to be young
is a frightening thing.
it means coming up against
all the darkest
things of life:
before you’ve had the chance
to understand what they mean.
it means facing certain facts:
the ones you love most
you must someday let go;
you will never be the child
you once were;
nor are you likely to become
what you once dreamed of being.
it means staring into your remaining years
as an unfathomable abyss
& fearing what change
what loss of current circumstance
may take place therein.
it means realizing that:
the words you least want to listen to
are those you most need to hear;
joy and loss
are in fact one and the same;
your tears are the bridge
between your most treasured moments
& the knowledge of their impermanence;
all things of this world will fade
& clinging to them cannot prolong the inevitable;
running away only brings you closer
to the thing from which you run;
& the only way for pain to end
is to feel it as deeply as you can
for as long as it wishes to be felt.
the truth is contained in your weeping.
you will be in some form of discomfort every moment of your life
of that you may be certain.
& sometimes discomfort gives way to pain & pain to grief
& you will pray because other than death
there is no place to go for relief.
but notice as you weep how sweet
is the sound of a loved one’s voice
or the vision of their memory
in your heart.
feel the sweetness when the right music
matches the cadence of your sorrow
or the delight in your bones
when a single word offers comfort.
of pain you may be certain
but be certain also
of the remedy of Spirit.
they go hand in hand
it cannot be otherwise.