Author: @ace101

In the face of every type of pain, we tend to think that life will never be the same, but guess what, it was never going to be the same anyway. The only thing more relentless than pain is change. It certainly can seem like the relentless pain of life is unbearable, but you are never more alive than when you are enraptured by pain. Pain is a horribly wonderful gift. We are never taught more deeply and more truthfully than by pain. We are all aching. Young and old – we all ache so much. Our hearts and bodies feel every shock. Pain is as expansive as life itself. Pain grows with us and in us as a cultivation of life’s unfolding. Your pain is reminding you that the gift of life is tender and precious. Suffering cuts to the quick of aliveness. Pain realigns us with the present moment and brings us into a mindful awareness of the labored expansion of life’s gift called – now. Whether it be physical or emotional, pain is usually a messenger trying to help us. Pain is a breach in the walls of decline and stagnation. Pain is the ultimate proof of life. We are all aching for something, even if only for some relief and a little peace. But remember when you are aching to feel alive, that you are aching only because you are alive! Lifetimes are lost in unnoticed moments, but pain forces us to notice. Because of pain you feel more and so you live more. Every beautiful thing in the world is rooted in some kind of pain. Pain is the clarion of aliveness trumpeting that you are living in the marvelous tender cause of life! Your burdens and pains will only be lightened by living ever so fully. If you want relief from pain just strive to touch more of every part of life. Live so fully and so brilliantly that your pain diminishes in your aliveness. Day by day, as you live more, you will become greater than your pain. May you receive the wisdom of your wounds and may you live your life even larger than your pain!

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.

One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man

What do you see nurses?. … .What do you see?
What are you thinking … When you’re looking at me?
A cranky older man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food … … . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice,.’ I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice. .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . … lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten. .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters … … who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now. … a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure, happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me. To see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future … . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing … young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. … Grace and vigour depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass. A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . … I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . … open and see.
Not a cranky older man.
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. …. . ME!!

Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within. We will all, one day, be there, too!

The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!