Off Mortal Coil

Oh, how envious of the cat for its purrs and sleep and dreams and careless living — the dog for its lying in the sun, baking its skin.
That we might shuffle off mortal coil without accomplishing something, horror strikes.
Birds fly and humans wish they could and it might be that if wings could be sprouted it wouldn’t be the scary thought that it is to be locked in an aluminum can with no means of escape or way to tell the pilot to “Quit, now!” so that that one who didn’t want to get on could get off.
So much the better to lie not thinking, baking in the warm sun, maybe purring.
Yes, it would be wonderful to soar. It would be wonderful to perch high up in a tree and be able to see great distance — but that’s what tree houses and hills are for.
Ah, to be content with being and not fear.
To not lust for shoes and things that bring no utter meaning.
Bowerbirds want their bits and bobbles too.
Is it natural to want?
It might be nice to be one in the kingdom that doesn’t bore easily and stays forever happy with what they have and only what they need.
It seems that the further in one goes, the more they know that a place to lay tired bones and store and cook food and a cupboard with some blankets and sweaters becomes enough.
To show by example your virtue, is to shuffle off this mortal coil exemplified.
A waste to think of good things not yet got.
Easy to say.

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