To some there’s nothing like a bank full of wealth, gold or money to buy lavish things that make one happy. Others appreciate a bank full of health, the longevity of life, richness of spirit, and wellness in physical and spiritual body. One tends to get distracted by the other but the common denominator of the seemingly rich is the fantasy, pursuit, and obtaining of the idea of happiness.
Those who lack the tangible, riches, the glitz, the glamour, hold a value deep in spirit; what you can’t see. To the naked eye these jewels could be buried under a stack of bills in a small one bedroom apartment, lacking furniture and entertainment. If those walls could talk though they’d tell you how the woman that lives there adds years to her life by doing doing yoga and growing all her vegetables on the quaint patio behind the broken door. Still she yearns for more to fill her empty spaces.
Whilst the man, that lives in the bungalow she dreams of at night in her humble abode in the ghetto, owns his house. In fact he owns many residents, a few cars and keys to a couple safes. His clothes are labeled well, and so are his shoes. Thing is he can not afford a new heart. He could probably buy one from the desperate but can not replicate his own nor make one appear on the fantasy waiting list of hearts for men over fifty.
Both man and woman here are crying for more than they have to fulfill and idea. Both are seeking to internalize the value each seek. Neither are defining happiness in the worlds they exist in. Neither are living. Both are merely existing.
So who is rich? Well, I am. I wake up full at heart and light at spirit. I make sound decisions and mistakes both of which I am appreciative of on this journey. For I have found what I was seeking was all in a choice. The choice I keep choosing is to be happy; and that makes me rich. Because I am not seeking outside of self, I hold everything I need within. That’s rich as heck.
