A mist of water rising from a roaring ocean
All of the sum of your years
Can be described as this.
Depressing Thought? or a Centering, life-giving one?
How many things of meaning can mist hold?
Little things that cause anxiety, stress or fear?
How can they possibly have weight?
Reflection upon most thoughts and emotions filled with self
Vanish as that mist of life
And letting go becomes the only sane choice.
What is left of my life, then, and yours?
Is it worth the effort to live?
Lies scream that it is not—how can there be things of meaning?
But, oh friend, there can be.
Because beyond the mist of meaningless multitude of cares
Lies an ocean that is not the sum of all vapors
But rather the power of all that has ever held meaning.
The transcendent, eternal ‘weight of glory’
Asks to claim you as its Very Own.
That in your lostness you will be found.
Eternal Arms that author all Meaning
Call to your spiritual senses
Revealing the apparent clamored fullness of what is but passing
And stand spread over time and space.
Love that is born because it dies
And considers all others above its own desires.
A body of life that rushes through all you are