Recognition of the pain body
An old man from Yorkshire today shared his travelling stories.
He told me how his wife and he followed the story of Custer's life across the country, my country that is.
He would go quiet and then brighten up with another memory of the "Red Indians" long black hair and then how Custer's wife outlived him by many years but never remarried or had children and was buried next to him in 1935.
He quietly slipped in, in very few words, how his wife was killed in Australia in a car accident.
He told me his world was over then and he quit working. 7 years ago.
But there he was, working again.
And do you know? I thought of you. I thought about how I used to ask would you rather we separated or that I die. And I remember you always answering you'd rather I was dead than to know I was alive but not yours. That answer so perplexed me that I asked again and again.
But we were just kids then. What did we know about death and separation?
But more, I thought about my answer to that question. That of course I would always have you alive. And to explain, I told you that hope was eternal. And as long as you were alive, there was a chance to see you, to know you and that that was much preferable to the ultimate separation of death.
And then I thought of you, wherever you are, breathing air near someone else's lungs.
This may well cut me for years, I may bleed forever.
If this is the truth, then I will just have to become strong enough to carry such a wound and still run as far and fast as I must.
What else is true?
We all run with wounds.
The hairstylist's mother might be dying. The woman in down dog next to me may have just lost a spouse. My co-worker could face insurmountable odds to love.
The man on the train gets ostracised by everyone who sees him every day.
My mother may be watching her sister die.
Not only does this enliven compassion, it can spark a sense of oneness with all the creatures, even humans, that I encounter.
We try to stop the bleeding for some, we also inflict cuts.
I just hadn't experienced the sort of suffering necessary to understand the reason why anyone would strive to end the cycle of rebirth.
I have finally joined the rest of humanity. Unwillingly.
It could be time to tattoo the full moon onto my neck. I have given birth to myself as a grown woman.
No wonder I put it off so long. Fuck.
He told me how his wife and he followed the story of Custer's life across the country, my country that is.
He would go quiet and then brighten up with another memory of the "Red Indians" long black hair and then how Custer's wife outlived him by many years but never remarried or had children and was buried next to him in 1935.
He quietly slipped in, in very few words, how his wife was killed in Australia in a car accident.
He told me his world was over then and he quit working. 7 years ago.
But there he was, working again.
And do you know? I thought of you. I thought about how I used to ask would you rather we separated or that I die. And I remember you always answering you'd rather I was dead than to know I was alive but not yours. That answer so perplexed me that I asked again and again.
But we were just kids then. What did we know about death and separation?
But more, I thought about my answer to that question. That of course I would always have you alive. And to explain, I told you that hope was eternal. And as long as you were alive, there was a chance to see you, to know you and that that was much preferable to the ultimate separation of death.
And then I thought of you, wherever you are, breathing air near someone else's lungs.
This may well cut me for years, I may bleed forever.
If this is the truth, then I will just have to become strong enough to carry such a wound and still run as far and fast as I must.
What else is true?
We all run with wounds.
The hairstylist's mother might be dying. The woman in down dog next to me may have just lost a spouse. My co-worker could face insurmountable odds to love.
The man on the train gets ostracised by everyone who sees him every day.
My mother may be watching her sister die.
Not only does this enliven compassion, it can spark a sense of oneness with all the creatures, even humans, that I encounter.
We try to stop the bleeding for some, we also inflict cuts.
I just hadn't experienced the sort of suffering necessary to understand the reason why anyone would strive to end the cycle of rebirth.
I have finally joined the rest of humanity. Unwillingly.
It could be time to tattoo the full moon onto my neck. I have given birth to myself as a grown woman.
No wonder I put it off so long. Fuck.
posted by hymenoptera's honey at 2:10 AM
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