Pain, I do not like you; I hate you.
But I know I must find peace with you.
Pain, you bear gifts wrapped in dirty rags.
You have come to get my attention;
You have my attention.
You've come to show me
that while you are not what I have desired,
you are what I need.
A child gleefully delivers
bouquets of limp dandelions;
and I would never refuse such a gift.
I cannot deny the good
intention and forethought
of your Source, pain, of my Source.
(Denial would preclude my own existence.)
Pain, while I honor your perseverance,
I have disdain for your delivery.
I have hated, denied and fought
tirelessly for your annihilation.
As the fearless enemy that
I have always known you to be,
pain, you have not failed to return
but with more strength and determination.
This play, this script I live out, I have no memory
of how or when it was designed.
But I love its Creator;
I know the creation deserves the same.
My heart opens readily to receive the love
I feel from the Master Designer.
In my heart, I must reach out to you, pain.
I know you need to be acknowledged,
and loved; even if it breaks the will of my past.
As my Creator has extended to me
the most Real part of me, LOVE,
I know as a living channel I am obliged
to do the same.
When I remember how this unconditional
Love ceaselessly blesses me,
I know; I can do the unthinkable;
I can love what I have previously hated.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem