Every day we awake from the womb of sleep resurrected from the death of yesterday, born again to the life of today. Every day is our birthday; a day to rejoice, to celebrate, to dance.
Too many of us are caught up in ritual, tradition, and our own ambition; too many of us make the extraordinary ordinary, our every day everyday; too many of us leave the living for the dead.
Each day, for our birthday, the cake of opportunity is baked, the candle of being is lit, the gift of Life presented; but we spit on our cake, blow out our candle, and curse our gift.
Like a spoiled child we pull our hair, cry our eyes, and scream for more, more, more! Our pulling only causes suffering, our tears only blur beauty, our screams only express our wildest fear of emptiness, emptiness, emptiness.
What more can be given to us who have it all? What present, what gift, is more precious and valuable than life itself?
We do not wish to understand, instead, we the spoiled children of the world work jobs we hate to buy things we don’t need, marry people we don’t love to save us from being alone, and let our whiny roar for more, more, more tear us apart like an internal civil war.
We must treat the child like an adult, we must listen to our emotions and thoughts; we must watch as they are created and destroyed, understand how and why they come and go.
Only then can we give birth to a new us, a new child, who is not spoiled, but feels spoiled with all the wonder and joy life offers. Who shares one’s cake with one’s enemies, who kindles others’ candles with one’s own, who blushingly, with gratitude and humbleness, accepts the gift of Life.
Only then will we realize that every day is truly our birthday. That birthdays don’t just celebrate the yearly anniversary of coming from the womb, but the daily regeneration of life’s bloom.
