Morning revelations

Sitting at the deck, 8.30 am in the morning, eating bread spread with vanilla cream, waiting to start my presentation at 9am, the birds, the mynahs, they shriek and flap about, calling to each other, squabbling, like so many old ladies at the marketplace.The sun it shines golden, and the leaves are green and brown. The whirr and clunk of ceiling fans, muted voices, coffee, tea. Who am I as I sit here with bread and water in my hands? But I am suddenly aware and alive, and the birds are making songs that attest to their existence. The sun that shines, shines not for me. The trees that grow, grow not for me. And I am glad that the world revolves not around me. And in that moment, I exist not in comparison to anyone else. The voices that tell me "sweetheart, you're so lucky, you have so much more than anyone else," they fall silent in the face of a world that is all glory and light and morning fresh. And I am alive, and I exist in and of myself, and not merely because I have more or less than anyone else. I exist, and I am loved, and I am his.