuated with, have boundless intrigue and appreciation for, and fear. And hate. And pity. And look at with profound sadness.

It needs a voice.c

I want to scream. I want to throw my hands up in urgency and hollar at everyone, look! You're all missing it! You're all missing the point. But no one is listening, and its maddening.

Look up from your phone, and watch.

Watch the way the tree limbs give way to the winds, standing tall and unwavering in the heaviest of storms.

Look how those leaves fall in what is seemingly the end, only to once again breathe life when all seemed lost.

Look how the butterfly grows.

Look at the clouds that pursuade all the wonder of the world. All the confessions thrown to the sky that they hold.

Just look.

And breathe. And think. And wander.

Let your soul take your mind where it so desperately needs to go. Throw caution to the wind and just allow yourself to emerge. And above all, appreciate.

All of it.

Without reservation. Without expectation. Without the need for clarity in which only reveals itself when your eyes are closed.

Introduce your bare feet to the ground and take in the experience of the Earths energy healing your heart, freeing your mind, and feeding your soul.

Put everything down, ignore all that truly does not matter and realize - the beauty that surrounds you is offering what makes you whole. Trust, that you need no more.