In illness, there is the profound opportunity to relate with things as they are and let go of the idea that we need to fix or change anything, precisely because illness can bring about the story that we won't survive unless we keep fixing things. I wrote this prose just today, about a moment some years ago:
Sometimes, as is life, things we want to last forever, break.
In one of these moments
as I stood in front of the mirror
I knew that time had moved on,
and I was swimming backwards.
This seeing brought me a vow:
That delight, would now be drawn from
things as they are.
Brokenness is a word that steals the
curves and branches of beauty
from the nowness of our souls.
Now, on the cusp of a brand new life,
where things live brightly
I give myself again to
the mysterious voices
so loving and tenderly
attuned.
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