Green Forces

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........The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
........Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
........Is my destroyer…

................Dylan Thomas, 1933


After a heart attack, the longer the heart muscle cells have been without oxygen, the more of them die. These cells do not regenerate; they form scar tissue in the heart and change the electrical pattern of the heartbeat. The heart enlarges, sometimes too much, in an attempt to compensate for the reduction in pumping efficiency. These changes are not something that can be reversed, that can be "cured."


Of all the books I read after the heart attack, the author that spoke the most clearly and compassionately to me was Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, a physician who has survived Crohn’s Disease for fifty years and teaches other physicians about the emotional and spiritual side of healing:

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Curing happens at the level of the body, and it requires expertise.
Healing is what happens at the level of the whole person.
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I have been humbled and awe-struck by the unconscious forces that have been unleashed by this heart attack.

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Where do these drawings come from?
Where do these dreams come from?
Where does this healing come from?

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Links

http://www.rachelremen.com/

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The Force that through the Green Fuse Drives the Flower

by Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower

Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees

Is my destroyer.

And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose

My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

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The force that drives the water through the rocks

Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams

Turns mine to wax.

And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins

How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

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The hand that whirls the water in the pool

Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind

Hauls my shroud sail.

And I am dumb to tell the hanging man

How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
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The lips of time leech to the fountain head;

Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood

Shall calm her sores.

And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind

How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

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And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb

How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

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