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Humility, by Britta Benson

Weird day. First half great, walked from Bo’ness to Blackness Castle. Came home. Phone my dad and he is not well. I can see him slowly signing off. Good days, bad days, but mostly bad days recently and he’s simply fed up. Understandably. So I’ve had a very difficult second half of the day, mostly looking out into the rain, thinking about life, the universe and everything. Quite a lot. So that’s when the poem came in useful. An exercise in mindfulness. Here goes.

Humility

Doesn’t sound very attractive in a loud, non stop world.

Passive, submissive, enduring, right?

You got to be kidding.

Humility.

Not for me…

Doesn’t seek my attention,

Doesn’t show off,

no bright colours, fancy lights, song and dance.

Instead, quiet curiousity, authenticity, confidence.

Listining, with an open mind,

seeing others, without jealousy or judgement,

a very active superpower

that will carry heartbeats, support souls,

on strong arms of generous gratitude.

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