Thanksgiving Cometh

Oh gratitude. When I began to find her I found a living water. She never stops giving. She overwhelms. She is the real Santa Claus. Oh gratitude.

All she asks of me is that I turn my gaze of attention. It is but the most minimal request, and that which she could not do for me were she to try. But she knows better. Gratitude is patient. She waits.

She is ready. I mean, the least little turn of my gaze of attention in the direction of the good that I have that I do not deserve, she is so alert to as to open the gates of the dam and pour forth all the feel-good I can handle.

I mean, I just begin. The slightest turn in the direction of very being in time and space. That I am, now, and for this moment all is quiet. Forget the future. Forget the past. Meditate on now. Dost thou deserve it? Hast thou produced it? Canst thou preserve it? It is for thee anyway. A gift. Something well beyond the demands of justice.

From there I am overwhelmed. I think of each before me who suffered and kept going that I might be. They stretch back so far in history.

I turn to the few who bear with me. Some are willing to live with me. Others will take a call from me at any point just out of kindness. Others will employ me. The list goes on.

I feel as the “Jedd is in bed” from Dr. Seuss’ SLEEP BOOK.

Gratitude is better than drugs. Drugs invite escape in an effort to hide. Gratitude invites embracing reality.

This Thanksgiving, for heaven’s sake be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Published by Purilib

Anonymously interested in grasping the good life.

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