"I hate the way this chicken comes
All bagged in plastic
Without head or feet:
Neck, heart, liver, and gizzard
Stuck into its cavity.
No wonder people feel unconnected."
I've long held onto the thought that most of us are just in various stages of recovery from the trauma of being born, and struggling to integrate our experiences in such a way that we can live peacefully, if not comfortably, in a world where we seem constantly to be bombarded by forces and events beyond our control. To maintain a sense of who I am, perhaps I must be willing to discover ever more about myself, and share it with the world around me. Perhaps to connect is to participate in increasing the wholeness and integrity of each and every creature. There is no reward without risk, no completion of the puzzle without the first piece.
All bagged in plastic
Without head or feet:
Neck, heart, liver, and gizzard
Stuck into its cavity.
No wonder people feel unconnected."
I've long held onto the thought that most of us are just in various stages of recovery from the trauma of being born, and struggling to integrate our experiences in such a way that we can live peacefully, if not comfortably, in a world where we seem constantly to be bombarded by forces and events beyond our control. To maintain a sense of who I am, perhaps I must be willing to discover ever more about myself, and share it with the world around me. Perhaps to connect is to participate in increasing the wholeness and integrity of each and every creature. There is no reward without risk, no completion of the puzzle without the first piece.
No comments:
Post a Comment