And if you’re very, very lucky, there are a very few blazing hot little pains you feel when you realized that you are standing in a moment of utter perfection, an instant of triumph, or happiness, or mirth which at the same time cannot possibly last – and yet will remain with you for life.
Everyone is down on pain, because they forget something important about it: Pain is for the living. Only the dead don’t feel it.
Pain is a part of life. Sometimes it’s a big part, and sometimes it isn’t, but either way, it’s a part of the big puzzle, the deep music, the great game. Pain does two things: It teaches you, tells you that you’re alive. Then it passes away and leaves you changed. It leaves you wiser, sometimes. Sometimes it leaves you stronger. Either way, pain leaves its mark, and everything important that will ever happen to you in life is going to involve it in one degree or another.”
― Jim Butcher
“Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.
“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone, “so I can’t take more.”
“You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter: “it’s very easy to take more than nothing.”
“Nobody asked your opinion,” said Alice.”
― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland
“Let everyone sweep the snow from his own door, and not busy himself with the frost on his neighbour’s tiles.”
“I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed! Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings
“Nothing is so strong as gentleness. Nothing is so gentle as real strength.” – Frances de Sales
“The more pain I train myself to stand, the more I learn. You are afraid of pain now, Unk, but you won’t learn anything if you don’t invite the pain. And the more you learn, the gladder you will be to stand the pain.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan
MY APHRODISIAC IS A POET
Climb inside, comfort me
with lush imaginings as I
walk the tightrope of your lines.
I caress the lips of your knowing.
Read to me poet, soothe my imaginings,
massage my longing with thoughts
that cling to every pore.
I shiver at your rhyme;
it is dark outside, poet,
fill me with light and laughter
so the moon grows full and stars
caress the nippled dawn.
Poet, lust after me
with your singing verse:
wash the sharp word edges,
drown me in the flesh of your verse.
“Love is a possible strength in an actual weakness.”
― Thomas Hardy, Far from the Madding Crowd
Fragile as the truth
it hangs on a crocheted hook
covered in white blossom,
a gossamer memory.
All that time,
season to season
green embroidered petals
now pale and frayed,
danced on cream silk,
styled with tucks for secrets.
So slim, two large hands
could fit around the waist.
Kisses flutter moth-like
from the neck-line
once softly curved
over quivering breasts.
A million silken threads
to create a dream.
Touch it gently
or it will unravel
in your hands.
From Blue: Friendly Street No. 27
Mithridatum of Despair
We know no mithridatum of despair
as drunks, the angry penguins of the night,
straddling the cobbles of the square,
tying a shoelace by fogged lamplight.
We know no astringent pain,
no flecking of thought’s dull eternal sea
in garret image, of Spain
and love…now love’s parody.
See – chaos spark, struck from flint
and the plunging distemper, flare in the dawn’s dull seep
of milkcart horse, morning horse
chaos horse, walking at three to the doors of sleep
with the creamy poison.
from nine to five,
all life immure.
and still alive.
we know no mithridatum, nor the remembered dregs of fear,
the glass stands dry and silted; no end is near.
foto – bucklands boat hire in mallacoota in victoria aust
In 1982, one of MG99 group leader Stephen Nguyen’s sisters, a Catholic nun, was lost at sea while fleeing Vietnam. He wrote this haunting poem in her honour.
Painful are the memories of those who perished out at sea,
Desperate for a better fate,
In search of freedom where the sea await,
As darkness hides the tiny boat
full of people filled with hope.
It seems to be such an endless night,
With freedom nowhere in sight.
