Each mourning Brings that which is light Though wanting to rest As the whirled spins under my feet I am Still Razed Too my feat Standing on Perhaps a singular word Mysteriously helled Together In God-ordained gravity Until that thirst Breath of fresh heir As awe is knew
This poem is about coming out of the other side of mourning. We all experience loss. Experiencing loss challenges our ability to see both the good things awe ready in our life and good things coming over the horizon. After experiencing enough loss, at some point I realized that many good things in my life are because of previous losses. Weather something is ripped from you involuntarily or let go intentionally, this creates a new space and new opportunities. I don’t want to minimize the pain and suffering of loss, but the mysterious crucible of change is described as Mysteriously helled in this poem. Mysterious and depressing that there is such a thing as hell in our experience, and hopeful that larger beneficent forces are at work, where the painful stage of loss sets up something better. Of course, as Winston Churchill so aptly said, “When you are in hell, keep going.” The ability to work through the mourning process strikes me as one of the most important skills in life. The skill of detachment as propounded by Buddhists is paramount. As Buddha taught, “You can only lose what you cling to.” This is the foundation for moving freely in a whirled of impermanence. Still, the despair of mourning needs a counterbalance. I see this counterbalance as cultivating an attitude of gratitude. Deeply appreciating the grace in life can remind us that not all is lost, and that life finds a way. Loss and death happens as surely as new life is borne. Of chorus, life perpetually invites us to partake in its awesomeness. May you find new life rising like a phoenix out of the ashes of what once was.
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I am not much into suffering. Of course, some may not consider my a truly devoted artist. Anyone who knows me knows that I have an ascetic streak. My values of living simply and for social justice drive such asceticism. Also, I have a level of detachment from many hedonistic pleasures where I can enjoy such experiences without unduly relying upon them (see guacamole). Surely, life brings with it enough suffering and pain that we never ought to seek it out! As I like to say: just because you can learn something from being hit across the face with a 2-by-4 is no reason for hitting people across the face with a 2-by-4! I consider the so-called suffering intrinsic in the creative artistic process as a form of passion that is not fully under control. This process is analogous to love, in which the sickness and the cure are one. Experiencing art, like love, demands something from us. Inasmuch as we are lazy, this can bring suffering. Yet, inasmuch as art enhances our response-ability, life grows deeper and richer. This is adore in which we are never through…
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I don’t want to minimize the pain and suffering of loss, but the mysterious crucible of change is described as Mysteriously helled in this poem. Mysterious and depressing that there is such a thing as hell in our experience, and hopeful that larger beneficent forces are at work, where the painful stage of loss sets up something better. Of course, as Winston Churchill so aptly said, “When you are in hell, keep going.” The ability to work through the mourning process strikes me as one of the most important skills in life. The skill of detachment as propounded by Buddhists is paramount. 
As Buddha taught, “You can only lose what you cling to.” This is the foundation for moving freely in a whirled of impermanence. Still, the despair of mourning needs a counterbalance. I see this counterbalance as cultivating an attitude of gratitude. Deeply appreciating the grace in life can remind us that not all is lost, and that life finds a way. Loss and death happens as surely as new life is borne. Of chorus, life perpetually invites us to partake in its awesomeness. May you find new life rising like a phoenix out of the ashes of what once was.
