An empty mind sits, like an empty canvas,
Waiting, listening
To paint upon itself
What is the difference
Between the poet and his prose,
Or the man and what he knows?

I sit up here, watching, with any objectivity I can muster,
This city which appears to me to be without luster,
Were this Miami, surely inhabitants would be outside, talking loudly, laughing, shouting, playing music...

Sustainable cannot be the only measure of health, as I once thought. Health, I suppose, has no clearly objective definition. We may speak of the physical health of an organism (even that is ambiguous: is it without sickness, without deficiency, is it strong, does it last long, is it neuronal health?), or the psychological health (which can be determined by behavior, or neurological activity, or personal satisfaction, or measures of well-being).

But even the ones I associate as most significant, personal satisfaction and well-being, are ambiguous. How can we claim to measure them? They have no neuronal parallels. And satisfaction is not really health it all. It restrains from progress.

What does it mean to "embrace the sacred messiness of life?"

And where do I stand?

Coming up with ideas like
Rhyme, rhythm, and flow: 3 (of how many) attributes of a particular nature that I seek to nurture and develop. But how can they be defined?