Gooey Goodness
Emmy's favorite treat. Which she should have more of.
Emmy's favorite treat. Which she should have more of.
“This vase is already broken.”
A student once asked a Zen master why he treasured his favourite tea
cup so dearly, yet handled it so calmly, without fear of losing it.
The master held the cup up to the light and smiled.
“To me this cup is already broken. I enjoy it, I drink out of
it, but I know that the wind may knock it off the shelf, or my elbow
may knock it off the table. So I enjoy it fully — and I am
already at peace with its ending.”
When you accept that the cup is already broken, you stop gripping it
with fear. You hold it with open hands — and in doing so, you
savour every sip.
“Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now take what’s left and live it properly.”— Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Another beautiful memory was the evening Emmy finally got to meet my
mum.
We shared a lovely meal of pasta and prawns, the flavors
perfectly complementing the joy of the moment. It wasn't just a
dinner; it was a beautiful step forward in our story, and a memory
that I will always cherish.
Remember that even in the hardest times, I love you, and you have the strength to overcome anything.
When you first visited, the room was bare and boring. Had no storage
and the bed was in the wrong place. Now we have a cozy bedroom that we
can both enjoy. With new wardrobes and a desk.
Every morning, waking up next to you and hearing the birds singing and
watching the clouds floating by is my faviouate part of the day. It
feels like the room is wrapping us in a quiet embrace. It's more than
just a room, it's a place of peaceful moments together.
“Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.”
A poem about choosing to show the world its beauty — for the people you love most. For Emmy Christmas.