The Masterpiece

Life is so beautiful. While everyone is afraid of being alone and embracing the silence, perhaps, we need to be thankful for those quiet peaceful moments. Everyone is not perfect but perfection is what everyone strives for. In 2021, permit yourself to be a master piece and working progress at the same time. We must try to strive to be better people by continuously taking inventory of our lives. What are the boundaries you have in place to assist with being a better person? In this generation, morals, values, and beliefs are lost. There is etiquette and recommended ways we treat individuals to add value to their life as well as theirs. The only way to operate from this place is to have quiet time alone. Sit in a quiet as long as you can. It’s going to be hard because we are doers by habit. Some individuals are not able to turn off the computer, phones, TVs. We are condition to the noise. I believe Covid-19 was the sign we needed to embrace stillness and quiet. This is a season of quietness in the midst of one of the most nosiest times. I would like to share a poem. I remember quoting this poem for a middle school competition, but I would like to repost it here. The name of the poem is “If” by Rudyard Kipling. It reads:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

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