Spiritual Value and Chronic Illness - Part 4

By Craig Maupin at www.cfidsreport.com

“The Search” is a poem that introduces a new way of looking at the efforts that many go to control their health through religious labors and exercises.

This poem challenges many of the views and assumptions that are prevalent in our religious traditions and beliefs. More importantly, for many who are not blessed with health, it presents an affirming message of their value in a world blinded by external appearances or prosperity. This is the final part of the "Spirituality and Chronic Illness" Series.

The Search

This story began one fateful day.

When health and vigor were whisked away.

A thorn was left in their cherished place.

Thus stricken, I began a wearisome chase,

For clues as to why I suffered this unforgiving malady,

For answers, to cast my thorn’s blight far from me.

I sought hope from those who could grasp the mysterious ways,

Of why some come to suffer the thorn’s darkest malaise,

Healers who claimed the path to precious health,

Overcoming the thorn, they tasted physical wealth.

Each bravely conquered their suffering’s harsh fate,

Holding knowledge, they promised strength -- a spiritual state.

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I met a man, whose ways were of great renown,

A respected guru of healing in my small town.

He could manipulate and control ancient mysteries,

Placate powerful forces, greatly skewed within me.

He said, “You have a qi that fails to flow,

Past meridians blocked by a negative undertow.

Imbalanced, your lifestyle’s the cause of your problems.

Adjusting yin and yang will surely resolve them”.

And while these assessments indeed may have stung,

With his expertise I endeavored to overcome.

Yang that devoured my yin, thus corrupting my qi.

All this he would be perform for the standard fee.

I long to say I had matched his Zen.

I wish to say I tasted health’s riches again.

Yet unhealthy and lacking his virtuous energies,

I left more than imbalanced, a discordant qi.

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Thus I sought out another, whom I felt would know more.

How I became thus indwelled, with a longstanding thorn.

Surely this bold preacher, a charisma-filled speaker,

Would reveal the truth to why I was physiologically weaker

His sermon described the path to physical wealth.

His words claimed the way to substantive health,

A life superior, great faith, had made him a winner.

Health could not come those who were sinners.

Reaching deep, to place what I had in the plate,

A step of faith, no more sin, would better my fate.

But I tried, tried again, to be true and live well,

Yet I remained but imperfect, and often I fell.

I had failed to uphold purest principles he had set.

Would these imperfections mean no healing I would get?

He said it was clear, that I full of sin,

Lacked the faith to taste health and prosperity again.

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Confused and frustrated, thus saddened, forlorn,

Could I yet be liberated from the curse of the thorn?

Struggling to control the torment I most feared,

I sought help from one in harmony with all, far and near.

Himself the thorn did suffer, until deep in his soul,

He found health could not come, 'til many were made whole.

Meditation made him one with the earth, sky, and sea.

Health would but appear, through pure harmony.

Thus I chanted, and I mumbled, his mantra incanted.

The dearth of my oneness, bitterly I recanted.

Stretching my body outward, mysterious pose,

Union with all, the new course that I chose.

Contrary to his promise, health failed forth to come.

Was I not yet one, just part of a sum?

I left him heart empty, in my darkness felt lost.

Extend his due payment, expertise’s true cost,

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I walked into the street, that cold winter day,

Mortal, eyes cast downward, peace seemed far away.

Spiritual deficits meant health had slipped through my hands,

Failing harmony’s, piety’s, and qi’s differing demands.

Was health a reward for pure spiritual course?

Falling short brought me sadness, and heartfelt remorse,

Discouragment was dampening my once-vital cheer,

The warmest of melodies drifted upward, filling my ear.

A blind street musician calmly played as he sat.

This night’s dinner would soon fill his hat.

I stopped, he smiled warmly, as his strums kept the beat.

Then he stopped, and we chatted, I reposed at his feet.

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I told him my story, How my life had been plundered.

Did yang, sin, or imbalance, cause this havoc I wondered?

He listened intently, and when I was through,

Said, “ I can’t heal you, but I'll affirm what is True.

Perhaps you noticed my eyes, they fail to see.

Yet, despite their limitations, they’ve instilled new strengths in me.

My guitar’s intonations are much brighter, for what my eyes do lack,

My ears become much clearer, taking up the slack.

This thorn is not a sign of weakness, imbalance, or moral wrong.

Your spirit needs repair? Perhaps it’s growing strong.

I cannot enlighten you, to why you must walk a difficult road.

Though your body may be pennies, your spirit can be gold,

Many say they do prosper, from their spiritual direction,

Is this is unbridled pride? All show man’s imperfections!

All possess deficient oneness, sin, or faulty qi.

A Sacrifice of Blood and Grace, Must cover these for me!”

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He finished up his words, then played another song.

Opening my ears to a new message, quite evident all along.

A man may claim a righteous path, creates his prosperity,

I knew the judgment this imparted, had sown no peace in me.

The musician rose to leave, I felt blessed for what he did say.

So I slipped him two small bills, as he turned to go his way.

He smiled and gave one back, and extending a heartfelt “Thank you”.

Said, “ One is all I need, I can be content without the two”.

As I watched his figure merge into the sunset; simple, wise, and sure,

I knew many would not listen, to them he offered no real cure.

But Truth resounded in his song, the day I felt my heart’s release,

Was then I ended the Search, and found a lasting Peace.