Friday,  January 28, 2022

         My line of work is the same as the stars. I shine because the universe shines, and I’m here and there because the universe is here and there. My profession, in these elder years, is participating in each moment with old fervor and fire. I find, now, that I have the talent of majestic mountains: I can be beautiful by just standing still. My skills come from my body’s cells, as numberless as stars and always displaying the dazzling workmanship of  eons.  Any cleverness I seem to have is the cleverness of all of creation. I create the way stones and tree limbs and snowflakes create. My expertness is the same as that of winds and rolling rivers and specks of dust on desks. If I have any virtuosity, it’s the same that sorrow and gladness display, and my knack for making poems is no different than the artistry of breezes moving among branches. The talents I have are loaned to me by the universe, and I humbly accept them with thankfulness.  

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