There are thousands of people within a mile of me, celebrating.
Celebrating in different ways and for different reasons a day whose apparent importance is generations old.
Uniting everyone is that, within the last 100 years, when this day already had an established meaning, each and every person here, was curled up, nameless, in a womb. And in one hundred years, when this day has come and gone again and again, each and every person here will be gone.
That any one here has pride in this day passing, pride in themselves for being who they are, or contrastingly, a feeling of unworth, when all were dead before, and will be again after, is testimony indeed to the very disillusionment that has people fight over borders or ideas
Proud are we? What a strange sense, this pride. Is pride a quality? I think it should be seen by all that pride is indeed a flaw, not a quality. Where was the lack first born that drew towards it the render of pride to fill the cracks?
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Tao Wow | Daily Cup of Tao
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