“He who sees the Infinite in all things, sees God. He who sees the Ratio only, sees himself only... I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.” ~William Blake.
You fail only by comparison.
To whom? To what?
Undiminished by a ratio
of otherness, you are ensouled
by singularity.
Suns do not mutter,
"Which of us is brighter?"
Your face was already beautiful
before those dark eyes fell
into this world of
oblique
refracted beams, and these
flesh atoms from the first
breath of creation arranged
themselves into a brief
kaleidoscopic symmetry.
Now is the time to repose
in your own peculiar light.
Cultivate stillness by dancing,
by swaying ever more gently
into your center.
Cultivate silence by singing
more softly, until only
your nerves can hear you.
By letting ten thousand thoughts
swirl like dust in a sunbeam,
By allowing weeds to blossom,
cultivate exotic flowers. Name
this fallow meadow, "The Garden."
You’ve already survived.
You’ve won because you are here.
Now just be incomparable.
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