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My humble bow

A poem on surrendering our ambition to the flow of life. I heard David Whyte's voice while writing this poem, which is why some prose sound similar to how he recites his poetry.

Your great mistake, your great mistake

Is to assume that sweet grapes will continue to fall into your grasp

One after another

And to feel entitled to their arrival on your clock

With just the right amount of pause in between each grasp

When the wait is longer than you like

Your mind goes a million miles

Every second feels like minutes

Every minute feels like hours

Days turn into years

And weeks of anticipation feels like eternity

You use excuses like complacency to explain why you are in such a hurry

You blame yourself for your incompetence

To know exactly what lever to pull,

How hard you should pull,

For the next grape to fall from the sky

No my child

Give up your ambition

Listen to your intuition

Wipe your palate clean of your lusting saliva

And turn toward the spirit of the wind

Notice, patiently notice,

The subtle shifting of the invisible force

For it is growing in momentum

Bit by bit, day by day,

To bring the arrival of your next grape

Perhaps what it brings will no longer be a grape

But it's arrival will be apparently, unmistakably clear to you

It's arrival WILL be apparently, unmistakably clear to you

Now, take gentle pause to appreciate this gift

Don't swallow it as quickly as you did in the past

Savor the flavor, take in the smells

This is the sweetness of life

This is the joy of life

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