It was many years ago, I solemnly remembered
the life story of a child, like a budding flower
growing up within bright sunshine walls,
but from the enveloping, motherly nethers,
though well meaning genuinely belies
disguised, salvos arise. as one arrow
lands and makes its mark,
pain pierces the blossom.
Suffering, it shrieks,
as if a second
Lending no single question
to the quiver, as child beat along
silently, reposed on swift feet, looking
not for the light but for presence of petrichor,
thoughtful of neither name, shaft, nor bow, unconcerned
if first or last, the nature of the unbeknownst being no weakness.
⛆ ⛆ ⛆ ⛆ ⛆
I was inspired by two distinct parables popular in Buddhism. One teaches the lesson that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. When you're struck by an arrow, or unavoidable circumstance in life, there's the immediate physical pain. But you have active control over about how to manifest suffering, which is the second arrow. We can choose to let the pain slow us down, blame other people, distract ourselves from our main goals, or take control of the pain.
The second parable teaches the functional meaninglessness of metaphysical thoughts. If a man is struck by a poisoned arrow, it does not matter who the archer was or where the arrow was made in light of the need for immediate medical treatment. If the injured man pondered these thoughts, then he would die while those ultimate answers still elude him, with nothing but speculations at best.