Wednesday, October 28, 2009


Pain is a strange experience and is one of the feelings that you can’t always relate perfectly to other humans with. We all have different levels of tolerance, and different breaking points. I have learned to endure a lot of my pain to the point that I am convinced that no matter what kind of pain I am in I will survive although there have been a few times where I think I teetered on the brink of insanity.
When I’m in intense pain I try many different things. Movement seems to help a lot; because sitting in one place tends to make it intensify similar to if you had yourself fixed over the top of a red hot poker. I’d imagine most people wouldn’t want to find themselves resting on top of their pain, because there is really no rest to be had. That is when I pace. I pace like many ancient groups, tribes, and religious figures not so much in a pattern but with the same idea of focusing on the problem and using the movement to expel some of the bad energy. It becomes a trance. Without me even realizing sometimes the pain will disappear and I will sit and grab my books, or knitting, or in last night’s case…my canvas.
It had been a long time since I had created new art. Donnovan really has me too distracted most of the time to be able to focus on “art”. With the chance of sounding flaky, it truly is an action that requires “all of me” to be there.
Pain, means I’m not entirely in my moment either. I kept focusing on different thoughts, and the true existence and possibility of empting my brain of all of the static. It can be done; it had been done in the past. I’m so out of practice with my meditations-it would be presumptuous for me to think that suddenly I was going to go “there” last night.
Battling the effort, I began with my book. A book that I have read but is the kind that you tend to read over again and again, like a bible. Each word read was repeated in my head for at least 2 minutes each. In between comprehending the sentences, I told myself, “The pain is not there, the pain is not there”. Convincing myself wasn’t working. I began with crying fits.
Calming after a few outbursts, I grabbed my canvas board. What does this pain look like? If it is there- and I truly believe it’s a force that is very difficult to ignore so obviously it is-then it must have an appearance. It’s frightful, but not a face you haven’t seen before. There are people who know this face, and those who thought they did but haven’t (quite luckily) had to stare the beast in the eyes. You must hold your nerve. Do not let down your guard. Tears may stream your face but your strength of will is deeper than the body’s physical reaction.
I drew, and stopped, drew and stopped. Sometimes feeling quite confused by what was being created. I knew where I was again but it was like finding an extra hallway in a house you are very familiar with.
At 12:30 am I finished. Utterly exhausted, but slightly relieved of the pain I stared down at the canvas and wasn’t sure what just happened. Where ever I went last night I do not want to return to but I felt obligated to show the true meaning of my pain.

No comments:

Post a Comment