Where It's At
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You knock upon my mind and you beg to borrow a cup of wisdom You've come to seek the truth, to ask me: "Where it's at?" I thank you for your confidence in me, and yet, you see, I cannot draw for you in black and white, a map you could follow in your quest for that which all men seek For each man finds that road alone each day as he eases himself into the stream of life. If he's lucky, he may come a little nearer to the goal. I, too have been a prospector wandering through the maze Buffeted by the storms and jagged rocks of life that tore the nerve ends of my hopes and dreams And like yours my skin was much too thin to shield me from the inroads of our times: The big machines, the strangling crimson tape, The hate filled moulds that keep us from the other seekers, searching too for the road to "Where it's at". But then, one day, the fog within my mind began to clear and for me the truth shone forth as brilliant as a thousand suns. I had it, all along, within my grasp: The answer, so simple that I almost did'nt see it: It's love, loving someone more than you love yourself. Loving so much, that you trust, you give and you ask nothing in return. This is the purest form of love. And then, and this is the miracle, if the one you are giving to believes as you, you've found it, the treasure you've been seeking, you've found out where it's at. |