I have posted about The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran before. I've been thinking alot the last couple of weeks about Pain. Pain shapes us just as much as love, joy and honor; sometimes it shapes us more. A few weeks ago I spoke of some great personal pain to my dear close ones two days in a row. It was a bit emotionally taxing on me and I opted to keep that pain out in the forefront of my mind so that I might deal with it a little better and help to put it to rest, rather than to stuff it back in the trunk, only to be taken out and examined when I deemed necessary. I'm happy to say that I feel it dissipating, slowly yet strongly.

Whether pain has been an elusive friend or a constant companion to you, I think what Gibran says about Pain in The Prophet is very wise. I've copied it here:

And a woman spoke, saying, "Tell us of Pain."

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy in silence and tranquillity:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has moistened with His own sacred tears.

She offers up her flesh into which his teeth sink
and she feel the blood course through her body.
With each bite she feels more alive than she did before,
his essence seeping into her bones.

The heat of the pain seeks out those dark recesses of her mind where the misery lies in wait.
Lies waiting to be wrapped around the adrenaline created by this experience,
leaving her as the numbness sweeps over her body
Taking with it the malaise that eternally afflicts her.

He holds back so he doesn't hurt his love,
not realizing that the shock of it releases her from the wretchedness of a long tortured soul.
She will feel the marks longer than they actually last,
reaching out her delicate hand to touch the soft wounds
. . . And she will know that she's alive, finally alive.