Nothing, no person, no disease, and no organization or regime can bring down the human spirit. It bursts forth like flower bulbs in the springtime, up from a year of napping under the cold earth.
The essence of our spirit cannot be erased. Once we’ve etched our grooves into the human record, our souls songs cannot be undone.
We do not merely survive. Survival doesn’t require dreaming. Our experience enables our dreams. We dream in order to invent and build, not to tear down. We invent so we make the gift of life and living the one we have better.
And we must believe in the human spirit in order that we may seek the truth and create beauty for ourselves and bring hope to others, though we may not understand everything.
My life doesn’t need pity. And it’s unenviable. I may bluster. I may become afraid of a painful death brought on by metastatic disease. Yet still I believe in the power of love, of the written and spoken word, to heal. If you read between the lines of this post, written yesterday on my three year cancerversary, you’ll see it’s written in my own hand on a USPS priority mail address label as poetic medium requires no more than a way to write your heart down so your words may be heard by another human spirit. If the words do transport themselves through to another person, then the day is a happy one and a job’s well done.
Thank you for reading my posts, poetry, essays, rants, and my meandering mind on this blog. You all mean more to me than I could conjure the words to do my feelings Justice.