Life is quite intense these days. I'm aware that the tenor of my posts has shifted, and I'm becoming firmly entrenched in my navel. I like it - it's warm and full of fluff - but I can't stay there forever. Many things are happening - I'm looking for a new flatmate, I interviewed for a new job at work, and we have our first BIG craft fair in less than a week. But it isn't really that. At the heart of this swirling maelstrom of intensity is a kiss. I was expecting to be kissed - in that context - but not like this. This kiss stirred something inside me that had been dormant for a very long time. And now it is restless. Desire is no bad thing, but I don't cope well with it. I've gone to pieces. I've totally lost my cool. I'm a burbling puddle on the floor. So it seems a good time to share this poem, as a reminder that divinity exists, even at floor-level.
Be Not Content
Be not content - contentment means inaction;
The growing soul aches on its upward quest;
Satiety is twin to satisfaction;
All great achievements spring from life's unrest.
The tiny roots, deep in the dark mould hiding,
Would never bless the earth with leaf and flower
Were not an inborn restlessness abiding
In seed and germ, to stir them with its power.
Were man contented with his lot forever,
He had not sought strange seas with sails unfurled,
And the vast wonder of our shores had never
Dawned on the gaze of an admiring world.
Prize what is yours, but be not quite contented.
There is a healthful restlessness of soul
By which a mighty purpose is augmented
In urging men to reach a higher goal.
So when the restless impulse rises, driving
Your calm content before it, do not grieve;
It is the upward reaching of the spirit
Of the God in you to achieve, achieve.
- Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1855-1919)
