I am but watching the belief in death unfold when I cling dearly to this little dusty self and its concept of ‘doing’. Sometimes it appears that this little dusty self is loved and loving, sometimes it appears that it is despised and despicable. Will it appear to die from it’s awful karma, or will it apparently trump it, and live out another day?
This poor little thing appearing among poor little things. It can’t get anything right – when it is right, somebody else is wrong. When it ‘has more dust’, somebody else must ‘have less’ dust.
World peace among little dusty selves that appear to have and have-not? With the belief in death as the qualifier, it technically cannot be. Peace is left to pay this world attention.
Darcie French 