People pay therapists to tell them how their past made their present,
the theory being that looking up at that star they can see what happened
so very long ago, wishing on it today make all catastrophic events take their
proper place in the creation of the cosmos that is your mind’s constellations.
“My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations” John Green
Who wouldn’t want all of these virtues? Authenticity is all I ever wanted.
Charlie Chaplin, best known mime actor, wrote a beautiful self love poem on his 70th birthday (April 16, 1959). It is exceptional because there are not many poems written about loving the self and in my opinion, contains much wisdom. Here’s how Chaplin’s self love poem goes….
As I Began to Love Myself – Self Love Poem by Charlie Chaplin
As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional suffering
are only warning signs that I was living against my own truth.
Today, I know, this is “AUTHENTICITY”.
As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody
As I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time
was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this
person was me. Today I call it “RESPECT”.
As I began to love myself…
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All the women are wearing black yoga pants in this coffee shop
my hippy Indian dress I bought at the Spiritual Center stinks
You all talk endlessly about your vacations at the beach, drunk
maybe another documentary will relieve my sedentary blues
My sisters that had no children like to say how they would do things
Ignore them Rage at them Psychoanalyze them Love them, all at once
Your TV screen bathes you in the light of social stimuli.
Better than white, teeth in iridescent smiles, grab you,
stimulating primal desires for more is better. Let’s reproduce!
Get off on that hijacking of your instinctive responses, the
gluttony of each Super Sized meal,breast implanted drones.
Social parasites are well aware you would push that button
until the semen spewed, dehydrated you to delirium with sunken eyes.
Making as bad decisions as beetles copulating with beer bottles, you die unfit.
Baby birds starve to death because the exaggerated card board mouth beckons.
The already over the top peacock even selects the store bought dummies.
Is this sounding apocalyptic enough? Throw a snake in this apple tree.
Stickleback fish waste their energy fighting bottoms of floating red boats,
the red color saturates the senses, unnaturally large size blinds it’s primitive brain,
What is your excuse, Man?
Completely ignoring the normal, normal sized satisfactions
that millions of years of evolution gifted you to moderate primal urges.
Do not pretend you don’t hear your reptilian mind in this madness.
It shrieks those deafening velociraptor warning, I will kill you!
Grow up. Look at this fool hardiness and get with the program that
changes you back to the artist, the friend and warm blooded lover, not cold.
Grief can take me to bed,
awaiting the completion of the process
that changes my thinking from muddled
to pluripotent once again.
Outside my mattress cocoon is the rest of life.
Whatever that will entail.
Inside are the very slowly growing cells that
will completely replace my liver in three weeks.
I don’t count on anything anymore.
You couldn’t brain wash me now.
That portal has shut and I say my
agnostic prayers to become different.