The standard of happiness by which I live depends on accepting my life exactly as it is right now with disregard to bank account dollar value, title, status, number of friends, depreciation of vehicle, square footage of home, and brand of shoes I wear. I intentionally do not attribute to my standard of happiness ideologies constructed by business, political, scientific, and social authorities. Everyone has a story, and this is my story. The drive which compels me to express myself concretely has its source in a dimension greater than what I may define in the context of time and space. In this greater dimension originates my standard of happiness, and from here I tell my story.
Through my story, I am granted the means to encourage the possibility of awakening in another what belongs solely to them. To each of us belongs the gift of Earthly expression, and, like fingerprints, that which each of us is meant to express is unique to our existence. The only force I may extend to you is the hope of knowing the gift of your expression.
Today, I am meant to polish the gems of truth and beauty found in the most ordinary of places and circumstances. The story of life which we await to hear is your story. The hero’s name and face belongs to the stranger in the crowd. Beneath an exterior of commonness resides the light bearer of our streets. Search in the shambles of forgotten cities. Step into the homes of the hungry and cold. Recognize the tired face and silent mouth. Open the gateway of expression assigned to each of us, and deliver the staff of transformation eternally allotted to all.
To them without a name and face belong the crowns of self-mastery.
I make no claim to the ultimate answer. I stake no claim to fame, fortune, and power. I lift a mirror to the spirit of human evolution which finds its origins in the urgency of today. I follow the hidden path and listen to the hidden people. I stand by them and walk by them. The gift they have to offer, the story they have to tell drives the story of my life and dictates the words I write. To them without a name and face belong the crowns of self-mastery. Listen in the oppressive silence, walk on the streets of desolation, meet with the face of destitution, sit with the greatest stranger, and give recognition to the true prototype of peace on Earth.
photo credit: The British Library <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/12403504@N02/11169705976″>Image taken from page 6 of ‘The Victorian Age! (The birthday of our beloved Sovereign. May, 1899.) [A poem.]'</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/commons/usage/”>(license)</a>