Reboot

The brutality of life is this:

suffering regularly reboots.

   Like a renegade laptop

   giving no warning,

   it shuts down everything

   you were doing,

      and systematically recycles

      you through pain and grief

      as if your operating system

      cannot function otherwise.

         Suffering also mutates.

         Like last year's flu  

         or an antibiotic-resistant

         strain of bacteria,

            it can return with a vengeance

            bearing little resemblance

            to the original incident,

            bringing along a new cast

            of characters and circumstances.

         The beauty of life is this:

         hope stands ready to respond,

         no matter how often or severely

         suffering reappears and morphs.

      By hope, I do not mean

      rescue or resolution,

      but love's willingness to ride out

      each particular storm with you

      on nothing more and nothing less

      than the fortitude of mute presence.

   No super-hero capes

   or sorcerer’s incantations,

   no neuralizer or pixie dust,

   no bubble wrap or fortress;

just a promise that post-traumatic

existence includes possibilities

we can never imagine

if we stay on the shore,

or in the fairy tale

of anesthesia, denial, or “If only…”.

   © 2015 Todd Jenkins