It is not those who are well
‘It is not those who are well who need the doctor, but the sick.’
My beloved is desperately sick, barely able to talk, with only a few weeks to live. I see a faint smile, feel a squeeze of my hand. I am helpless with grief. I fall more deeply into love and equally deeply into sorrow. Are love and suffering joined together? From birth to death? Are our lives so provisional, so inconsequential? My possessions, my achievements, my history, and all the other trivialities I worry about are worth nothing now. These things are my sickness, the things that fragment my life, the things that hold me back from being more loving. Yes, my beloved is physically sick, but I am entering a deeper communion of love. The entire world is dying. Holy one, loving one, draw me into your communion of love.
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