Sunday poem: "When Breath Becomes Air"

When Breath Becomes Air

It’s not time to pause just yet,

the coronavirus refuses to go away,

and society is going a bit crazy

with too much time on our hands

and no place to expend all these

pent-up emotions, so my love

and I went for a long scenic drive

to the Factory Outlet in the little

town of Meaford that was having

a closing-down sale because of

COVID-19, and I browsed the

used book section and found a

charismatic little book that spoke

to my soul, the sad but triumphant

story of a young neurosurgeon

and writer who got lung cancer

and died at the heartbreaking age

of thirty-six, before he could find

an answer to the central question

of his life that inspired him to set

aside his desire to be a writer and

pursue neurosurgery where he

thought he could find the answer

to his question: “Where did biology,

morality, literature, and philosophy

intersect?” True to his twin calling,

neurosurgery attracted him as much

for its intertwining of the brain and

consciousnesses as for the intertwining

of life and death, believing that the

time that he spent in the space between

the two would not only grant him

the stage for compassionate action,

but an elevation of his own being,

getting as far away from the petty

materialism of the world and being

right there, at the very heart of the

matter where the self and the brain

are bound into one, where he hoped

to experience a numinous perspective

that would answer his life-long question;

but the gods intervened, and he died

from cancer while writing the book

that I held in my hands in the Factory

Outlet in Meaford, Ontario: When

Breath Becomes Air, by the courageous

young neurosurgeon and writer,

Doctor Paul Kalanithi.