On Stoicism

  
We are tired, I am tired. Every day
is exhausting, isn't it? I'm thankful
for anyone and everyone who's fighting 
mightily for our shared rights— to food 
and clean water and air, the fair 
reward of our labor, homes 
whose floors we'll sweep, where we 
can go to bed and rest with no fear 
at night. What need have we of a future 
that bristles with new hardships but old 
hate? I want the trees to just be trees 
with no history of bodies dangling 
from them like bloated fruit. Marcus 
Aurelius said Never let the future 
disturb you. You will meet it, if you 
have to with the same weapons of reason 
which today arm you against the present. 
I've heard my neighbor say she has a gun; 
I wonder if she considers that an extension 
of reason. The Stoics practiced the virtues 
of wisdom, justice, courage, and moderation— 
they claimed these gave them the discipline 
to endure both pleasure and pain, but 
especially pain. I admit I've always 
had trouble reconciling that kind 
of indifference: as if it were a simple 
matter to vacate the personal, to keep 
my back straight and look evil in the eye 
without revealing how I tremble inside. 
I read and listen so I might be wise;
and strive to be fair. But I know my heart
can also expand, transmit its joys 
like a sun or a moon. Or howl, 
as animals do of their suffering.