“We want to feel free,” cried the congregation.
“And what is your prison?” came the response.

“Your prison is the walls you build.
The bricks, you lay with disbelief;
The constraints, you place upon yourself,
When you listen to those who tell you what you cannot do.
You want to feel free, you say?
First, you must free yourself from the shackles of impossibility.
If you can do this -
If you can begin to believe in your own potential again -
Then you can feel free.”

“We want to feel alive,” was the plea.
“And where is your coffin?” he replied.

“Your coffin is buried deep inside yourself.
The nails, you hammer with self-regard;
The dirt, you shovel with pride,
When you worry about what others will think.
You want to feel alive, you say?
First, you must awaken yourself to the insignificance of opinion.
If you can do this -
If you can act without worrying for your reputation -
Then you can feel alive.”

“We want to feel happy,” the masses begged.
“And where is your sorrow?” was the swift retort.

“Your sorrow is tethered to your past.
The pain, you cause with obsession;
The grief, you plant with scrutiny,
When you replay your unpleasant memories over and again.
You want to feel happy, you say?
First, you must cease to torment yourself with what has been done.
If you can do this -
If you can live in the present and appreciate the here-and-now -
Then you can feel happy.”

“We want to feel loved,” echoed their entreaty.
“And who is your loneliness?” the instant query.

“Your loneliness is none other than yourself.
The solitude, you cast with fear;
The exile, you order with your cowardice,
When you shy away from getting close for dread of being hurt.
You want to feel loved, you say?
First, you must make yourself vulnerable.
If you can do this -
If you can throw yourself on the mercy of another’s heart -
Then you can feel loved.”