What a pleasure
What a pleasure
it is to create a life that I love,
where my mouth can embrace the bitterness of milky coffee in the morning
while my nose intakes the woody and calming scent of cedar incense.
What a pleasure to wake up out of readiness for the day
as opposed to the always-aggravating-no matter- how-soothing
alarm clock,
reminding me that I live and breathe on
someone else's time.
It's taken and taking me some time
to remember that my life is my own;
what I want to do, I can.
How I want to feel, I can.
Are my feelings real?
Who knows, but they are valid,
and I have the space and time to understand them.
What a pleasure to pull out my calloused notebook
at any moment of the day,
inspired,
and write what comes to mind or heart.
No sense-making involved.
What a pleasure to transcend the ego, even if only for a bit.
To revel in the pure consciousness of my being;
to explore life in this body;
to explore what it means to love in this body;
to pay dear reverence to my experiences and encounters,
because
they mean something — and I'm not too busy, or harried, or stressed, or worried
to recognize myself in others
to recognize signs from the universe
right in front of me.
What a pleasure to feel freedom as a gift.
Something I cherish; something I hold in deep gratitude.
Yet I wouldn't have changed my path
to say I should have freed myself earlier in my journey.
I wasn't ready.
Freedom is a responsibility.
So it's a pleasure to be trusted
with this responsibility.
I'll enjoy it right.
