Without gratitude
to season today’s living,
the soup of being
has little or no flavor.
Who would eat such a bland dish?

Without noticing
the beauty of this moment,
a colorless world
clothes our life in only gray.
Who would want such a sad view?

Without compassion
leaking from our open wounds,
life’s armor will rust,
making any movement stiff.
Who enjoys such a forced dance?

Without awareness
of the truth of emptiness,
we become so full
of our own self-importance.
Who finds joy so all alone?

27 NOV 2024