Hope and I, we've had an interesting life together. We don't always get along, we are friendly but not friends. sometimes I think hope takes some grim pleasure in playing hide and seek with me. At others, I am sure hope is astonished by how blind I am to it being in front of me.
I am the most hopeful I have ever been in my life now and yet almost every single day, I have questions for hope. Why do some of us have more and some less? What are the ingredients of hope? Even if my life has all those elements, how do I mix them to create hope? Why do we keep playing tag with each other?
I've been thinking of all the lighthouses of hope in my life: the people whose kindnesses keep me afloat; the strong sunshine of a summer day, a long; refreshing nap; forgiveness; words of reassurances; the strangers and friends who wandered into my life and saw more in me than I can ever; the chance risks that have led me to this point. All of these together make for a very, very hopeful life. Yet, I am not always able to see it.
I know that I need to find those lighthouses in myself as well -- some, but not all, of them can be outside and external. I often find myself resting a lot of my hope in other people and while there is nothing wrong in that, nobody is really you. I am, have been and probably will be, the only constant in my life.
Look beyond just what you see and look into this poem for hope:
I am the most hopeful I have ever been in my life now and yet almost every single day, I have questions for hope. Why do some of us have more and some less? What are the ingredients of hope? Even if my life has all those elements, how do I mix them to create hope? Why do we keep playing tag with each other?
I've been thinking of all the lighthouses of hope in my life: the people whose kindnesses keep me afloat; the strong sunshine of a summer day, a long; refreshing nap; forgiveness; words of reassurances; the strangers and friends who wandered into my life and saw more in me than I can ever; the chance risks that have led me to this point. All of these together make for a very, very hopeful life. Yet, I am not always able to see it.
I know that I need to find those lighthouses in myself as well -- some, but not all, of them can be outside and external. I often find myself resting a lot of my hope in other people and while there is nothing wrong in that, nobody is really you. I am, have been and probably will be, the only constant in my life.
Look beyond just what you see and look into this poem for hope:
No Hemlock Rock (Don’t Kill Yourself)
by Jennifer Michael Hecht
Don't kill yourself. Don't kill yourself.
Don't. Eat a donut, be a blown nut.
That is, if you're going to kill yourself,
stand on a street corner rhyming
seizure with Indonesia, and wreck it with
racket. Allow medical terms.
Rave and fail. Be an absurd living ghost,
if necessary, but don't kill yourself.
Let your friends know that something has
passed, or be glad they've guessed.
But don't kill yourself. If you stay, but are
bat crazy you will batter their hearts
in blooming scores of anguish; but kill
yourself, and hundreds of other people die.
Poison yourself, it poisons the well;
shoot yourself, it cracks the bio-dome.
I will give badges to everyone who's figured
this out about suicide, and hence
refused it. I am grateful. Stay. Thank
you for staying. Please stay. You
are my hero for staying. I know
about it, and am grateful you stay.
Eat a donut. Rhyme opus with lotus.
Rope is bogus, psychosis. Stay.
Hocus Pocus. Hocus Pocus.
Dare not to kill yourself. I won't either.
No comments:
Post a Comment