Whatever comes to test me will be received without bitterness or rebellion, no gathering storm or unexpected darkness, no sudden loss or aching silence at midnight’s edge
Whatever comes to test me will be received without bitterness or rebellion, will be met with more than a steady breath like a downward glance or a quiet nod of recognition
Whatever comes to test me will be received without bitterness or rebellion, for I have long prepared my soul to accept each sorrow as a visitor, not a conqueror
Whatever comes to test me will be received without bitterness or rebellion, a guest who must be seated, served tea and listened to without rage or disdain…
Life exacts its price in many shapes and all who live must eventually pay, every grief that knocks on the door does so not as a punishment but as payment due
Life exacts its price in many shapes and all who live must eventually pay, an old agreement signed that day I was born into the world of aching hearts and uncertain days
Life exacts its price in many shapes and all who live must eventually pay, and so I release what I must like tears, time, fragments of peace in return for this fragile joy I carry
Life exacts its price in many shapes and all who live must eventually pay, because the cost of living fully is to lose sometimes to ache often and to be changed always…
One may delay life’s cost but no soul may truly escape it, I have wrapped myself in comfort and filled my hours with sound and color
One may delay life’s cost but no soul may truly escape it, turned from sorrow like a child hides from thunder thinking I could skip the storm
One may delay life’s cost but no soul may truly escape it, but the ache in waiting patiently is like knowing I would one day run out of places to hide
One may delay life’s cost but no soul may truly escape it, and when It came again it asked only what was always its due no more, no less…
In the end what we keep is only what we never had to buy, each time I release a version of myself- the more naive, the more certain, more fearless I still mourn a little
In the end, what we keep is only what we never had to buy, and each loss of friendship, opportunity or illusion tears a page from my private book of becoming
In the end, what we keep is only what we never had to buy, yet in those empty spaces something that is purer often emerges not loud or triumphant but clear
In the end, what we keep is only what we never had to buy, we return to ourselves emptied not in defeat but knowing we paid in full for all is a fulfillment for laughter, the weeping, an what remains is what was never touchable to begin with…
Watchwords:
Time walks beside us like a friend until it begins to take more than it gives
The firmness of our stride is the sharpness of memory, the faith in forever
It also leaves us wisdoms in space of what it removes, wisdom we never asked for
Earned through long and silent sacrifice now to keep close
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
