Balance: A Parable

Tough, he said. Turn a sad eye
to the ones hurt, sure,
but then move on to
the joy of others over
the things they have done, or
will do, when their time comes.

I would do as he asks
but for the wetness of one child’s cheek.
I would gladly turn my face
toward the living but for
the dead lying alone on the street
where I live.

And when I turn from the misery
toward the joy,
I see it now: they are connected.
The dead on the street would not
be there if someone had turned
toward them before with a raging grin —

so it is not enough, say the dead,
that you feel us thronging around
you, that you dry the eyes
and cheek of the sobbing child;
so I brush off my hands, settle into joy —
I walk up to joy and seize it:

throttle it down, down to the
filth on the road; I wait until
it stops moving. I look back at
the One who spoke earlier and
gently smile; I turn my back on his sputter
and go on my way in balance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T