At the time of the writing of this note, "Standing At The Edge" has been posted for about two weeks. It seems that a number of people who know me have taken the poem literally and believed I am facing imminent death. I am happy to report that this is not the case. I apologize to those who were upset on my behalf; certainly, that was not my intent. The fact is, I began writing this piece last fall when, in fact, a confluence of medical probems gave me reason to believe that, while perhaps not at death's door, I was at least standing in the hallway that leads to that door. Thus, the poem was not written in the abstract, perched at a safe distance from the edge, but in a period of true potential peril that lead me to reflect on the profound matters addressed in the piece. I can tell you now, that those problems are largely resolved, and it appears my death is pending (like everyone else), but not imminent.
A final thought:
A number of people have commented on the sadness and grimness of this poem. While I would never presume to suggest what anyone should feel or think in response to one of my writings, I would like to say that for me personally, Edge is much more about the joy of loving and living (and the greater joy I anticipate in the afterlife) than it is about dying. I hope now that I have removed the emotional impact of imagining my rapidly approaching departure, those of you who know me will appreciate the comfort and hope this poem is truly meant to convey. |
