Suffering is a treasure, for it conceals mercies;
The almond becomes fresh when you peel off the rind.
O my brother, staying in a cold dark place
And bearing patiently the grief, weakness, and pain
Is the Source of Life and the cup of Abandon!
The heights are found only in the depths of abasement;
Spring is hidden in autumn, and autumn pregnant with spring.
Flee neither; be the friend of Grief, accept desolation,
Hunt for the life that springs from the death of yourself.
I do have a hard time with all this Treasure of Suffering stuff. My life, my heart - pretty darn good treasure before. Source of life, springs of goodness - all that. For now, I take these poems, these lines, as ~ this is supposed to be desolation. This is supposed to be pain. Drink it down, my friend; this is the cup you have.
I am off to shovel goat poop in the rain.