The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He
Knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.
At first I was surprised that people with the same disease had such very different stories.Later I became deeply moved by these stories, by the people and the meaning they found in their problems, by the unsuspected strengths, the depths of love and devotion, the rich and human tapestry initiated by the pathology I was studying and treating. . .These stories engaged me at another, more hidden point.I too suffer from an illness . . . I listened to human beings who were suffering, and responding to their suffering in ways as unique as their fingerprints.Their stories were inspiring moving, important.In time, the truth in them began to heal me.