Heartstrings

I don't consider myself easily moved. But this certainly brushes against the strings of my heart, and sorrow is the chord that comes from it. 

A really gentle Hispanic old man, concern for colon cancer, and also dementia. He is emaciated and literally skin and bones, naked but for a diaper. An overgrown baby, except with age spots on his hand, broken teeth, and years of life behind his eyes. But he grins a large welcoming smile every morning and laughs and tells you he feels well. And today, when we asked if he had any pain, he says no, no, except for my heart. 

Chest pain, we ask. Shortness of breath? Does it radiate anywhere? 

No, nothing like that. My heart hurts. I am ready to go. 

Go? 

I am ready to go to the sky. 

Ah, I look at him and I can tell that his flesh does not reflect his soul anymore. It is like the body confines him. 

The physical body is not who you are.