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about pain





About Pain

Kahlil Gibran wrote a poem about pain,

It didn't make sense to me, no insight I gained.

I think he says that through pain and sorrow

You eagerly embrace the comfort of tomorrow.

It's something like comparing a torrential rain,

To the sunshine that follows, that's Kahlil's claim.


And if all of our days are perfect as can be

How can we compare them to days pain free.

It's like accepting the bitter with the sweet.

You understand joy more, when you've experienced the grief.

How can you tell the good days from bad?

If you can't recall yesterdays' pain that you had.


It's a lot like having "fair weather" friends.

Would you not still love them, when good days end?

I now  understand that very last verse.

We sometimes choose to make the pain worse.


Remember, The Great Physician knows the way

To lessen our pain, until before Him we stay.

The course may be difficult, "Bitter" says Gibran.

But guided by the Unseen's tender hand.

And the cup He brings, moist with His tears

Soothes our deep pains and endless fears.


Did I get it right, Mr. Kahlil Gibran?

I will understand my pain much more from now on.




On Pain

Kahlil Gibran

And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun,
so must you know pain.


And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life,
your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity 

through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.
It is the bitter potion by which the physician

 within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, 

and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, 

is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,
And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, 

has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter 

has moistened with His own sacred tears.


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