Post 43: Poetry & Pros

It is hard to be alone in this world. Hard to wonder who will actually be there when the dust of some crisis settles. It is hard to wake up and ache, cry, push, gather hairs, throw up, stumble, laugh, rage, and simply breath all in the space of a minute. Being sick is hard for a day but when it lasts months and year it is boring and maniacal all at once. Being sick is never to be ignored, if you think you take it on - can just wait it will rear up at you again and again and again and again.

Cancer is like that. For me, as a watcher, I could only (I can only)
bring jokes, beauty, stories, news, love, compassion, patience
              - I can bear witness and make this promise
                        - you will not go through this dark night alone, no matter where you go I will be there.

Perhaps that is too little, but I have found that it is after all, the only thing I have to  offer another, my presence.

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A thought for the window:
How does a hill come into being?
Did it start knowing it would join to another?
Did it know that it would be an angling of grass that children's feet find a curious challenge?

Did this hill start as a wave - as a mountain - as an after thought of G-d?
Did this hill name itself as it waited under corn / trees / rocks?
Did this hill dream of something bigger - something majestic - something meaningful?

Today it takes its place as the ground upon which the young to walk hand in hand.
Tripping on the sloop, catching the arm, smiling a giggled embarrassment,
just grateful for the open space to explore their love.

Could a hill or any of us ever wish for more than this?
To bear witness to budding love.
To offer the sheltering comfort of a place to land firmly.

Sep 2013