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The Thing about pain is

Let’s face it, it is impossible to live life without experiencing any form of pain. Pain is a part of living as much as love and joy and fear. When we talk about the inescapable nature of living with one pain or another we must also consider healing.

Healing is not the reversal of pain. It does not come by through pleasantries. Healing is not something that we just receive by choosing to get rid of the pain. We do not simply ignore powerful profound pain, because then we are suppressing that hurt into our psyches and our cells and into every memory. Pain doesn’t leave until it is felt in the utter depths of our spirit, and explored with our minds and bodies. It lingers below one trigger maybe even 10, but it never simply leaves. It festers and grows more violent and more furious. It needs to be seen, and our bodies keep it for us, hoping that we address it so we can move on. Pain, must be felt in every form that it presents itself, with every piercing thought and emotion. We must go through it in its entirety, we must experience the fear of its endlessness, we must face it bare and respectful, because it is yet another teacher in disguise. Yet we must when the pain has served its purpose to awaken us to a truth, ultimately and unapologetically heal.

And here i tell you my beautiful friend that to heal is the biggest triumph of spirit. We break and we combust into millions of pieces of what we once were, but we are never beyond healing. We were gifted those bodies and those minds to experience living with our eyes wide open and our hearts on the verge of being crushed by the next best thing. Our bodies however are blessed by an internal and eternal grace, one that shines when we smile and when we wake up in the morning and feel a glimmer of hope that we are deeper than the deepest hole, stronger than the hardest blow, and liberated beyond every social concept that has ever been coined. We can heal, unlike anything dead. We can heal because we are alive.

Meeting Pain; a short story

She finds herself bursting awake in an alternate world. She is small and weary, her body aches and she doesn’t know how or why. In a vast abandoned piece of land she cannot see anything clearly but she knows what she must do. She presses her toes into the sand and makes her way to the darkest corner. That was her mission after all, She promised to heal no matter what that took. Unprepared but determined, the darkness grows and she starts losing the feeling in both her feet. She falls to her knees and continues to crawl out, her skin burning as she glances out in front of her. There it is with its might and glory, it sees her but doesn’t move to meet her. She is averse to it, but it holds something she needs.

Pain shows her its teeth and she falls at its feet begging it to hand her that wisdom because she cannot stand up anymore, She has finally come to see pain for herself, She is ready to learn. In that moment of surrender she removes her armor and unravels showing her eagerness for shedding her now tight old and broken skin. Pain unleashes itself into her mind, onto her body, her muscles tense and it pulls at her heart and her skin. She feels every bit of it, senses every bit of herself, She can follow everywhere it goes. and it burns with might..

She wants to ask it why. Her mind starts needing reason to carry on, but there was not enough time. She notices that with every blow and every shockwave of emotion the pain gets softer, it grows smaller as she gently gets bigger. Pain then pours itself into a glass between her shaky hands and asks that she accept it for what it is, whether it had reason is not important, whether she deserved it or not doesn’t matter; her questions will only be honored by a single exchange if she is to allow it.

“I accept, she cries out, just let me heal!”

She receives strength in return, one that was meant just for her; for this body… A strength that was there with the pain all along. Light creeps through that corner and nothing hurts when her heart continues it’s beat and she takes in a deep breath. She exhales as she pushes herself head first standing up. She finds that she had been in an arena, filled with souls and bodies that look just like hers, but her path was paved different by the walking and crawling towards her pain. Her space allowed for something new exactly where she was standing. She then feels her eyes grow wider as she towers over old skin, and all the armors she has outgrown.

She begins to heal.

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If You Need Forgiveness Let It In

The following is a literary portrayal of welcoming forgiveness back into our lives, no matter what has happened, or why.

Finally you hear that long awaited knock. The sound of it travels into your cold little home with a warmth you keep yearning for. You shuffle to gather your things, and push to the side cabinets filled with ice. Except that warmth comes through and there is no denying it, it fills up your room.

Your steps become quicker and your heart lets out a sigh, some life returns to your body. You pause at the door and you think twice whether your heart and your home can welcome such a pleasant guest. You have lately not been known for your hospitality but for your hostility. Then again, you cannot deny this particular guest, you cannot abandon your agreement.

