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Pain (A Retrospective Aid)

Posted: Sat Jul 29, 2017 8:06 pm
by ShadowOfLight
**There are a number of difficult times being handled by members as of late. It is for them that this is written.**

Pain. Have heard a many mentions of that this last two weeks. Particularly, its retrospect is why I’ve posted as I have. But, pain is just a word. If it must be something, make it surmountable.

I’ve had my dealings with it. Many times, it has taken me to the brink. But, here’s the @#$% on ‘pain.’ It’s a farce.

Loss is real. Regret, love, hearthache, yeah, they count, but they lack the teeth we supply.

Before my dealings with the shaman, I did some work with past lives. Mostly what I know of them is my deaths. Eventually I may share them again. For today, let’s settle on one . . .

Again: WARNING: GRAPHIC ACCOUNT COMING, TURN AWAY YOUR SMALL CHILDREN!!!!

Was a native life here in the Americas—before they were so labeled. I was atop a cliff. For a snack, I plucked a few nuts from a bush low to the ground. Out, over the cliff side, I did not hear the sounds I was so accustomed to hearing. I, also, did not smell food cooking, as it was near that time of day. Instead, I saw a ship on the waters below.

A Cousin is with me, along with another (friend or brother is unclear). We look. We know something is different. We decide to go down. Maybe the tribe has met them?? Whatever our thoughts, I next know we are down. We are crouched in the bushes—careful not to be seen.

Our people are running. There is screaming. Men with swords are . . . doing what they do (just because I put the warning, does not mean I describe everything.)

Across the path/clearing, we are crouched where things narrow, I see my mother (about 8m pregnant) and 3-6yo sister. Sister is crying. Soldier (for lack of a better word at the moment. And will not describe them further—history got some things wrong) has my mother by the arm, trying to force her into our home (short mud sides, soft top, no total view to say whether teepee or hut—feels hut). Mother is fighting not to go. Father arrives, intending to fight the man off. Father is run through, not match for steel. Mother strikes at the intruding man; killed as well. My sister continues to cry. He cannot make her stop—without the use of his sword once more.

I jump to clear the distance, but cousin and brother/friend keep me under cover. They say it is not safe. I tear them off and charge anyway. I want BLOOD—ALL, every drop, of theirs!!!!!

THEY WILL BE STOPPED!

Instead, my trade of the bushes gets me hands on my shoulders; hard earth under my knees. Two armored men grabbed me the instant I stood to run. One per arm, I struggle, their grip tightens. That is how this is going to go.

Soon, there is an ornate cross being shoved into my face. “Repent!” begins the BS that follows. Forced to watch my family murdered, my own rightful options for actions taken away, I spit on that cross. For what they caused, I was made the aggressor?

I rebel against sword blood spattered blasphemy! (in any god's name)

Struggling turns to the soldier on my left side letting go. He then strikes me with something armored—something metal. When I open my eyes, it is down slowly, painfully, and with double sluggish adjustment to the things around me.

Slowly, I see bars, and the passing of things, trees, ground, legs walking. I felt, somewhat, the rock, gritty travel of being on a cart. Before the severity of this dawns on me, my guide impresses upon me the Cliff Notes: I was beaten—brutally, by many, and more than one time. I am paralyzed. They chose me to make an example of.

Next, I see some of my people, fingers hugging that bars that only the gaze of eye losing hope could pass. I cannot express, adequately, the desire I have to help my people (then or now still) out of that. The weight of the world is far smaller. (this is the condensed state of love)

We all bear bruises. We all wear our own blood—and a due measure of theirs! We all felt the loss of a life not needing to be taken from us (via person or way of living our own). Why . . .

There is never an acceptable answer, just ego, pride, and an excuse. (this is where I leave their issues I do not wish to carry in my life)

One woman, in particular, eyes me then the lock on my cage. I realize that I am the only one in my cage. The others are packed into theirs so tight parts of them must stick out. The lock she is eyeing, I see, with solid captivation, is banging in the sway of the cart. It is hanging open! And the keys are close. I can see them! I reach for them. I lunge for the freedom my caged people are owed! I get nowhere. I feel only one index finger and my head and neck. I moan, gurgle; I FIGHT, but I fail.

