Red Roses and Deadly Thorns

My awareness was not.

Egg and sperm encountered,

A blind burst of energy.

Conceived without plan,

Borne painfully and in joy,

Random heir to mysterious life

And the promise of existence.

My awareness was small.

Hunger, thirst, discomfort,

My first teachers.

Tenderly fed,

Willingly given drink,

Gladly, my discomfort eased.

I was sacred, love incarnate.

My awareness grew.

I asked 'How?'

Slowly, at first,

Then faster they replied.

My hunger for 'how' diminished.

I asked 'Who?'

Cautious, the first responses,

But ever there.

My thirst for 'who' subsided.

But when I asked 'Why?'

They fought me.

Their willing hands,

Hardened,

Turned against me.

My awareness is.

My hunger and thirst

Now unappeased.

The discomfort of 'why'

Blasphemes those who would teach

Only 'how' and 'who.'

I am profane, hate made flesh.

I am awareness.

I Am That I Am,

'Why' my burning core.

Absent 'why,'

'How' and 'who' are not

And I am not.

But I am.

Robert M. Wesley

Family & Community Medicine