I have been there before and think I may be there again.
Only time will tell.
In the pause, I do not have much say in what my soul is speaking.
For a few moments of time every day or so, there is clarity.
So, which part is the pause?
|our NYC room with a view of the WTC site|
Translated from the Brazilian Portuguese by Ellen Dore' Watson
When I was wounded
whether by God, the devil, or myself
-I don't know yet which-
it was seeing the sparrows again
and clumps of clover, after three days,
that told me I hadn't died.
When I was young,
all it took were those sparrows,
those lush little leaves,
for me to sing praises,
dedicate operas to the Lord.
But a dog who's been beaten
is slow to go back to barking
and making a fuss over his owner
-an animal, not a person
like me who can ask:
Why do you beat me?
Which is why, despite the sparrows and the clover,
a subtle shadow still hovers over my spirit.
May whoever hurt me, forgive me.
from The Image Journal, No. 65, p. 9