Positivity is not a destination, I say.
But he doesn’t understand me.
So I stop for eloquence,
Rooting for it internally;
His ideas are his,
His conviction strong.
And, maybe I’m wrong.
So I hold back,
It’s like your staff on the never-ending journey
supporting you as you make your way
It partners with strife, without eliminating it
It’s omnipresent in a conscious mind . . . tilling
. . . Tilling like the worm — invisible, underground
It’s not another illusion you create to worship;
It’s intrinsic to your faith
It’s so easy to confuse delusion with positivity,
To cultivate division and requirements for suffering
It doesn’t mean being somebody’s floor mat or bath water
It doesn’t mean suffering injustice to make another rich
And it’s not delivered by Santa to good boys and girls;
You don’t have to earn it,
It’s the fruit of now —
Ripe and ready for you to partake.
But I convince only myself;
And I don’t miss him.