Eurydice

When I was in college, I used to think that the poem Eurydice by HD was about a defiant woman, scorned by a lover and forced to turn inward to find her own well of strength and purpose. Now it seems to me it also speaks to oppressive systems and corrupt power: the health care industry, monopolies, the patriarchy.

Against the black

I have more fervour

than you in all the splendour of that place,

against the blackness

and the stark grey

I have more light[.]

This morning I read an article on NPR about the moral distress faced by doctors:

"The terms "moral distress" and "moral injury" were first used in a military context to characterize the torment felt by soldiers as they tried to process and justify their actions amid the cruelty of war. In more recent years, these terms have been used to describe the feelings of guilt, sadness and defeat felt by health care professionals when we know what our patients need but can't provide it."*

I wonder about the cycles of humanity: the centennial plagues, the depressions and recessions, the booms and busts. The paper-thin fallacy that we're in control of our own fate and finances. And, if we are caught in these cycles, where do we find our agency? What do we do to alleviate the communal suffering? Do we turn inward or outward?

I'm so grateful that in this sea of chaos I have found a few lighthouses, like the specialist who can see my child the same week I call his office in tears. That is a g-d miracle. There's an off-quoted line from Fred Rogers: "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ' Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'"

Fuck you, systems of oppression. I'll do it myself; I'll search and search and search until I find those sources of light.

At least I have the flowers of myself,

and my thoughts, no god

can take that;

I have the fervour of myself for a presence

and my own spirit for light;

and my spirit with its loss

knows this;

though small against the black,

small against the formless rocks,

hell must break before I am lost;

before I am lost,

hell must open like a red rose

for the dead to pass.

*Doctors have their own diagnosis: 'Moral distress' from an inhumane health system, by Lisa Doggett, August 2, 2023, NPR.