An observation of her pain

Have you ever touched a point of pain in the world - pain so sharp, so brittle that it keeps cutting at you long after you’ve moved away from it, having somehow “burned” you with its icy intensity?

These points of pain inevitably stem from people who have been deeply hurt in their lives. Yet often they don’t acknowledge their pain and instead focus on their ego, their self, as a means of running from the pain, while their pain, in a machine gun spatter, is sprayed outward, often injuring others.

I recently met someone who was filled with pain.

I knew from the start that something was wrong when, on being introduced to me, she immediately dismissed me – by repeating everyone else’s name as she was introduced to them and taking one look at me and looking away with no mention of my name. There was something about my energy that “frightened” her. I didn’t see it as an offensive gesture or as being about me, but as the first sign of something not quite right.

As the morning progressed I listened as this woman “held court”, telling us about herself and her work. Words sprang from her mouth as though from a boiling geyser under immense pressure. She had a story to tell and, by god, we would listen!

“My work is an exploration of the free sex, sex for sale, prostitution that’s delivered to our doors each day via the newspaper. And I thought it was illegal here yet there it is, these ads in the entertainment column. “Hot young thing available, with extras. Your place or mine.” My art is my response to them. I snigger, jibe, cringe. Of course, it explores my own sexuality too, particularly given I’ve passed my own sell by date.”

Does a woman ever pass her sell by date, I wondered. A woman is so very much more than just her sexuality. And yet even as she ages, sexuality lives within a woman as part of her essence. Woman is woman is woman. How sad that this woman, who looked eternally young, was petite, attractive and vivacious, believed she was past it, no longer sexually attractive.

I listened as she dismissed or attempted to negate anything I offered to the conversation, constantly misunderstanding me in a way that was unconsciously deliberate. She had clearly taken an instant dislike to me, which was, of course, her prerogative, but which I also realised came from some place within herself that was screaming in rage and agony.

I pondered as she spoke about her creativity, her god-self and the denial of her ego. I mused as she trivialized those “modern gurus” who speak of their journeys towards healing or enlightenment through the experiences of their own pain. “They chose that pain,” she announced, “and won’t let go – I find it so draining.”

She spoke with all the right words of a person on a journey towards wholeness and enlightenment, she had the words of “spiritual speak” but there was a vast gap between her words and her reality. And it struck me too that her "spiritual speak" was very much stuck in the "vital" or physical plane.

I suppose looking at her superficially one might have seen a person who was full of herself, arrogant, opinionated – bloated with her own self importance. But those “traits” struck me as symptoms of something else.

Reaching out to touch her energy was like encountering shards of multicoloured glass – the colours invited you to touch, but the touch cut deeply. Peering beyond the surface it struck me that there was so much insecurity and so much fear - and within that fear, swimming furiously in the maelstrom, the most overwhelming pain, bundles of undealt with baggage. And she was running from it as hard and as fast as she could.

At the time I couldn’t put it all together – because part of her persona included sparkle, energy, excitement – and I like people and I like hearing their stories – and I prefer to see the best in them.

But it was later, when I sat in the peace of my home that I felt the dark sludge that had been left by the energetic encounter clawing at me. And the defining moment, the absolute recognition you might say, happened when I looked at her art on the web. In telling her own story one sees images of anger, sorrow, resentment, rage and degradation. The colours are vivid and garish, slashed and splashed across her canvas like dripping wounds. Each woman’s face depicts a hopelessness or an emptiness, or is hidden, while her womanhood is portrayed as a vivid gash.

But I owe her a debt of gratitude, because my own response to the encounter was to paint, something I’ve not done for a while, to cleanse away the pain that been projected at me. I entitled the piece Heart of Woman.

Heart of Woman

The pain we see

These eyes, they stare at me and haunt me...

