each life as a flower?

There are these lines in Mary Oliver's poem "When Death Comes",
"I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth."

Why is it so difficult to think of the chronic sick in these ways?

You are wasting your time

"You learn nothing. You are wasting your time here." More than one nurse have told me this about working with the chronic sick. Without fail, these words plunge me into a dark mood and I start to plot of ways to get out of this learn-nothing place to which I have signed a bond for three years. The thought of wasting away (the remaining years of my 30s) in this place frightens me. And yet, a small part of me wants to resist those words. Can it really be that I will learn nothing here? What did they say about it's not the "what" or "where" that matters but the "how"?

The Land of No Hope

Nurse asks young pretty doctor: "Can X (an enteric-coated medicine) be pounded?"
Doctor replies: "Who cares?"

Indeed. Who cares in this country of the chronic sick?
Often, not the family member, nor the health worker, or even the patient himself.
If the patient lives, so be it. If he dies, that's okay too.

How does one find hope in this land of the forsaken?
Should one even bother?

Helping words from Virginia Satir

I AM ME

In all the world, there is no one else
exactly like me.
There are persons who have some parts
like me,
but no one adds up exactly like me.
Therefore, everything that comes out of
me is authentically mine because I alone
chose it.
I own everything about me – my body,
including everything it does;
my mind, including all its thoughts and
ideas;
my eyes, including the images of all they
behold;
my feelings, whatever they may be –
anger, joy, frustration, love, disappoint-
ment, excitement;
my mouth, and all the words that come
out of it, polite, sweet or rough, correct
or incorrect;
my voice, loud or soft;
and all my actions, whether they be to
others or to myself.

I own my fantasies, my dreams, my
hopes, my fears.
I own all my triumphs and successes, all
my failures and mistakes.
Because I own all of me, I can become
intimately acquainted with me.
By so doing I can love me and be
friendly with me in all my parts.

I can then make it possible for all of me
to work in my best interests.
I know there are aspects about myself
that puzzle me, and other aspects that I
do not know.
But as long as I am friendly and loving
to myself, I can courageously and
hopefully look for the solutions to the
puzzles and for ways to find out more
about me.
However I look and sound, whatever I
say and do, and whatever I think and
feel at a given moment in time is me.
This is authentic and represents where I
am at that moment in time.
When I review later how I looked and
sounded, what I said and did, and how I
thought and felt, some parts may turn
out to be unfitting.

I can discard that which is unfitting, and
keep that which proved fitting, and in-
vent something new for that which I discarded.
I can see, hear, feel, think, say, and do.
I have the tools to survive, to be close
to others, to be productive, and to make
sense and order out of the world of
people and things outside of me.
I own me,
and therefore I can engineer me.
I am me
and I am okay.

Daily prayer

During work:
May I catch moments when I am opening up and shutting down, and put them down on a scrap of paper for reflection later?

After work:
May I remember to tranform these good and bad moments into:
Words (metaphors, poems)
Wit
Visuals

May I remember to "tonglen" them.
In other words, have the thought that my pain is shared and wishing that this pain can be a path of awakening for us, or in the case of joy, have the thought that I can share the joy with others.

Beamings from a sore thumb

A moment of mindlessness:
Slammed the door on my right thumb as I was getting out of a friend's car two days ago. Now nursing a swollen thumb and a magenta nail.

To feel better, I will myself to think of the merits of my plight, other than getting two days off work.

I think of those who, like me, have hurt themselves in accidents that could (or could they not?) have been avoided. All the "if onlys" that goes through their minds.
In my case, "if only I hadn't taken her car", or "if only I hadn't asked her to stop me at X", or "if only Y hadn't joined us, I would have sat in front, and this probably wouldn't have happened". If only. If only. If only. All the "if only" which does nothing to lessen the pain.

Even though it will take time, the damage to my thumb will probably un-do itself. I think of those (like my quadriplegic friend and some of my stroke patients), who have to live with the damage of their accidents. How horrible is that? What is my pain compared to theirs?

And why is it that we start to treasure things only after we have lost them? (Just like, why is it that I begin to miss my sister only after I have lost her?)
How I have taken my right thumb for granted. I can't hold a pen or peel a grape without it. I can't close a cap tight or wring a cloth dry. I can't work (make beds, do dressings, write reports) without it. Why, until the accident, I didnt know I do so many things with my right thumb, and for that matter, my right hand.

Can this be another reminder for me to pay gratitude to all parts of my body, and the people around me, before they are gone, as they surely will be one day?

Helping words from Stephen Levine's Who Dies

The Great Way is not difficult
for those who have no preferences.
When love and hate are both absent
everything becomes clear and undisguised.
Make the smallest distinction however,
and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart,
If you wish to see the truth
then hold no opinions for or against anything.
To set up what you like against what you dislike
is the disease of the mind.
When the deep meaning of things is not understood
the mind's essential peace is disturbed to no avail.
(from the third Zen patriarch)


The basic difference between an ordinary person and a warrior
is that the warrior takes
everything as a challenge whereas
an ordinary person takes everything as a blessing or a curse.
(from Don Juan)