Your pain is the breaking of the shell that 
encloses your understanding.

   Even as the stone of the fruit must break, 
that its heart may stand in the son, so 
must you know pain.

   And could you keep your heart in wonder 
at the daily miracles of your life, 
your pain would not seem less wondorous 
than your joy;

   And you would except the seasons of your 
heart, even as you have always accepted 
the seasons that pass over your fields.

   And you would watch with serenity through 
the winters of your grief.

   Much of your pain is self-chosen.

   It is the bitter potion by which the 
physician within you heals your sick self.

   Therefor trust the physician, and 
drink his remedy in silence and tranquility:

   For his hand, though heavy and hard, 
is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

   And the cup he brings, though it burn 
your lips, has been fashioned of the clay 
which the Potter has moistened with His 
own sacred tears.
from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

Bohemian Ink