Older, Happier

The older I come to be 

the happier I sure am.

’Tis not because I have more,

though I have more than enough.

’Tis not that I know more, since

I forget more than I learn.

’Tis not for family . . . friends,

yet god knows I love them all.

If happiness comes not from

my belongings, my knowledge,

or my most intimate kin,

then where is its origin?

Beneath the skin, where I feel

in relation I belong

to all that I am not, . . . no

longing, no clinging, no thing 

separating me from that 

which is my birth, my own death.

The older I come to be

the less me there comes to be.