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Stop Living In This Land, Go To The Everlasting World Of Happiness, Live There Forever

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Woo Myung

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“If 22 bushels (1,300 pounds) of rice and 22 bushels of winter grain are harvested from a quarter acre field, then the field will support five to ten people each investing an average of less than one hour of labour per day. But if the field were turned over to pasturage, or if the grain were fed to cattle, only one person could be supported per quarter acre. Meat becomes a luxury food when its production requires land which could provide food directly for human consumption. This has been shown clearly and definitely. Each person should ponder seriously how much hardship he is causing by indulging in food so expensively produced.”

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“Love eluded me until now, hiding just beyond my reach. It can illuminate the art of shedding burdens we bear alone. Each stone we discard paves the way to lighter tomorrows. It shows how letting go can unshackle the soul, transforming weight into wisdom. The way two can achieve so much more. The way one craves to be touched and the other knows exactly when to act. It is funny how people are crafted. Always toting a glass that feels half empty, until that special someone arrives to fill it to the brim. I didn't possess it within me until now. The gift to harbor love for someone.”

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“What Kind of Progress is This (Sonnet) The Earth may be full of skyscrapers, but the soil is without home - streets may be full of electric cars, yet the mind hasn't moved an inch - the skies may be full of rockets, but the heart is buried in the jungle - outer space may be full of telescopes, yet the eyes are blind with hate. No nation is holy, till its streets are built for walking, not to starve on. No society is advanced, till no one is marginal, no matter the innovation. Innovation is important, but what kind of a moronic species races to put a man on the moon, before it takes its homeless off the streets! How come power hungry algorithms get endowed with trillions of dollars in investment, yet starving children dream of leftovers as feast!”

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Book:Sonnets From The Mountaintop
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