(Grandmother Mother Aware Idealism)
Don't be such a cardigan, Son.
Get out there into the world.
Make it tremble to meet you.
Take great strides through crowds.
Don't be shepherded into enclosures.
Strike out and flame like a sure match.
Gamble your chances on intuitive charm.
Gather your skill as hidden treasure.
There are doors in the world that open
before you even push. These are the doors
of destiny, the doors of chance, the doors of a
God indicating possibility. Take it son.
Run with your spirit flaring in the dark night
of so many quiet lives. Do not be ashamed
of your peculiarities but do not let them own you.
You are not governed by a corporation of shadows.
You are a part of the fabric of cloth
life is a table cloth Son, a clean sheet of infinite stain
and you must let all your limbs burst with the flowers
of your being. But you are not a solitary piece of biology.
There is so much love you have yet yo receive from those
who have already given so much. Take love as your task,
pour your waves of affection outward into good works
to the even sea of people surrounding. There is much
gold in simplicity. There is so much care
to be aware of in a quiet minute.
(Aye Gran...
Whitever you say.)
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