Matters Of Respect

Matters Of Respect

What does ‘respect’ mean to you?

So often people tell me their happiness/unhappiness is related to whether they feel respected or disrespected. And I wonder how they measure those matters; are there rules?

I hear people complaining that they feel small if they don’t receive enough/certain respect. And I hear other people bragging that they feel big when they demand respect by making others bend their words or behaviours.

Big or small –using the matter of respect to gain validation is at best a hollow win and at worst, a weapon.

Awareness. Is key. If you want to nourish your mind, take note of your reaction to the concept of respect. What does it mean to you?

My antidote to ‘issues’ arising from this matter, is to look for shining examples of people who neither play big nor small. Instead, they self-regulate their internal responses to external stimuli and get on with flowing along their personal path.

How does your ‘respect-o-meter’ work?


Growing Up

Growing Up

When I was growing up, I knew, that I was.
Now I’m grown up, I don’t know, if I am.
I grew taller, up.
Now I’m shorter, down.
I chased fame and fortune.
Now, I trace flow, form.
And sound.

When I was growing up, I grew a mask and a suit.
I grew loud expressions.
To catch my reflection.
And fight or flee.
From lonely me.
Now, in naked standing.
I forget who I was, when I was growing up.

When I was growing up, I grew wounds, as I collided.
I prized a head that was ahead.
Ignored my heart that grew apart.
How now, is the dwelling.
Of simple healing pieces, of peace.
Alchemising in delight.
As new melodies ignite.

When I was growing up, I knew everything back then.
Now, I know nothing about everything.
Yet I yearned for something.
Perhaps to achieve?
Little did I know.
I achieved everything I experienced.
And many seeds were sown.

When I do become a grown up, how will I know?
What will I be up to?
To where, will I have grown?
Who will I be?
And what might I chase?
Will my roots be strong and stable?
And my leaves whisper their grace.

Kay Cooke 2020