There are things that you alone must do and that you must do alone regardless of how the rest of the world is humming along
Resting in the middle of commotion running while the world is asleep leaving when life is comfortable staying when the fleeing looks good
You may be wistful or anguished going to bed while the party rages
You may be odd man up late tending to your baby ideas on long, cold nights before they hatch
But how much worse will you feel when the thing in your heart lies buried under a thousand perfectly good reasons why you couldn’t help it now.
No time is right No time is wrong Each minute, each hour, each day extends itself wordlessly for you to do with it what you will.
What will you do?
What will we do if you don’t?
The life you write for yourself is yours alone but the lives you touch are everywhere, on into eternity.
It’s so sad, isn’t it?
The way he eats/ she drinks/ they sit around and shoot up sitcoms all day long?
What a waste of life.
Can’t they see how much better off they’d be swimming laps/ eating seaweed/ doing hot yoga/ loving Jesus?
Can’t they hear what all of that Guitar Hero is doing to their arteries?
Don’t they know the only “off” valve is meditation/ marathon running/ mopping floors/ making sweet, sweet love tied to the bedposts under the moonlight?
How does someone end up like that, anyway— in the suburbs/ on Skid Row/ all alone cut off from everything?
If only they would listen to me.
If only they could learn to help themselves.
If only they knewthat anything was possible that they are the agents of change that love starts with each one of us.
If only they knew what life could be. What a world we could live in…