Saturday, April 18, 2015

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.

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