How easy is it to waste your life? We work. We ponder. We rarely live. We prefer complaining over action. We want tears of understanding stead of a hand up out of a pit.
How many of us have discovered a talent — to only throw away its gifts in childhood? Why are we unable to see and accept our innate gifts through the darkness of others who seek to destroy us in the crib?
How many of us have given up our lives — not for our children as we are required — but rather for a stranger or for a selfish parent requiring devotion and longing long after you should be living your own life?
How many of us have slipped into the maw of defeat and stayed there for the inevitable, and endless, chewing and swallowing — never to be seen again while tripping along a walking death?
Does not wasting your life require some sort of selfishness for self-preservation? Or is it possible to live your life in the midst of others who are waiting for a primed moment to exploit your goodness and provoke your vulnerabilities?
How do we thwart the garbage collectors from tossing us on the junk heap for safekeeping along with all the others who were too scared and too flayed to continue on and fulfill the potential of their moral covenant?