The Curious Purpose of Hell

Late, late into the day

when the sun is long gone

and even the moon has nearly given up

trying to pierce the darkness,

I hear the words, and I read the wounds,

and I hear the wounds again

And I know again,

like a revelation of truths I've never forgotten,

how much damage we can do each other

we can do ourselves.

The difference between hers and mine, this time,

is that, on some level,

I volunteered for this torture.

The magician said,

"I need an assistant from the audience

for this next trick,"

and I, ready once again, to brave love's stage,

waved madly and said,

"Pick me! Pick me!"

Pleased with my look, or my enthusiasm,

or my foolhardiness,

or maybe that unnamable, unknowable quality

that only magicians can see,

I was picked.

As I mounted the steps to the platform,

"Batty's" words came again,

and reverberated

deep enough so that I could ignore them,

or hope them wrong:

"Oh-oh . . . . this is gonna huuurrrt . . . . ."

he echoed as he fell.

I echoed as I fell.

The difference is warning

And choice.

Beyond all words uttered

beyond all promises and assurances,

there were clear signs

and I knew the risks.

For every curse I offer

honesty demands that I accept one, as well.

For this newest wise one

there is no such sweet simplicity.

Heart, and mind, and many days body

forced into an old age

at a time when most of us

are enjoying our first flush of immortality,

this "precious gift of life"

has been no more nor less than a life-long curse.

Seeing such innocence and beauty stolen

makes it frighteningly easy

to understand Turkish law,

and even think it perhaps too lenient and merciful.

Severed thumbs and severed hands, one thinks,

might be a good start

for thieves such as this.

But to what purpose?

Certainly the next child might be protected,

the next loaf of bread might not be stolen.

But what of the bread

the thieves have already eaten?

Shall we force them to vomit an apology?

Should she accept their excrement

as the only meal she deserves?

No, child, know.

Know this:

there are thieves in the world

and ones who would ruin children

had they the power;

true power, true strength

are exactly what they lack.

In weakness do they lash out --

In strength, and patience, and oft-times silence,

the child abides.

In wisdom, and understanding, and knowledge of self,

the child grows.

In healing, and acceptance, and the fullness of love,

the child prevails.

So much pain, such unimaginable Hell,

cannot help but create

the capacity to deeply and honestly appreciate,

and the true, urgent ability to attain

the joy that is still to be yours:

the joy of your precious self-hood,

and the joy of this sometimes truly beautiful world.

Arise, Child, and walk --

nay, run, with laughter and glee

as you were meant to do,

as all children are meant to do.

Because you are both cursed and blessed to never forget,

you will be secure in the knowledge

that none shall ever again

be able to bring that harm upon you,

nor shall you allow it to continue.

You have within you the knowledge, the wisdom,

and the power of love

to finally protect everything that is yours,

all that is in each of us,

that should never, ever be harmed nor threatened.

What an odd gift it is

that we give ourselves and each other --

these Hells.

Within them,

some of us don't even survive.

Without them, though,

I wonder if we would really even live . . . .