Every morning, when I heard the birds outside my window, I stop and remember:

Each morning, the divine spirit offers me the cup of the life. And choices.

I can fear it.

I can argue with it.

I can waste it in argument and anger.

I can run and hide from it and count my obligations and look for security.

I can taste the bitter residue of the loveless life.

I can go on table TV – or watch it –  and feast on the carrion of people’s hope.

I can count my IRA’s and wait for the bills to come

and rush to the pharmacy for more pills.

I can blind myself to it, and the beauty of the world.

Or.

I can drink from it. Every day. Savor its cool and sweet taste,

feel its nourishing waters flow through me and water my spirit like

a hungry and eager seed.

I am that seed. How I want to grow.

Every morning, a choice,

to drink from the cup of life.