what if the road to awakening wasn’t lined with:
gems,
crystals,
chakras,
and mantras.
but instead:
long walks in the woods,
whiskey,
poorly timed jokes,
and people who think differently.
perfection isn’t the end goal,
it’s the realization that shit
is already perfect
even the rough edges,
even our sour spots.
Profound words ..
OMG this poem is transcendent.
Truth.