Weltschmerz

  Today is one of those days that I am ovrwhelmed with the world's suffering. I began my day reading Dawn Goodwin's blog on the killing of school children in Connecticutt. I have been working on a poem about that horrific event. The images haunt me, as they have everybody with any humanity at all. I just finished writing another poem about the death of a hummingbird (which I found in our garage among Christmas decorations as I was decorating for the season). I buried the humingbird on the winter solstice. To add to all of that, My friend of forty years, Irene Lawrence, died on December 19th at the age of 88. She was cremated, and her ashes now reside in a beautiful cloissone urn. I am also working on a poem for her that I hope to read at her memorial service on the 19th. The poem is inspired by Keats's "Ode on a Grecian Urn," and Yeats's "Sailing to Byzantium." Byzantine artists used the cloissone technique, as did Chinese artists during the Ming Dynasty. I know that Irene would appreciate all of those connections.
  On top of all of those depressing events, I hit a squirrel this morning. I tried to avoid him as he ran in front of me, but to no avail. I hate that tiny "thump" that signifies the end of a life. His life is important too, and I hate that I ended it.
  Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the suffering around me. I know why Siddhartha left his old life and searched for answers under the Bodhi tree. I wish I could find that tree. I know that the place is unimportant: every place is the bodhi tree. I know that suffering is caused by desire, and that, ironically,  wanting to escape suffering is desire that just causes more suffering. I have no solutions. I will try to be exceptionally compassionate to all living beings and to relieve suffering where I can. Better to light one candle . . . . Peace be to all of you who take the time to read this.