THE DREAM

College. Finals looming. I'm behind on Essays due, Summing up for Summer. I Leave our Study Group in that Airless Room; emerge into bleachered Gym. Shafts of sunlit Blond. Now I start to Breathe again--		High up on the bleacherback Lounges--sans Care-- the Mentor of my Dreams-- the Magic Billionaire. He asks "What Nugget did you pan from dreams this week?" I say: "My sister Miriel's the One who hit Epiphany:
"I quit trying to balance give and take. Now I just slather help around--you, them, me. Why budget? Such accounting sucks my energy. You're all my tribe, but corporate shows rig pie- slice fights--pretend all games are zero-sum. In real life THAT occurs, oh, once a millennium! Any prize you pry at the price of giving pain taints the gain. Now I play for love--and fun."

WHENCE ROSE THE DREAM?

Today my friends discussed Bhutan: Joy's their national goal. Can we too let go the Coin Weighing down the Soul? Not a profitseeking Brat, nor a selfless Martyr, nor wincing o'er the Balance like a watch'd Executor.

Perfect is exhausting; Tired is no fun. Blunderpath's the Energizing one! "What" we ask "Would Perfect Do?" Probably sloppily bumble through. So softly count your Beans; forgo the Moral Ledger of Tradition (Virtue's black, red of Perdition) and flow. Let go and flow.

MONTHS LATER

I blush at such a naked Preach, but Dream peeled off Politer speech. Still, my Billionaire concurred; so it must be true, each Word: Clumsy Moral Toddlers, go Through this wicked World, and flow.