Sitting peacefully and noticing
this beautiful day, my eyes wander
over to my newly sprouted blackberry
plants and I feel pride, then expansion,
and then possession; mine.
Later in the day I have an idea about
how great it would be if my kids knew
more about computer programming and
an entire plan unfolds in my mind about
starting an after school program, I can
see how popular it would be, all the fun
ways kids could be taught to program
games and animations, and it would help
with math, and my story goes on and on and on
until the punchline of the story arrives;
in doing all this valuable service, everyone
would finally recognize my generosity
and think so highly of me.
It seems so natural to locate myself in my
stories since I am the center of my world.
Should I be more concerned about my selfishness
or about my guilty thought that being
self-centered is somehow wrong?
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