Live Like You Don’t Matter

Recognize that Who you call ‘I’ Is merely a consolidation of memories And a voice of hope. ‘I’ am but an idea Afraid of its flimsy reality. And so …

Live Like You Don’t Matter
Recognize that
Who you call ‘I’
Is merely a consolidation of memories
And a voice of hope.
‘I’ am but an idea
Afraid of its flimsy reality.
And so much this idea
Has come to love life
That now its biggest fear
Is to be denied existence.

‘I’ is but a meaning
Given to am-ness
So that life can be lived
As an ode to memory
And romanced through
Songs of love and hope.
Your limitations belong to your façade
And not to your essence.
Live fearlessly. Live courageously.
Live like you don’t matter.

A wonderful poem by many a wonderful sharing of poetry on this blog. Worth a look 🙏


Today I was wonderfully reminded of a quote that was incorporated in an earlier post on my general blog called In Search of Meaning (ii), it still resonates deeply and was a delight to read once more. It is still as pertinent to this creative journey I am undertaking, so much so I wanted to share it once again.

“The Bushmen in the Kalahari Desert talk about the two “hungers”. There is the Great Hunger and there is the Little Hunger. The Little Hunger wants food for the belly; but the Great Hunger, the greatest hunger of all, is the hunger for meaning…
There is ultimately only one thing that makes human beings deeply and profoundly bitter, and that is to have thrust upon them a life without meaning.
There is nothing wrong in searching for happiness. But of far more comfort to the soul is something greater than happiness or unhappiness, and that is meaning. Because meaning transfigures all. Once what you are doing has for you meaning, it is irrelevant whether you’re happy or unhappy. You are content – you are not alone in your Spirit – you belong.”

~ Laurens van der Post

What Is It That Exists?


This poem was inspired by an interpersonal exchange this week.

Inadvertent Incognita

When you think, feel and know that you lived, there’s a story of what happened but nothing to prove that it did.

Nothing of substance than can be touched to say for sure ‘yes’, but you know it was there, you know! ‘yeah’?

Solid evidence is absent, you won’t find it. Not a trace nor even a tiny fragment.

Where is your proof they ask, is your life contrived? Where can you find it? From where did it derive?

When you felt what you felt and still you remember, but all that exists is only sense and no ember.

When there are traces of memory felt in your body, was it ever really there? Is there a hard copy?

When you cannot utter words because there is no definitive truth. You know it was there! but where is the proof?

Memory is all just sense of a truth. Ever evading, no map, no road, no objectivity that’s aiding.

Such grief in the soul because what was there is now missing. Elusive in essence, like some sort of omission.

Did you ever exist? Is your life true? Only those whom were there are those that knew.

Nothing to corroborate senses and feeling, no solid host. Was it ever there? I feel like a ghost.

Nothing is real they say, without objective evidence, so what was there?


~ By Stacie Amelia