Passing Time

Today was procedure day for husband's heart - and good news - the stents went in through blocks and bends - a new lease on life.

I am always struck during my hospital vigils of all the way folks pass time, waiting for news, waiting for someone to get well enough to be discharged, even waiting for the end. This young gal with her embroidery hoop in the sun on a warm bright day struck me as memorable. She was so centered!

And on that note, being centered, I include a poem sent to us by Pablo Neruda. It speaks to so many events in our lives, and certainly to all those who held vigil with us. Thank you for all that good energy.

KEEPING QUIET

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), "Keeping Quiet"
Extravagaria (translated by Alastair Reid)
Jonathan Cape, London, 1972, pp.27-29
(original Estravagario, Editorial Losada, Buenos Aires, 1958