Is human existence nothing

but a petri dish of pain,

or is there something of

value in the suffering?

This is not an intellectual

exercise for me. I gasp

as pain zings up the side

of my head from what

I'm told is shingles.

It's hard to think when pain

commands the foreground,

but maybe thinking isn't

essential and it's a sixth sense

for presence I need now.

In the calm between two zings,

something ancient and light-filled

sings me a love song.

Something waits for me

to notice that pain and radiance

coexist and this both/and reality

is immensely important.

The pain doesn't go away,

but neither does the love.

That seems to be the

lesson of my day.