Standing in the Chrysanthemum

Sometimes I see it if I try.
 It's always been there.

I was born in this life. I don't think you or I asked for it. It is what we are born into. Some of us go away and some of us stay.

I used to think that if you worked hard and tried hard good things would happen. That's not necessarily true.
The good that you receive might not be what you recognize. It might be a cup of beans and rice in a bowl with some bits of wild pig.
 The kindness of a prison guard that tells you that the best thing you can do for your dead friend is to go home.

Maybe you were born to a big estate.
Maybe you were born in the slave quarters.

None of it matters. It's all a mirage. The only things that last are what we do. Even the words we say are us. Words we leave behind us. They might last longer than that tree we planted and it it's a hardier species than mine.