if life were a poem

if life were a poem (or an arthouse film) then it would neither be happy nor sad; it would just be — a collection of beauty. it would be filled with moments of fleeting joy and bliss, and moments of anguish, too, which, breaking you open like an egg, would reveal something raw and true inside — something close to the bone marrow of life, the essence of being. so when I am confused and afraid and tumultuous about situations and people, I remind myself to live my life like a poem; the kind of poem I would read, memorize, recite on my lips while waiting at traffic stoplights; a poem like a folk song — something beyond time. this is not to valorize melancholy or sadness, but to find gold and silver shimmering even in darkness, and to trust in it fully. to live life as a poem is, too, a daily practice. a way of seeing and relating — to self, to world. everyday. every moment. it is a deliberate choice to be a cinematographer of the mind, to choose to see a reality differently. it takes effort. and this is what I am working on, everyday.