The first happy inhale -
a lifetime later, the sigh
- the last sad exhale.
Avoiding all enquiries,
attempting to postpone the inevitable,
substituting love along the way.
Between the banks of life and death
there is the possibility to conjure
the river of love.
Fumbling at the dark edges,
the flaming waters rise
only in certainty.
Why go on carrying dead things?
Expectations kill dreams.
So be certain.
Come alive.
A paraphrasing of certain standout phrases from Chapter 3 (I think) of Osho’s Life, Love and Laughter
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
1994ever 