My pondering on pain and suffering from an unexpected diagnosis has prompted this short poem.
I recognise death
As an ending of what is,
And maybe the beginning of something else
*
I recognise that I can prepare for death, by allowing
Other endings to end something meant to end
And other beginnings to begin
*
Death might even be a friend
Teaching me to let go instead of clinging
And be open to other opportunities
*
Thus pain does not become suffering
Pain is also a friend,
That holds my hand as I live
The best life I can
***
I Worried by Mary Oliver (the link takes you to a recording by Caitriona Ennis)
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
*
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
*
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
*
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
*
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.
***
