“The most authentic thing about us is our
capacity to create, to overcome, to endure, to
transform, to love and to be greater
than our suffering”
~ Ben Okri
Dormant in perfection
sleep the flawed and mottled
seeds of failure,
loss and defeat,
fertilized by illusion
and fervent denial.

A dualistic mindscape
of pass or fail,
right or wrong;
and where
winning at any cost
is absolute

Contemplative perspectives
stress that life
entails suffering
which paradoxically
leads to heaven’s door.

Existentialist dread
plays no favorites;
behind all angst
lies a spectacle
of precious souls
writhing in mortified

Meticulous in my
I forge on,
trusting / doubting,
buoyed by optimism / shot down by fear,
walking the walk / tuning in to the talk.

We cannot know light,
without darkness,
pain without joy,
nor understand
how shadows of sorrow
always illuminate and
reveal our inherent beauty;
our sacred quest
for benevolent meaning,
places we aspire to dwell,
those watershed moments
when we script our
love letter to pain.
Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2015
Author Notes
Cancer is a hideous disease (one of many) which extracts a gut wrenching and soul depleting price on those affected. Lives truncated in their prime, a ripple effect of suffering fanning out mercilessly with cruel and harsh precision, forever altered and diminished. And how shall we find meaning in the shadows of this menacing reality?
We can “hate” our afflictions for the damage and despair it wreaks in our respective lives, but in the final analysis it is the objectifying and personification of this hatred which has the net effect of making us victims. The proverbial “world on our shoulders” we carry is the burden that comes with being a victim. Gratitude for our little victories (whatever, wherever they may be) is the only antidote that validates our human spirit and our persevering quest to rise above our suffering. It becomes our love letter to pain.