An old friend texted me the other day saying: "I went to the Doctor today." I knew that he had some chronic health problems. He had already lost his whole family to the scourge of cancer. I texted him back: " Well, what did the Doc say?" He replied: "I don't want to talk about it; Indeed, Time doesn't stop for no man." I have always appreciated this friend's simple, wise aphorisms originating from a lifelong journey of hard knocks.
We both are growing older and health problems can progress. I know he meant that it wasn't good news. His statement reminded me of Walt Whitman's poem "To Think of Time." I wanted to comfort him with a few passages, but I haven't heard from him since that last cryptic text.
I know how he felt in a way, because of my own struggle with cancer 7 years ago. I am very grateful for my healing, but still there are those days when I catch myself looking in the rearview mirror, making sure the cancer is not stalking me. You see the past terror behind you, but keep moving forward, knowing: only time will tell. I wished I could have sent him these words from Whitman:
..."Do you suspect death? If I were to suspect death, I should die now, Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward annihilation?
Pleasantly and well-suited I walk, Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good, The whole universe indicates that it is good, The past and the present indicate that it is good. How beautiful and perfect are the animals! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it! What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as perfect, The vegetables and minerals are all perfect, and the imponderable fluids are perfect; Slowly and surely they have pass'd on to this, and slowly and surely they yet pass on.
I swear I think now that everything without exception has an eternal Soul! The trees have, rooted in the ground! the weeds of the sea have! the animals! I swear I think there is nothing but immortality! That the exquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it; And all preparation is for it! and identity is for it! and life and materials are altogether for it!"
I hope the Little Shack doesn't sound morbid tonight, It's not meant to be. There is sadness in the beauty of the beginning of Fall, the leaves, the birds flying south, the animal's hustling for food, the snake's shedding of skin-- all for The Creator's preparation with Perfect timing for Winters's sleep and Spring's resurrection!
From the Little Shack: "To think of time—of all that retrospection! To think of today, and the ages continued henceforward!" Walt Whitman