Blue winter light, February 2009
I've come to see all forms of suffering as an opportunity to find peace and joy. Suffering is never permanent and the cause is always me and my thoughts. I've heard that some people with chronic pain are able to find peace despite their immense dis-ease. I've also heard that this can be true for all of us.
Last night I was laying under my double duvet (one is red and the other is yellow), waiting for sleep. I heard the train lumbering through town, clanging its bell like a fishing boat returning to port. The neighbors dog was shouting "let me in, let me in." The distant freeway: dissolving brown noise. And the scent of humid spring drifted in the newly opened window.
I did not think, "this is now--Ah ha!"
But it was.
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7 comments:
LOVE the new header . . .
The photograph and the words... beautiful, in a way that makes me say mmmmmm.
To echo Chris's comment: I said to myself: ahhhhh...
Curious — I've been struggling with a three-day headache and thinking about Nietzsche vs buddha and how they might be reconciled (enough to give anyone a headache — Nietzsche, at least) and here I find this gem of a post, so beautifully written and I realise my headache's gone at last... I believe what you say about some people with chronic pain being able to find peace is true, but having just been through even a mere three days of it, I'm impressed with their ability. I find it immensely distracting. Still, it's something to aspire to.
That blue... I realise it's so characteristic of your recent photos (even its absence in "Recreation" seems somehow to emphasise it). And those footprints... time for me to follow them outside. Into the blue.
I love trains. And I love the blue.
I think you're absolutely on the money when you say suffering comes "from me and my thoughts". I would say that nearly all my own suffering is mental or emotional in nature. I've had a chronic running injury for 4 years now and it hurts every moment, but it's not suffering as such, it does not cause anguish of heart (OK, annoyance sometimes, but definitely not anguish of heart).
Brian: Thanks.
Chris & Emma: oooooh
Pete: This was a headache week for me too. No Nietzsche though (that's Brian's department). Mine resolved with a dream about owls and cattle. I feel like I'm starting to understand the language of my heart.
Steve: funny how the train bell made me think of a small seaside town.
Argent: there must be a book out there about chronic pain. You make me want to learn more.
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