A world of opposites

I remember, after my divorce, how difficult it was to see other people in love.  And I remember, after my father died, how difficult it was to hear of other people's wonderful relationships with their fathers -- and how difficult it still is, some eight years later, to utter the first two words of the Lord's Prayer.

I see, also, how challenging it can be, for those who live on the edge of bankruptcy, to see the flamboyant wealth in the world; for those who cannot afford a car to learn of another's huge garage, littered with Packards, Mercedes, and Rolls Royces.

And from those things, I can begin to imagine how hard it must be for those who lose a child to hear others speak of their children; for those who live with impending death to go about the business of life.

And this morning it feels incredibly shallow to even speak of how difficult it can be to reconcile this world of opposites; to suggest there can be beauty in death when you're not facing it; to ramble on about the nobility of poverty when you live in relative comfort -- or, like a priest I once heard, to preach on the joys of servitude when you're used to being waited on hand and foot.

The world is full of painful contrasts and contradictions, and today is one of those days when I can't imagine any promise I might offer of hope in the face of trouble would be met with anything other than a sneer.  It's not to say I don't believe there's hope -- I do.  But there are days when that seems foolishly naive.

And so I sit, poised on the brink of reflection.  There's no going forward, there's no going back, and staying on this edge is incredibly difficult and humbling.  In the face of all the pain and all the losses and impending losses these last two weeks have held, I can only be present.  I have nothing else to offer.

Ah, but thanks to Kim at One Year Here, I have the perfect offering from Rumi:

On the day I die,
when I am being carried toward the grave,
don’t weep. Don’t say, "He’s gone. He’s gone."
 
Death has nothing to do with going away.
The sun sets and the moon sets,
but they’re not gone.

Death is a coming together.
The tomb looks like a prison,
but it’s really release into union.

The human seed goes down into the ground
like a bucket into the well where Joseph is.

It grows and comes up
full of some unimagined beauty.

Your mouth closes here
and immediately opens
with a shout of joy there.

A good reminder that we don't have to do it alone; that there are always people standing by who can give us a different perspective.


Thanks Kim.  It helps.