Every time I step out of mundane time
To be present to what I’m actually doing
Instead of dwelling on what I’ve done before
Or what I might do next
Or what has or will be done to me or around me,
No matter how content, miserable or stimulated I am,
Every time I am fully inside the depth of a feeling
That is truly of now,
Aware in compassion, truth and presence, then
I am raised from the dead.
This is my only super power,
These occasional moments of Holy Wholeness
Scattered amongst the usual blah
Until I die
And there will be no raising me then,
I’m pretty sure.
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