Not my words, Not my crop
A mantra; a tonic for daily whirlpools of other people's stressors, projections, and transferable anxieties.
I still pray, and I have them in my pockets for you. They will chirp in your inbox in due time and if you need them you will read them. Life is long and days are short and we must find ways to integrate.
Mantras are a form of integrated prayer, the entire gist of being is about the fall and fumble of forgetfulness. The capacity to forget heals us and we walk again, and the capacity of forgetfulness fools us so we fumble and fall again.
A mantra is short and sweet. Imagine it sitting on your lapel, like a golden brooch or a button, something we can grab onto even as we fumble, something that will stay intact even after we fall.
All you have to do is bring your mind’s index and your soul’s thumb to its golden tip and you can trust your soul’s body to remember. New snow on your cerebral mountain tops and cleared streams for your heart’s river to flow.
Not my words
Not my crop
May I sow the words of my life with intention
May I grow my crops with undistracted attention
May I recognize when I am standing on someone else’s soil
someone else’s seeds, and the plants who speak of another person’s toil.
Amen
Amma
Fodder
“Nie mój cyrk, nie moje małpy”
Polish proverb