Please Call Me by My True Names
Don’t say that I will depart tomorrow –even today I am still arriving.Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch,to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,learning to sing in my new nest,to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,to fear and to hope.The rhythm of my heart is the birth and deathof all that is alive.I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river.And I am the birdthat swoops down to swallow the mayfly.I am the frog swimming happily in the clear water of a pond.And I am the grass-snakethat silently feeds itself on the frog.I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.And I am the arms merchant,selling deadly weapons to Uganda.I am the twelve-year-old girl,refugee on a small boat,who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate.And I am the pirate,my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.I am a member of the politburo,with plenty of power in my hands.And I am the man who has to pay his “debt of blood” to my people dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.My joy is like Spring, so warmit makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.My pain is like a river of tears,so vast it fills the four oceans.Please call me by my true names,so I can hear all my cries and my laughter at once,so I can see that my joy and pain are one.Please call me by my true names,so I can wake up,and so the door of my heart can be left open,the door of compassion.
foto 3 cats in raleigh nsw australia
Karl Cameron-Jackson and Mike Hopkins | 05 March 2012
The feral cat
Fresh blood dripping from your snarling mouth
your shoulders bunched, spine high-arched
you glared angrily at me as I drove past in my car.
Icon of primeval hunter, you crouched by the roadside
teeth burgeoning in crushing, crunching jaws
tearing flesh from a fresh-killed victim with razor claws.
Boldness imaged your new freedom
in an expanding heart that lusted
solely to hunt … stalk … kill prey.
You are growing wiser
stronger … faster … wilder.
The Poet Of Ignorance
Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
I do not know.
Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,
I do not know.
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know.
Perhaps I am no one.
True, I have a body
and I cannot escape from it.
I would like to fly out of my head,
but that is out of the question.
It is written on the tablet of destiny
that I am stuck here in this human form.
That being the case
I would like to call attention to my problem.
There is an animal inside me,
clutiching fast to my heart,
a huge carb.
The doctors of Boston
have thrown up their hands.
They have tried scalpels,
needles, poison gasses and the like.
The crab remains.
It is a great weight.
I try to forget it, go about my business,
cook the broccoli, open the shut books,
brush my teeth and tie my shoes.
I have tried prayer
but as I pray the crab grips harder
and the pain enlarges.
I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?
There are forty kinds of lunacy, but only one kind of common sense.
“Even though you may want to move forward in your life, you may have one foot on the brakes. In order to be free, we must learn how to let go. Release the hurt. Release the fear. Refuse to entertain your old pain. The energy it takes to hang onto the past is holding you back from a new life. What is it you would let go of today?”
― Mary Manin Morrissey
― Zadie Smith, On Be
A shot to kill the pain. A pill to drain the shame. A purge to end the gain. A cut to break the vein. A smoke to ease the crave. A drink to win the game. An addiction is an addiction because it all hurts the same.
~ Apache Prayer
“Contrary to what a lot of people believe (or hope), comfort doesn’t take the pain away. Comfort slides in beside the pain, pulling up a chair so that we have something more than sorrow in our hearts. Comfort gently expands our spirits so that we can breathe again. Comfort opens our eyes so that we can see possibility again.
And on those days, whether it is the next day or five years removed, on that day when grief rears its dark head again, comfort helps us remember that pain is not all there is”
― Peggy Haymes, Strugglers, Stragglers and Seekers: daily devotions for the rest of us
“He realised at once that a mistake had been made: he had been sent the wrong hangover. Somewhere in northern Rhodesia there was a bull elephant who had got drunk on fermented marula fruit, rampaged through a nearby village, and fallen asleep in a ditch, and was now pleasantly surprised to find itself greeting the day with only the mild headache that follows a couple of bottles of good red wine… Perhaps if he got in touch with the relevant authorities he could get this unfortunate little mix-up corrected, but he would have to do so without moving his head or opening his eyes. Otherwise he would die from the pain.”
― Ned Beauman, The Teleportation Accident
“Balance. It was all about balance. That had been one of the first things that she had learned: the centre of the seesaw has neither up nor down, but upness and downness flow through it while it remains unmoved. You had to be the centre of the seesaw so the pain flowed through you, not into you. It was very hard. But she could do it!”
― Terry Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
― Santosh Kalwar, Quote Me Everyday
The bigger the head the bigger the headaches
Umberto Eco, The Island of the Day Before
“People want you to be happy.
Don’t keep serving them your pain!
If you could untie your wings
and free your soul of jealousy,
you and everyone around you
would fly up like doves.”