What’s The Rush?
Published in
1 min readFeb 15, 2018
Don’t let the sound of your own wheels make you crazy.
Displaced from the world, a cord is cut,
disconnected from history, everyone
becomes beggars, all wandering refugees,
transient, dislocated, with no road home.
The world teems with ants seeking a hill.
Birds without nests forever in flight.
Pangolins perch on the edge of nowhere.
Dumpsters full of homeless, hapless souls.
Movement and busyness their own goals.
Stop flitting, fretting, sit by the fire.
Be the fixed point in the turning world.
Find respite in silence and stillness.
Every harried step leads toward death.
Why run so hard toward the inevitable?
Slow down, take some time to see.
Become the one certain place you are.
The only home you can ever be.
