A Poem: Passage to Life

Pain is a doorway.
A birth canal.
We ache and contract
to bear forth something new.

the anointing of our travails,
work to soften
and open the way forward.

Rivers run
with a mountain’s burden of snow.
Melting at the
touch of warmth.

And we, without realising it,
transform our pain
by bearing down
upon it.

Pain is a path,
a passageway to life.
Everything that ever grew
first pushed its way out.

Life insists we evolve.
Pain, the propelling force
for change
ensures our growth.

The tree that
first burst its seed’s protective shell,
grows up and
breaks new ground.

And any gains we make,
that can be weighed
and found
to be of any worth,

are born out of
travail and pressure,
and darkness
that gives way to light.

Ana Lisa de Jong
April 2018

2 thoughts on “A Poem: Passage to Life

  1. And we, without realising it,
    transform our pain
    by bearing down
    upon it.

    rich words. thank you. I don’t like it that pain is the path, and I know it is at the same time I dont’ like it.


    1. No, I so understand my friend. Fortunately joy is a path too. Kahil Gilbran was so right when he said,
      ‘Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
      And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
      And how else can it be?
      The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
      Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?
      And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
      When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
      When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

      Some of you say, “Joy is greater thar sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”
      But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
      Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

      Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
      Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
      When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.’


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