February 02, 2004ephialtes [tic douloureux]let me tell you the story about a boy I knew once.
when he was young.... too young... he discovered the mystery of a whisper. it was a strange voice. it confused him, this secretive voice that mumbled hideous temptations with dead lips against his ear. it spoke of seditious promises. it offered the means of a pathway leading towards some distant light which existed beyond the horizon of this endless dark tunnel he was trapped in. it gave him a reason to endure.
and he did. for years beyond any reasonable capacity.
clinging to this near invisable lifeline because in this everlasting midnight sea it glimmered with an oblique ray of exalted sunshine. the nights were black as pitch yet every so often he could catch a glance of the line shimmering above the tar. a promise morning [..... mourning......] would come. [.... a chance to grieve, yes? grief comes when the tragedy is over.....] blinding absolution which would burn away the nightmare's dagger claws locked by barbed hooks beneath his flesh. heal his wounds. [...we can sooth our greivances, wipe away the blood and tears....] find himself again.
within those sanskrit murmurs came the ability to understand a mechanism of defense which blasted away the unsettling barrage. a secret weapon. blitzkrieg against torture. shock troops sent behind enemy lines.
beyond the pain, there was hope.
within the pain, there was salve.
using the pain, there was a key.emotional agony is the hardest to comprehend. self preservation promotes the instigation of avoidance tactics. denial or sheer ignorance of the problem gives one the ability to carry on without focusing on the instrument of destruction at hand. ignore it, and it will go away. what you do not know can and will not hurt you. the vestibule of playing ostrich to your own feelings because they are too frightening to face. easier to more foreward without having to become cognizant of the deepest wounds which take more than time to heal. sometimes, they are infinitely unsoothable.
physical manifestations of inner pains are easier to cope with.
a blade against flesh. it produces concrete feeling, touch, reaction, scent, visual and audial feedback. it leaves a wound which, over time, heals in a deliberate and predictable manner. blood washes clean. raw lacerations close. scabs shrivel and peel away. the scars left behind are not always true to the discerning eye, but the mind remembers it was there. memory remains to tell the story of victory - translation of the heart's illusory abstract into the body's defined process. things which prey on the soul are drawn to [..... on ....] the surface for flesh to shed in the form of a million cells never known nor named.
years ago i helped him remember how to cry. i found the time the wounds needed to heal. i held his fear at bay. i showed him how to mend his soul. i taught him how to smile and release himself from his pain.
yesterday he found me again.
Posted by Wolf at February 02, 2004 03:47 AM
ruined my favorite shirt with bloody tears.
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