* * *
I am still enjoying my weekend work at the hospital -- immensely. Someone remarked that it is too sad for them to consider such a thing, which got me to thinking...
If I closed my eyes and smooshed my fingers to them, I'd see some pretty wonderful splotches - but nothing behind that kaleidoscope curtain would ever disappear because of it. Not even one bit.
Simply because we don't see or experience suffering, it is not a demonstration that in such a covert we are somehow absolved of its transmogrification, its cause, or even its relief. As is often written in mathematics textbooks... The proof is left up to the reader
* * *
These hospitals--so different from all others--these thousands and tens and twenties of thousands of American young men badly wounded, operated on, pallid, with diarrhea, languishing, dying . . . open a new world somehow to me, giving closer insights, new things, exploring deeper mines than any yet, showing our humanity. . . tried by fearfulest tests, probed deepest, the living soul's the body's tragedies, bursting the petty bonds of art.
~ From: A letter to friends, March 19, 1863, Walt Whitman