On the Brink

I purchased a copy of Parker Palmer’s new book: ON the BRINK of EVERYTHING. It’s a slow read for me, one, because I’m savoring it, and two, because I’m taking time to feel the words and let them take me to the weeping places.

Palmer is clearly an avid reader, and has selected poems, not of his own, but of others, that say what needs to be said. Jeanne Lohmann writes in her poem, Invocation, words that resonate within me: “Our words are feathers that fly on our breath. Let them go in a holy direction.” Words are feathers. Let that sink in.

Next, Palmer selected the poem, Love by Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz. The first two sentences were all I needed today, before I had to set the book down and gaze the far-off stare:

Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills.

Whatever else is in the book is still a mystery. I’ll probably finish in two or three more weeks.

Speaking of mysteries, I had a lot of supportive messages after last week’s essay. I greatly appreciate each and every one of them. I’ve only gotten one test result back and it was normal/negative. The other results haven’t been given to me yet, and that’s frustrating. I already made a follow-up appointment with my doctor because there’s something to discuss no matter which way the test results go. It was suggested that my bicycling could explain it. In three months, I have only ridden 250 miles. So even if I didn’t up my calorie intake that only accounts for 12500 calories or under four pounds.

I’m feeling okay, and one thing that I learned years ago: I’ll be okay – no matter what.