May thine value wash away in a sea of false measures.
May thou’st undo the calendar.
May you deny the call of the task and not hear it.
May you notice the trees and feel they exist.
May thou coffee feed thine soul rather than thine production.
May your toes relax.
May you see yourself as an instrument of nothing in particular, nor in general.
May your survival cease considering the moldy fittest.
May you feel the rhythms of the world and sway.
May the urge to make piles blow away in the breeze.
May your pleasures dissipate your cares.
May your wanderings be undirected, without compass.
May your uses dissolve to -lessness.
Roman Ryan 