Showing posts from September, 2010
Die before you die

Spinoza wrote:
"A free man thinks of nothing less than of death; and his wisdom is a meditation not on death but on life". (Ethics, IV, proposition 67) Yet while I meditate on life, say holding a newborn baby or gazing at the full moon or into my lovers' eyes, I ache. My joy is cradled in a heart that is breaking, like laughter in bruised ribs, and it hurts to know that the seed of life is also the birth of death, and that I’ll eventually be separated from everything and everyone I love.

Most people try not to think about that or, when they are faced with death or loss in their lives, respond by defending against distress, investing energy into overcoming it as an obstacle to their well-being. The psychotherapeutic environment is useful in that regard. By providing the scaffolding necessary for restoration or renovation, it enables the self to buttress itself against situational distress, promoting healing enough to move on.

But the truth is: w…
Who am I
Drops from the tree
Like an apple
Or a tear from the eye
Round and clear
But still
Holding the querent
Until it bursts
The heart that wants to see
And cries out while dying
Fists clenched in a dumb roar
Against the sky
The echo of whose call
Across the canyon
Its empty husk
On the calloused ground
Beneath its feet