from my archives: poeming (a love letter to the world)
[This spring/ summer, I will be randomly publishing posts from my archives, in order to be more productive in other areas of my creative life. I hope you enjoy this post, which was originally published May 21, 2013.]
Caught in the Eye of the World
I want to write a love song for this fragile world.
The palms of our hands, empty. The moments going
by, every second: a death, a birth. Not an even match.
I need to write a love song for this fragile world,
where children are playing everywhere, everywhere...
but some of them can never go home. I want to write a love
song, but instead I'm writing through tears and everything
is technicolor and disconnected from this sunny day.
There is only one love song and it is this: I love you,
beautiful world, even though you will be the death of me.
Part of the blessing of being sensitive is being too sensitive to the feelings and states of the people "around me" (which includes my online community). Feeling what is happening (and always, always happening) in the world with a bright intensity. I felt off all day yesterday, not even checking the news. There were exclamations of horror on my FB feed, so I knew, but I didn't know, about the tornadoes in OK. So many people dead (and injured and now home-less).
And how many other people died yesterday?
Every day, women die in labor. Children die, some before being born. Countless people die of old age, of cancer, of gunshot wounds of a million other causes (part of what I loved about Six Feet Under was the unique and interesting ways they killed the person at the beginning of each show).
All you have to do is look around. The big tragedies garner news headlines and prayers and money, but there's everyday tragedy every second of every day.
And there's everyday happiness happening, too: a million people fell in love yesterday. Watched a beloved baby being born, kicking and breathing. Celebrated a first tooth or a college degree or were simply happy. Simply happy. Doesn't seem like much, sometimes, but it is.
Simple happiness is so very much worth celebrating.
I may die in ten minutes, ten hours, ten months or a hundred years from now. I will not know. You will not know. Until it's right there, happening. (And maybe not even then.)
So be here, now. Celebrate your simple happiness, the simple happiness of everyone around you. Cry for the tragedies of the world, for all the deaths and sorrow and pain. Remain in your life, being your self.
Write the love song only you can write, and sing it out loud, every day.