An agreement made in the darkest of nights. Under the moon you clasped your hands and shed a tear promising to open the door no matter what, no matter when and no matter how long it takes. When all else fails the warmth of keeping a long lost promise shall pull you through.

With that, you open your door gently as not to cause a deliberate scene, but the light enters unapologetically, unfiltered and abundantly. You show your guest in, and you humbly sit on the floor accompanied by her.

Forgiveness stares into your eyes, a long lost friend, a companion you have long waited to receive. She uncovers her hands and she brushes them over your hands and face. You look around you, and your frozen home begins to show life, walls regain some color and you suddenly feel something again, a little flame in the pit of your spine igniting your light again.

You welcome your guest to stay for she has come back to you despite the chill. She brings you a note and in that note your promise is fulfilled. A few words written by a hand that looks so much like yours: “Forgiveness always finds a way.”

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Artiste the Untalented

A Short Story on Great Delusion

The nightmare comes again for her/ her lifeless body lay in a pool of spilled paint. The smell of death outweighs the scent of old lavender in her hair. She jerks herself out of the dream and finds herself huddled by her bed side, a form her body took last night as the last drop of whiskey found its way into her blood stream. An “artiste” she calls herself, she’s a knight of the blackest night with a beaming ray of light piercing through her waist and down her hip like a sword.

She makes her way from the floor back to her bed and winces with a pain she tried to kill last night. A soft morning light hits her eye and she stares out knowing that once the day begins her art will lose face, and her face will be masked yet again.

Her clock gives her two more hours until the world wakes to the dreary routine of usefulness and self appreciation. Her feet crash unto the wooden floor again to make way for her make shift studio, a space she created simply by pushing her entire furniture to one side of the room.

The nightmare plays on a reel in her head as she hovers over her colors. She reaches for the black and her wrists make way for the bleakest of emotion as she hopes to wake her self from the anti dream. She pierces the brush into white canvas and looks away. The fire burns black and she dances her arm across the canvas.

The dancing knight fights demons and adds color, the black as deep as the dying night. She fears that the day is near and she slows down her brush to a soft stroke, gently she adds the white and the yellow she blends her lightness with the dark in hopes of finding a master piece in between. Artiste spills her dream onto the canvas, a nightmare for her mind and an exorcism of her fear.

The day comes and she awakens suddenly as she always does into a world she despises; facing a blank saturated black canvas.


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My Autumn Stranger

Somewhere along this way, amongst this green piece of land, in between autumn trees and falling lullabies, I caught a glimpse of a stranger’s eyes. We stared and then looked away, and he shied into a little pathway aside from mine. I heard his footsteps crushing little fallen leaves gently and I followed the sound. He whispered stay away as he moved ahead.

In that autumn theme the stranger stopped and I stopped. His eyes were young just like mine, but they dared not dive as deep.

In that dream of a day I wanted him to come with me, I could show him the world. I wanted him to forget the entity that pressured him and let go of the boundaries in his mind. His soul looked so sweet but his mind dared not doubt. Again unlike mine, my mind went to extents of doubt that would make any weak soul break apart. I understood he was afraid of that, he simply feared he might lose himself on my path.

We stood in a painting in the middle of a world of yellow and brown, our skin reflected the same colors and I yearned for his approval. That stranger knew I was on a difficult journey, yet he felt my sincerity. He stood in confusion and sadness shuffling his spirit. Without our noticing, the first image of doubt was drawn in his head; and uncertainty left him in indecision whether to join me or watch me go.

He was a stranger, and so was I, but then again weren’t we all. We remain strangers for lifetimes if we dared not dive into the worlds of each other. The autumn lullaby became a symphony as uncertainty danced and swayed around and between us. It was a beautiful dancer who was inexplicably moving our worlds along to its steps.

The painting we stood in as strangers was far from finished, and so destiny spoke to us through our painter’s brush. It drew us closer as autumn became more hopeful; my stranger became my confidante, he took uncertainty in his arms. He decided to dance with it, to sway it and love it as long as it holds the possibility of shifting partners one day. When that happens we would dance our way out of that painting and into a land of our own.