We are not termites.

The comfortable life of a termite starts as it hatches itself into a warm pile of sawdust. It immediately arrives in an environment that provides and protects. The bed providing safe entry also acts as a sufficient and preferred sustenance.

Not only is it engulfed in a nutrient-rich wooden encasing, it is also oblivious to the world that speeds around its life's walls. It has no obligations to the earth other than eating, procreating, and existing. From day one, it embarks on a journey that is relatively short and full of nothing but satisfaction.

Then one unsuspecting day...

The termite takes a wrong turn while devouring his landscape. It pops out of the trim lining a bathroom floor. It rests on a foreign plane, a surface its never felt. The ceramic tile is bitter cold on its back. As it flips to its' stomach and regains its composure, it darts for the wall while frantically recalling the safe embrace of its wooden haven. As a joyous rejoice quietly clatters from its many legs, it is quickly silenced by an opaque shadow cast from above. The rubber sole of a house wife's slipper greets the surprisingly significant creature prior to his delectable destination. The life of the termite has ended, but it has taken the necessary actions to ensure the security and sustainability of its species. It has lived a life of comfort, luxury, and fulfillment.

We should all be so lucky.

Think Farming

Millions of mind-sets

One flash at a time

Each one with a voice

Far different from mine

Knowing is believing

And fiction is fleeting

Growing means weeding

New thought plants I’m seeding

Strolling the rows

Of the soy bean synapse

Reinventing ideas

To prevent a relapse

But I’m stuck in this field

Overwhelmed by the yield

Ten wheelbarrows wheeled

Out fresh feelings I feel

Carting the harvest

With weight so immense

That lives fall to pieces

When trying to make sense

Of the value at market

For these easy targets

But I’m choosing to park it

So sane thoughts can bargain

These crops are tainted

And don’t pass the test

They’re thrown into compost

Making room for the next

A keen eye knows best

And the product attests

The thought farmer rests

Once he’s debugged these pests