What are you rushing for my love?
What are you so terrified might catch you,
if you stop to catch your breath?
What are you so worried might evade you if you take a moment to enjoy the view?
Life is not something to be done,
It is something to be lived.
And if you are truly lucky,
It isn’t simply lived,
It is loved.
So live my sweet, so that you may love.
……………………………………………………………………………
It seems to be woven into us from birth — this notion that we must always be rushing. That we must always be looking for ways to be ‘productive’ & to ‘do more’, as if the simple act of existing isn’t productive enough.
And yet I’ve never once heard someone look outside their window & sigh disappointedly at the trees because all they do is stand still. I’ve never heard anyone complain that they aren’t living up to their full potential.
No one criticizes the bear for hiding away in her den, worried about naught much else than making it through the cold harsh winter. No one deems her lazy for her long sleep.
So why do we continue to do this to ourselves? To each other?
