In his work, "The Only Animal" Franz Wright offers many soaring lines. These caught my eye when they were posted by my friend, poet Claire Bateman:
"…between twin eternities,
some sort of wings,
more or less equidistantly
exiled from both,
hovering in the dreaming called
being awake,…"
There is nothing stranger about your existence than the conundrum called "reality." Time is a trick.
Before you were born you occupied one kind of consciousness. After your body dies you will occupy another.
Meanwhile, your body's consciousness shifts moment to moment – especially when influenced by sleep or anesthesia.
Isn't the time you occupy right now also part of eternity – all encapsulated in a single moment? Life is simply a chapter in the endless book of forever.
As a caregiver, you walk beside patients who, because of their illnesses, may bump up against one eternity or the other. You can be present in sacred encounters where your love meets their need.
An acquaintance of mine has been lingering on the edge of death for a couple of weeks now. In this moment, she has left what we call consciousness and lives instead in a nether-land we cannot fathom. Comforted by friends and the magic of hospice care, she will soon enter another one of those "twin eternities."
We fly on "some sort of wings." As we fly, the best among us take our weakened fellow beings on board and try to lift them from their misery back to a better consciousness. But always we are no more than dreaming we are awake.
Here is the gift you can give another if you are willing to draw close enough for secrets. It is inside the language Wright uses towards the end of his poem:
"You gave me
in secret one thing
to perceive, the
tall blue starry
strangeness of being
here at all.
You gave us each in secret something to perceive."
-Erie Chapman
Note: The just-released book, Inside Radical Loving Care, is now available on Amazon.

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