At this point, before the soldiers’ yelling brings more abuse, my guide closes the view of that old life. He tells me, assures me, that I do not live to see the morning—for what they do. He says my people are sold . . . off a different sea.

I live with knowing I failed my tribe, my mother, my brother(s); my father. That feeling, it never goes away (not that it is always in your mind). It took me two weeks before I began to cry. Not bawl. Not sob. Just tears—as silent as theirs.

The turmoil caused by knowing can be worse than not. But, it can also be a godsend—once you know what to do with it.

This is the single memory that I have which can share a wealth of pain which can never be put into words.

And explain how it can be good. Yup, coming with my contradiction. Have you read my screenname?

In my work with spirit, I’ve had this, and other memories like it, used against me, as if only I could break myself. When entities wish to win, they do not want you to see it quite this way.

In one instance of this, felt the afflicted tiring. Could feel us about to lose the living to the unlived. Priest in full swing (was a multi-faith group), I called the SOB into me to spare the tired. (I knew how to beat it—or this would have been suicide)

Yes, I have felt pain—I’ve survived the causes of. But, in the words of Admiral James Tiberius Kirk, “I need my pain!” And that is true. I need the experiences which have triggered such feeling. They were my lessons. But they were not the rule (as we own our own truth in that).

[Spoiler (in case you’re tiring of this retrospect): if it does not serve you, it is not worth keeping. And the universe will never visit things upon you (or reupon you) if not for it containing a lesson worth keeping—and it is always something good. The universe is light; the world others shape is not and that is usually what attacks our lessons as they travel. The world could be outside people, things, or even us.]

Pain’s teeth, we supply. We aim it where we can feel it most. Otherwise, it is just a word, a tangible—erasable—four letters.

That being played that one hard. It favored the wound caused by that one memory. He missed what made me love that memory.

That life was pure. We all belonged as one people. That is what a tribe is. One, many; family. Each has journey, but we all herald support and love together. No in-fighting. No hurting. No two-faces. We simply are one people.

As I lay in that cage, feeling their hope on me and unable to fulfill them—as I always would have if they needed, as we all bore the scars of the loss and injustice put upon us, I still felt the oneness—the solidarity in love and spirit under Creator. We were in that together and would always remain that—until the last one man or woman was gone.

I’ve faced the pain I own, at moments such as a possession, it is ignited all at once. I have been brought to my knees, even to my face (being ground in the floor. Dust under stuff, please.), or been twisted until I nearly relent to the scars I have lived through. That I have lived to earn. Key term: live, because even hell has a light.

In that moment, sometimes you hear the yelling. Sometimes you do not. The yelling of my group, crying with all their might and faith to pull me back (have also battled this solo—not recommended) from consent.

Faith is good, but it will not make you fight. It will, however, highlight all that is worth fighting for. It does not take courage to be brave. It takes will.

Will you, or won’t you? It’s all still a choice.

But, if you focus on the good, your teeth fall out of pain.

Pain is just a word, a tangible, four-letter, erasable word. If circumstances did not break you before, they will not again. You have already lived.


Where there is desire, there is bound to be a flame’
Where there is gonna be a flame, someone is bound to get burned;
But just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die;
You gotta get up and try, and try, and try;
Pink~Try



Strength . . .
And hope . . .
This kind of life, in this field, is not always easy.

But, it is always worth it.


- Shadow

Re: Pain (A Retrospective Aid)

Posted: Sun Jul 30, 2017 2:36 am
by Samanthaj
Pain is just a word, a tangible, four-letter, erasable word. If circumstances did not break you before, they will not again. You have already lived.
:thinktank: :thinktank: Thank you Shadow for sharing this with us. You are an inspiration.

Grateful,

Samj