I am constantly struck by the pain in the world – and how it permeates every aspect of humankind. And then I wonder at that word – human + kind – earthly beings amongst whom there is never really enough kindness… Whenever I drive down to the local mall, there are always people begging at the traffic lights. Usually they stand there with a piece of cardboard on which is scribbled, “No Job. 4 Kids to Feed. Please help. God Bless”. Often their faces are contorted by an excess of alcohol and meths. And their eyes…to look into their eyes is so see the numbness that has surpassed oceans and eons of pain and trauma. Once when I stopped a child came to my window – I usually avoid eye contact, there is just so much pain I can bear to look at – but this time I looked. In the eyes of a child the pain still shows – the anger, the fear, the terror are still revealed though you see from the edges how the numbness, the self-preservatory armor of anaesthesia, creeps in. So young and yet already subjected to so much abuse.

We are a strange species. We injure each other so much – and to what end? I live, as you know, in a society that has endured the most violent of injurious behaviour – and which still continues to perpetuate that violence and injury – but in different ways. But it is not just here, it is not just this point in time. Consider, as a case in point, what’s currently happening in Burma. Consider the actions of Vlad Ţepeş against Ottoman expansionism. Violence and pain seem, so tragically, an almost fundamental part of our natures. Who’d have thought to look at it like that, that it would be like that? Especially when we would so much prefer to focus on our noble and gentler natures.

But you see, here’s the thing that is constantly made obvious to me. Many of us carry – to a greater or lesser extent - some kind of pain and trauma. Inevitably it stems from our childhood. Inevitably it was linked to our parents’ or some other’s pain. It finds its roots in pain that has gone on to become accepted childrearing practice - what Alice Miller calls the poisonous pedagogy. It goes on to shape societies and systems of governance. Seldom if ever did we bring the pain upon ourselves – yet we almost always pass it on. So there it is and there we sit with it. What becomes pivotal is how we deal with our pain – if we deal with it - if we are able to deal with it. Either we handle it and heal ourselves from it – and it strikes me that those who do are in the minority – for it takes resources, support, love, courage and fortitude to mine the depths of that which injured us and move on. Or, we pass it on. We may do so by turning it inward or we may vent our spleen on those around us – whether we know them or not. We try to make our issues their issues, we fail to deal with the things that make us ache and instead, like hand grenades, we detonate outwards, spreading and scattering our pain and our fear - through one means or another. And isn’t this perhaps the root of our problems - our and society's failure or inability to take responsibility for personal traumas, issues, baggage - the stuff that we all carry to some extent or another? Of course some might say, “But I didn’t ask for this to happen to me, it’s not my fault, not my responsibility.” Actually, whether you “asked” for it or not, it’s yours and utlimately only you can take the responsiblity - with support and love and care - to deal with it. No one else can. We start with ourselves, with a single step. Perhaps that is indeed the challenge of being human – to acknowledge, call up and accept our pain - personal and collective, to deal with it and our needs and fears, to move beyond and so to stop the rot of the constant spreading of personal trauma and fear. I accept it is not always easy, that circumstances can work against us but perhaps it is a case of to each his/her own level of challenge. I don't know. All I do know is I wish we'd stop hurting others because we are hurt - it makes for far too much of a Catch-22 situation which goes on and on and on...

This is a huge, complex and multiple topic - which probably deserves an entire blog, not just one short blog post - and I accept that I'm brushing the surface and that, as always, there are many ways of looking at any one thing.

I'm not sure if the single image above qualifies for Phoctober over at Moon Topples or not - the general instructions are, well, general... but take a look and see what's happening anyway.

A Way...

Tempus Fugit © 2007 Absolute Vanilla


A Way

Reach out
touch
the infinite void
the unbeginning
nothingness
of
every beginning

Step back
fall
into no-space
no-time
the beginning
everythingness
of unbeginning
nothing

Nothing
the void
infinite
from which
we
spring
into everything
and
nothing

© 2007 Absolute Vanilla

In the last four years I've experienced three near death experiences (methinks the universe is trying to tell me something). During that time I've also read a fair amount about Taoism, which I've found deeply intriguing. The poem above, is based on both experiences. The painting, well, that just happened, as these things do, one fine day...