Early silence guards me to the small fire as I feed with breath and turn them into honest hours, Early silence guards me to and from the itch to prove, to parade, but not to boast, Early silence guards me my seed of my thinking while it thickens my shell of thoughts, Early silence guards me my study to performance; as I show my own in use, but not show, Early silence guards me my first roots as they learn the depth of my own life’s map…
Dedicated lit pages tune my mind like cast iron,low heated reasoning, long patience, but no rush, Dedicated lit pages tune my ideas with practice—through notes, drills, small tests, but quiet fixes, Dedicated lit pages tune my pride, too; by underlining less and apply more to my own life, Dedicated lit pages tune my desire, turning noise into a filtered space, sweet into fuel for work, Dedicated lit pages tune my judgment, so I can tell my story beyond what I can literally see…
Having a low profile shields the sapling from strong winds that could snap me from a taller tree, Having a low profile protects me from brittle roles I’m not ready to carry, Having a low profile protects the craft from a line of applause that arrives too early and sticks, Having a low profile protects the days from day-dreaming that add weight, but not worth, Having a low profile protects the vow to serve before I’m seen.
Under days that appear ordinary from the street, the roots of the trees gradually grow thicker, Under days that needed chores, that kept me honest—I shall sweep, file, sharpen, and repair, Under days when I choose mentors over mirrors, those questions enlighten me over their quotes, Under days through where my failure is recorded, not even posted; lessons stored like grain, Under days that slow roots thicken until the trunk, those laughs are now softly regardless the type of weather…
The first rain studies us without mercy and returns an pressure in which we’re too are tested, The first rain studies us who rushes the instant bloom and leaves the rest untested and broken, The first rain studies us like trees that waited; who can bend, and cracks less, and holds firm, The first rain studies my house of habits; warm me to be trained, feeling cold if I’m hurting, The first rain studies my mind and soul, and now I thank these contradicting seasons that hid me well and long enough to survive…
Watchwords: • Keep your flames covered • Read for use, not for show • Hold a low profile beyond anyone else • Thicken your own roots daily • Let seasons test you with patience
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…”
