What does it mean to be intelligent? To know useful things has a purpose. Yet, how easily the defilements arm themselves
with all I know. This leaves intelligence
as my largest hurdle of pride and self centeredness. The more intelligent I become, the more
effective my own wickedness may be at fooling me, robbing me, and lying to me.
Pride is like being filled with empty ideas. None of it nourishes me to love myself. Yet, I hold onto it all for dear life. I don’t want to part with myself
importance. Although, I see the hidden building
blocks of unhappiness I cause myself. I just
haven’t suffered enough to let it go.
If only I could calm my rage long enough to be grateful for
what I can see today. Things I just couldn’t
see yesterday. Surely that would pave
the way to patience, kindness and self love.
But I’m addicted to my rage. It’s
my comforter; my oldest companion through the lonely and cold winters of my
heart.
I am in love with my own wickedness. Everything I learn about the world around becomes
fuel for the fire I burn myself in. I am
tired of getting burned. But my lack of humility
in all things says I am NOT tired enough.
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