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THE FREEDOM TO LIVE HAPPILY

I want to write a poem about the freedom to live happily.

I want to write a poem about the freedom to live happily.

But I feel this kind of heaviness, a kind of pain.

I feel suffering, I feel like I am suffering.

I feel so weary from the struggle. I feel this load on my lungs, my heart, my back.

I worry about things I needn’t even worry about.

Why do I do such things?

I want to write a poem about the freedom to live happily.

Somewhere are doors to happiness even in this moment, this moment in which I am remembering yesterday’s pain.

Like there’s the door to happiness from remembering the joys of yesterday.

And the joys of the present moment.

And how I am so lucky, am, am.

How Smith brings me a cup of coffee every morning.

How I hear the birds almost every morning.

How I love the view out my window, the trees.

How I love making things better.

Even cleaning, I even love cleaning.

How like, when I am cleaning, if I am hurrying too much and thinking about the stack of next moments to happen in a hurried manner,

How if I am stooped down and cleaning in that moment, how I am not getting all the happiness I could get.

Sometimes I think I could create a zen practice: clean the kitchen, slowly, over a 12 hour period, with a toothbrush. Just enjoy the cleaning. Just sit and enjoy the cleaning, do it slowly and don’t hurry. Just have fun, cleaning. Think and clean. Relax and clean. Clean, sit on the floor with some coffee, relax and sit back, take a break, then clean some more.

That’s how I could clean some time in theory, yeah, that’s how I could clean.

That would be a kind of practice, though.

I wonder if the stack of subsequent moments would bear it.

Would they come rushing in and invade my toothbrush clean floor time?

Would the stack of moments trample over my clean floor time?

I think the stack of moments would wait. Or even perhaps some of the moments, or at least, the plans for that subsequent stack of moments… well, I’d find that I didn’t need to do so many things during those moments.

I could have just sat with my coffee on the floor.

Or how about this: I could sit with my coffee or whatever, you know, my comfort, if coffee represents comfort. I could just sit with my comfort and do whatever I feel like doing as long as it makes sense somehow.

There are a lot of things to do, after all, in the subsequent stack of moments! There’s a lot I could pile in them!

Sometimes I wonder if they are like cardboard boxes, those moments, those plans.

I could chomp through those plans, do a lot of them, do some, yeah.

I could do some mindfully, I could do some mindlessly.

You know what? Sometimes being mindless is being mindful. Being mindful is always being mindful, well, at least some of the time. Being mindless–meaning, not worrying about a thing, can also be mindful. You know, like not manufacturing any thoughts I don’t necessarily need.

The thought factory has a lot of good use when it’s in a good box or outside a box in a good way.

But sometimes that thought factory feels it needs to meet some kind of production quota without any reason for it.

So those are some of my thoughts about how to be more happy… to realize what has been causing me mental grief and not do so much of it unnecessarily. That’s my thought. And something about the stack of moments. I feel through my fingers that this is good. I find this pretty good. It’s not complete but that’s OK, it’s pretty good.

~ Lady

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