Gratitude beyond measure

Where are you, oh my gratitude?

I have been searching for you.

Pursued by would-be enthusiasts and well-meaning followers you went running and hid in the mist.

Ethereal and and uncertain, you waver at the periphery of existence.

 

So many others know why the caged bird sings, and I think to myself on some

moral

  existential

principled level, I must too.

I reassure some that I do know how well-off I am.

Of course I know

it could be so much worse

I have so much to be thankful for

 some day it’ll be better

 especially if I try harder.

 

Why shouldn’t I be happy with the trimmings, the soft fruit, the leftovers of this “great” society? How can I be so ungrateful to throw down the gifts bestowed upon me by trickles and degrees? How dare I suggest that help go beyond giving a man a fish in a crowded harbor?

How small am I in a vast promised land that was, as we sung in childhood,

made for you and me?

I AM ungrateful of those sickening systems and the poisonous roots that feed them.

Built on the backs of my brethren, Babylon holds nothing to be thankful for.

 

My gratitude is not for sale, not for granted, not obligatory.

What it is not can fill a library, but what it has become is so much more.

 

This sense of warm gentle appreciative loving kindness shared connection together is real.

Cannot be feigned or conjured on command.

By nature, gratitude is whole and pure; it honors the true sense of what it means to know the suffering of another as your own, and feel the humbling glory of another doing for you of their own being.

It is an expression of compassion and mutual understanding that redeems humanity in all its frazzled fray.

 

Shy and reserved, my gratitude never could stand the light of day (neither proud nor boastful)

My gratitude is not about me, it is about

you

 and the incredible treasures you have brought to this world,

 of the most beautiful parts of yourself.

My gratitude plays a quiet song of strength, serenading your generosity with the gentle caress of a lullaby.

Always close, my gratitude can tell when it’s time to be known, and when it’s time to run home.

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