Sunday, 5 April 2009

In My Two Hands

(A poem by Thich Nhat Hanh)

I hold my face
in my two hands
No I am not crying
I hold my face in my two hands
to keep my loneliness warm
to cradle my hunger
shelter my heart
from the rain and the thunder
Two hands protecting
Two hands nourishing
Two hands preventing
my soul from flying
in anger.

I hold my face
in my two hands
My hands cupped
to catch what might fall
from within me
Deeper than crying
no, I am not crying
I am in my two hands.


Thay wrote this poem when bombs were falling on his beloved Vietnam, and he had to take care of his anger in solitude. I love this poem. It is set to music and sung beautifully by the nuns.

My soul is not leaving me in anger, but my body is in trouble. The first round of I.V. immunoglobulins has not worked, and another round is planned for next week.

In the meantime I am spiking high fevers every night and spend my days working slowly and mindfully to cool my body. Ice water, paracetamol, breathing, smiling.

Yesterday I asked my mother to bring some pictures from my bedroom wall at home. So now when I turn my head to the right, my teachers, my healers, are close beside me. Prophet Zarathushtra, Jesus, Sai Baba, Thich Nhat Hanh. On either side of the wall are windows, blinds drawn for my photophobic eyes, but all day long, some light finds me.

Back to my ice water cloths. Bless you all for reading me and writing to me. The depth and kindness of your comments soothes, comforts, and cheers my parents and my brothers too.

Sometimes, when I ask myself, "Is this real? Is this really happening?", I think of my creative blog, the connections beyond myself and I stay purposeful.
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