Pain is in the nature of life- it is there in The Bible, it is the first of The Four Noble Truths of Buddha, and I have poems by Walt Whitman and Henry King that look at how it is...
(I have been thinking about writing about a poem in this Blog, but I hesitated that it would not fit in (surprise, surprise- does anything not fit in with this blog?). However it is true.
But now that Soulberry has so kindly queried why there should be pain in nature, it gives a perfect excuse for me. I am sure if he put his mind to it, Soulberry could explore it better than me, but since the point of this post is a poem, not one, but two poems, I will go ahead. With thanks to Soulberry, of course.)
Pain is in the nature of creation, as I have said already (so that you could know what is in store for you here, and also to help Google find this post)- "For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now."- Romans 8:22
And for Buddha the first of the Four Noble Truths is Dukkha: All existence is unsatisfactory and filled with suffering- "Now this, monks, is the Noble Truth of dukkha: Birth is dukkha, aging is dukkha, death is dukkha; sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, & despair are dukkha; association with the unbeloved is dukkha; separation from the loved is dukkha; not getting what is wanted is dukkha. In short, the five clinging-aggregates are dukkha."
And Walt Whitman is silent as he confronts pain face to face. In the poem, "I Sit and Look Out", he writes,
I sit and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all
oppression and shame,
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men at anguish with
themselves, remorseful after deeds done,
I see in low life the mother misused by her children, dying,
neglected, gaunt, desperate,
I see the wife misused by her husband, I see the treacherous seducer
of young women,
I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love attempted to be
hid, I see these sights on the earth,
I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny, I see martyrs and
prisoners,
I observe a famine at sea, I observe the sailors casting lots who
shall be kill'd to preserve the lives of the rest,
I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon
laborers, the poor, and upon negroes, and the like;
All these--all the meanness and agony without end I sitting look out upon,
See, hear, and am silent.
What does his silence mean? Is it that he is helpless? I think Waltman accepts that pain is inevitable- this does not make it less painful, of course. But at least he is aware of its universal presence. You show empathy with those in pain only in silence, what can you say to someone who is dying? (Cheer up! Tomorrow you are out of this!) I think silence is our natural reaction to pain.
But there is this poem I read which I liked, because it says something about life- that life is all about death, and for that reason, it ought to feel great.
This poem is by someone called Henry King- "A Contemplation Upon Flowers"
Brave flowers, that I could gallant it like you
And be as little vaine,
You come abroad, and make a harmelesse shew,
And to your beds of Earthe againe;
You are not proud, you know your birth
For your Embroidered garments are from Earth:
(Flowers come in, make a harmless show of it, and then go back to Earth. But what is brave and gallant about it- we will see. However, the point for us is their easy naturalness, spontaneity: unlike us, they don't dress up, they are of earth, living and dead).
You doe obey your months, and times, but I
Would have it ever spring,
My fate would know no winter, never die
Nor thinke of such a thing;
Oh that I could my bed of Earth but view
And Smile, and looke as Chearefully as you:
(So here it comes: the flower is perfectly at ease with whatever happens- it does not resist change "but I would have it ever spring"; it is not afraid of winter, the cold death "my fate would know no winter, never die"; I should learn life from you.)
Oh teach me to see Death, and not to fear
But rather to take truce;
How often have I seen you at a Bier,
And there look fresh and spruce;
You fragrant flowers, then teach me that my breath
Like yours may sweeten, and perfume my Death.
(Brilliant, right? Something better than brilliant, if you ask me. How long does a flower live? It lives in the shadow of death, as we do- but it has made peace with death, so it is always fresh and bright. Hence these great lines: "You fragrant flowers, then teach me that my breath/ like yours may sweeten, and perfume my Death". But the flower does not perfume death, its perfume permeates its life.)
A great poem with a great message.
Let me see. Flowers we have everyday. We get them, we enjoy them, we don't miss them because we know they will be there. Not the same with gold. Gold is good, but there is not much of it, and whatever there is, is liable to be taken away from us if we are a bit careless. Okay, they have value, but that point I don't want to see here.
What I want to see is, what is it? I have lost the thread.
Pain. Right, suppose you are a flower. Not a flower yet, but now a flower-bud. You are cosy, temperature okay, lighting okay, everything is fine. Then you flower. If you are a man you will say, how wonderful is this flowering! But you are not a man now, you are a flower. Something is pulling you apart, you are breaking down, and light is flooding in, and sound is flooding in, and heat is rising- you are torn apart: it is more like an explosion if you are a flower that is doing the flowering.
But yet there is beauty in it. When you think what a flower is, how vulnerable it is, you understand how precious it is. But it is strong. Its strength is in its weakness- it needs no props, it is okay to die, so chances are it will live long past the day we are gone.
Just think a moment- if everyone goes away from your city, how long will it be before the wilderness overwhelms it?
Life is like that- keep shuffling the cards and find new patterns. If you are something and something different happens to you, it might be difficult. But if you are the same thing- you are the mover and the one who moves, it is nothing. The Lion eats the Deer- but if you are the lion and the deer, what is the big deal?
There is a lot more to be said about this, but we have to shut up sometime, and this is it. For now.
Thanks for reading this.