What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?
Savor Your Loved Ones
Hold them close, laugh until your belly aches and your eyes spill tears. Memorize the way they wrinkle their nose, the warmth of their embrace, the sound of their unguarded joy. Life’s finest poetry is written in these tiny, passing moments—the quicksilver glint of togetherness before time moves us onward. Seek Out Pleasure, Joy, and Bliss
Don’t apologize for delight.
Dance for no reason. Taste what is sweet. Make memories that shimmer in the mind’s rearview mirror. We are not born to simply grind—we are here to sing, to savor, to spin cartwheels on the edge of the impossible. Laugh, especially when the world says you shouldn’t. It is, in itself, an act of rebellion.
Be the Lighthouse of Wellbeing.
You can’t save everyone, but you can build a fire that warms those who wander near.
Care fiercely. Celebrate the health and happiness of those around you, and lift them up when the clouds roll in. If you can ease someone’s pain or coax a smile from the weary—do it. But remember: your well-being matters, too. Pour from a cup that overflows, not one cracked by over-giving.
Money Is a River, Not an Anchor. Let it flow through your fingers, not into your heart. Chasing wealth for its own sake is chasing shadows on the wall. But if you use money to buy time, to make memories, to give, to create beauty—ah, now you’ve mastered the art of living.
In the end, the richest person is the one whose life is crowded with laughter and love, not things.
Your Philosophy, Summed Up:
Joy is the point. Love is the meaning. Let money be the servant, not the master.
An ancient truth—one that echoes through every collapsed empire and every quiet morning after a fire.
Society has built shrines to numbers and crowned money as king. We tally worth in decimals and digits, measure happiness in square footage, and chase security with hands full of nothing. We polish our possessions, forgetting they are but dust with good marketing.
A wise rebel, soul with calluses, I see through the costume. You know that everything we hoard can slip through our fingers faster than water in a cupped hand:
One sickness, one phone call, one turn of fate, and all the spreadsheets in the world won’t save us from the sharp, simple question: What did you love? Who did you lift? What did you leave behind that will outlast the bones and the bank account?
Numbers Fade, Meaning Remains
The house burns, but the laughter echoes.
The bank fails, but your kindness survives in the memory of a child you comforted.
The market crashes, but that one night around the table with your loved ones—that is immortal.
All these numbers are just scaffolding, not the cathedral. The cathedral is built of moments, courage, connections, wild beauty—the things you carry inside, the things you give away.
A Call to Live Uncounted
Measure your days in joy, not dollars.
Score your legacy in love, not likes. Let your abundance be in friends, not fortunes.
Your inheritance—wisdom, stories, laughter—not stock, and stones.
If you must count something, count the sunsets you watched with awe, the hands you held through storms, the times you chose to forgive instead of keep score.
The Practical Truth?
Money will buy a bed, but not sleep.
It’ll buy art, but not wonder.
Numbers will buy followers, but not real friends.
Chase meaning, not metrics.
Because when the power goes out, when the page turns—
all that survives is what you built in the dark, for free, with love.
For Those Who Refuse to be Measured
Let the world count coins and square footage.
Let them rank and file, measure and judge.
We—the wild, the free, the true—
will not be reduced to numbers,
not while stars still scatter the night
without price tags or paywalls.
We measure our wealth in
stories told by firelight,
laughter that shakes the bones,
tears shed in the name of love,
and the thunder of joy in our chests.
We choose memory over money,
connection over calculation,
meaning over more.
Let the world chase its shadowy zeros—
we will chase the dawn.
A Parable for the Numbers-Obsessed-
There once was a village where everyone counted—everything.
They counted apples in the orchard, smiles on their children,
even the sighs before sleep.
They wore their numbers on sashes and shouted them in the square,
believing the highest numbers were the happiest.
One day, the river dried up.
The numbers didn’t matter.
You couldn’t drink a spreadsheet.
You couldn’t eat a receipt.
But the village healer, who had never cared for numbers,
gathered the lonely and the frightened around her table.
She poured soup and sang old songs.
She remembered names, not net worth.
When the rain finally came,
the villagers realized:
They had survived not by counting,
but by kindness.
Not by hoarding,
but by holding each other close.
From that day on, the only numbers that mattered
were the ones you could fit around a dinner table
or hold in a hug.
Daily Defiance – a challenge to tuck in your pocket
Spend a day without counting. No steps, no calories, no dollars spent.:
Tell someone what they mean to you. Not what they make, not what they own.
Build something small and beautiful—just because.
At night, before sleep, count only your blessings—and if you lose count, you’re living right.
Uncounted Rich-
Let the world tally coins and columns—
We measure in laughter,
in mornings painted gold,
in the thunder of feet dancing on kitchen floors.
We are wealthy in hugs,
rich in the reckless freedom of being fully alive,
owning nothing but the sky and the song in our bones.
We count not possessions, but blessings—
not followers, but friends—
not the years in our life,
but the life in our years.
Here’s how we rebel:
*Count only stars and stories.
*Keep score in kindness given and received.
*Invest in memories and spend wildly on joy
*Hoard love, not things.
*Leave fortunes of laughter and legacies of light.
Last poem of the day.
Universal Truth, Enter-
Universal truth,
enter my womb, unearth pure bliss—
as I learn, I burn with the wildness of dreams
unfurling, thoughts like birds on a wind
beyond any force that would bind them.
We have plenty—plenty—
satisfaction pure as spring water,
contentment soft as an olive leaf
no stress, no mess—just peace
where the narcissist is only a shadow
fading in the dawn.
We manifest purpose,
we erase the echoes of old pain—
gentle, unburdened,
we dance in every sacred center,
twirling with joy.
I ask him to pause,
to honor the gate before entering—
and there, beyond measure,
need becomes want, want becomes play,
no more codependence.
We’re keepers of soulful treasures—
fun feathers, wild laughter,
divinely drenched in presence,
chakra-lit, heart-sent,
we rise—intently,
unafraid, unlimited
Love, solidarity, and gentleness,
Amneh
@2025 Amneh Taye. All Rights Reserved.