A mind that is lively and inquiring, compassionate, curious, angry, full of music, full of feeling, is a mind full of possible poetry.
And now I understand something so frightening &wonderful- how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing through crossroads, sticking like lint to the familiar.
I know I can walk through the world, along the shore or under the trees, with my mind filled with things of little importance, in full self-attendance. A condition I can't really call being alive.
In the glare of your mind, be modest. And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
Let me keep my mind on what matters, which is my work, which is mostly standing still and learning to be astonished.