Chapters (103)
- Cover
- Title
- Dedication
- Upon Seeking Tu Fu as a Guide
- To My Reader
- Enduring Suffering
- God, Self, and Medicine
- Willfulness
- In Voices Half as Loud
- Tu Fu’s Reappearance
- Without Notice
- The Waiting Room
- Endgame
- Questions to Walk With
- A Terrible Knowledge
- October Storm
- Post-Op
- Setting Fires in the Rain
- The Decision for Therapy
- Questions to Walk With
- Ocean of Sky
- For My Brother
- Covenant with Time
- As Rachel Wakes
- Dance of the Seed
- A Sacred Meditation
- Questions to Walk With
- Messenger Signs
- Where We Are Strong
- As If to Say
- Finding a Way Out
- Questions to Walk With
- Approaching Wholeness
- Troubled Waters
- Knowing God
- The Garage
- Living with the Wound
- Questions to Walk With
- Mind Sweats
- First Treatment
- Cradlesong
- Lifesong with Two Trumpets
- Letter Home
- Who Will Live Your Life?
- Questions to Walk With
- Midway in Our Journey
- Magnificence
- Another Chance
- Nesting
- I Have Not Forgotten
- On My Way
- Questions to Walk With
- Facing the River
- Being Human
- As Moonlight
- In the Back of the Eye
- In the Sea of Others
- Moonglow
- Chores
- Questions to Walk With
- Still Here, Still Wondering
- Unraveling the Self
- Cracked or Healing
- For Nur
- Love-Sufferings
- Soft as Satisfaction
- Letting Go
- Inside the Miracle
- Questions to Walk With
- Sifting Truth
- Susan Means Lily
- Sitting Near a Smoke Bush
- Sniffing For You
- Forged
- It
- Surviving Has Made Me Crazy
- For That
- Questions to Walk With
- Flint Work
- Entering Our Tenth Year
- Coming of Age
- After Mira
- Still
- What Can I Do?
- Love Your Window
- Hourglass
- Questions to Walk With
- The Bridge of Well-Being
- Adrift
- The Beauty of Less
- Between the Wall and the Flame
- Eventually
- Thrown Back
- The Slow Arm of All That Matters
- The Thin Magic
- In the Sky of Heart
- The Sway of It All
- Gratitudes
- Notes
- Permissions
- About the Author
- Also by the Author
- About Sounds True
but each of us will sigh,
it was me, as we rummage
through your things
the way orphans comb
the attic of their past.
You were always well,
deeply well, no matter
the condition of your skin.
This morning the busyness is
gone and I watch the wind move
through the oak, its leaves
astir.
Everything seems closer,
renewed, and the part of you
where I held on has fused
like broken bones growing
white across their break.
Love-Sufferings
LOVE-SUFFERINGS
When I began writing poetry, I almost studied with a tough fiber of a man, Paul Blackburn, but he died of cancer. It shook us all. Later, I read how he regarded his plight, “I want no pity for a pain I would share with no man.” I was disturbed. I didn’t understand. And now, after having tread my own yard of hell, I still don’t understand. Pity is to love what sarcasm is to honest speech, but sharing pain is the only way to stay alive. I am sorry he felt so all alone.
Perhaps when we almost die, we empty our pockets too fast and perhaps too late, but there is no shame in empty pockets or empty moods. And while needing love to feel good about being alive is a modern indulgence, needing love to stay alive is the archetype behind God almost touching Adam’s finger. Perhaps, in the original sense of séance, death can be put off if we simply join our love in earnest expectation that we be touched from the beyond.
I have never wasted my gift. Now, I’ve had to fight for it. I still am. But not alone. Rather with a net of love which helps absorb and distribute the struggle. It’s taught me that if we share pain, which is a lot to ask, there is no room for pity. For sharing the struggle requires an investment, a real life-changing investment by those who care, an involvement that will instigate their own tandem suffering. Pity is a bleacher activity. It is the substitute for front-line caring.
I am well today, because those who love me got involved, deeply involved, daily involved. And by being so healed, I am forever wed to their pain. I am forever open to their struggles. By being so loved, I can never shut my life completely again. If they fall, I will live lower. If they rise, I will take on their dizziness. We will live like pools of water, each clearly individual but all sharing and exchanging the same slippage and rush of tides. Now I understand. This is the basis of human family, the sharing of pain, the investment of love by which we make a difference and are changed, again and again.