People want what I have to give
So they take and take and take,
And it drains me
Because they use it
To exist in the physical world
Rather than allowing themselves
To be drawn into the realm of the soul,
To be transformed.
As such, there is nothing given back.
But I cannot blame them.
I have allowed myself to be drained,
For the possibility of yield
Has kept me invested in,
And investing in, them.
But ignorant investment
Is nothing more than gambling.
And the possibility of yield
Is the trick, the lure, the enticement
That keeps the gambler gambling . . .
No wonder I have been bled dry.
No longer though,
For I am a knowledgeable investor now.
I know there is, really, only one worthy investment:
One that increases my wealth;
Yields a high return.
The realm of the soul
Is what and where I am.
I would love people to join me,
To take what I have to give
And give it back in fuller measure.
But so far my search has been in vain,
For no one will join me there.
For I have found a worthy investment anyway
And am already reaping the rewards.
‘Tis myself that holds the store
Of my personal wealth.
‘Tis myself I am fully invested in now.