So many times I gave up, so many more I still would.

So many times I gave up, so many more I still would. My inconstancy has been my constant guide. Being part of me, how could I disown it? The inertia that flattens me and the force that throws me off course, where would I bury them? I am all of it; every action is mine. I am responsible for all my energy. Why the conflict of rejecting myself, of damning my acts into guilts and shoulds?

But I contemplate my misery from my lair. The monster of sloth, the impotence called envy. Behold, I am overwhelmed with boredom and routine. In tears, my despair tells me: I don't want to be defeated and smileless. Having laid myself down on the ground, the drive of my will lifts my knees:

"Lift your brow, set your pain aside. Every feeling that rules you is born within you. Worries of vanity, memories of confusion. Don't believe what you feel, so that you learn to feel better."

Here is my duty, without which I am a cork adrift. Here is the path that teaches me humility and discipline. Here is the place that is mine, outside of which boredom and routine attack me.

Here I am, learning to give of my courage. Overcoming my impulses, tuning my symphony. Choosing peace and joy. Growing in strength and harmony. For nothing would I ever give up.