Only my own choosing can weaken me, each dawn I remind myself that the world outside can be fierce, unpredictable, and endlessly loud Only my own choosing can weaken me, that strangers may scorn or storm may strike and fortune may scatter its coins with careless hands Only my own choosing can weaken me, yet none of these have the authority to dictate the peace or ruin within my chest for the helm of my being belongs only to me Only my own choosing can weaken me, and no force can seize it unless I surrender it so I steady my will with the vow to surrender to your choices without excuses…
It is the perspective that disturbs the heart, there is s sweet and treacherous pull to say that others are the reason for my suffering It is the perspective that disturbs the heart, it imagine that peace has been stolen by unkind faces, harsh words or unplanned turns of fate It is the perspective that disturbs the heart, yet each time I let such thoughts breathe as I tie my freedom to illusions and false judges It is the perspective that disturbs the heart, and I forget that this is my view, my own framing, my own inner verdict that builds or breaks calm…
I anchor myself in the lesson, I have worn resentment like a heavy garment stitched with threads of blame and accusation I anchor myself in the lesson, and each day beneath its a weight I grew smaller as my steps shorter, my spirit dimmer I anchor myself in the lesson, until the moment I saw that no one outside was truly binding me but it was my own grip on anger, regret and pain I anchor myself in the lesson, a grip that burned my palms and left me weary until released it an breathed lighter as i learn to anchor myself self-responsibility to my strength
Each small refusal to blame is a victory, on certain days I stumble to speak too sharply, or let frustration pour out in restless floods of emotion Each small refusal to blame is a victory, and immediately I hear excuses rise as “they provoked me, the situation forced me, the world is cruel” Each small refusal to blame is a victory, but if I am to grow, I must resist those shallow refuges and instead turn inward for honest repair Each small refusal to blame is a victory, for the point is not never failing but never running from the truth of my own role to keep and hold fast to the reminder…
Watchwords: The discipline of living well is not crowned in dramatic triumphs The quieter the triumph of beginning again where I falter without despair or delay For that single steady breath can outweigh an hour of confusion Whenever I lose my way, I remind myself that renewal is always possible
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
“As you are still the Master of your destiny and the maker of your dreams…”
