It's really long. Sorry.
The Pain of Inspiration's Joy by me
What is it about pain?
That it seems necessary for
the realization of true expression.
Is it just the epitome of the saying:
“All good things come with a price”?
With pain, or suffering, the price
and beautiful words and moving pieces the things?
Is it that pain is the key
to a door deep within our beings;
a door, which behind, is that very
essence of human nature which we all have,
the essence, which, for a price we can glimpse?
Or is it that pain is really just a mode of self-deception?
We feel great feelings
that are inexplicable through words.
That pain unleashes
unusually poignant thoughts,
then words.
Because especially deep pain
is really just too great,
so the mind, in an attempt to conceive
of the enormity of it,
pours out its expression
in phrases more beautiful than
what is otherwise impossible?
Is it out of self-recognized necessity,
that it unlocks a myriad
plethora of ideas that, connected,
merely drip with emotion and feeling.
Pointing such a vivid portrait
that we can feel almost the
exact same feelings as the
time when the feelings were transcribed.
So its exquisiteness can be replicated.
As, being human beings,
we tend to forget the bounty
we all have available to us.
So, in vivid and deep records,
in times of ungratefulness,
we can look back, and read.
Thus, remembering that which
has come before that we have conquered.
To remember that life is good.
To help remind each of us,
that, while remembering the pain,
that we do not want others to feel what we have felt.
As no one deserves any pain.
That our objective,
first and foremost,
is to help others.
That the human race and
those whom we love and
care for and those unknown multitude.
That pain is really
just an obstacle.
One that can be
overcome, conquered.
In the recognition itself,
its true fragility is revealed.
That pain is inevitable.
But that pain is also
simple, easy to understand.
Pain comes, yes, but only
in one form.
Like beauty, coming
in the forms of love,
nature, kindness,
physical beauty, wonderful thought,
simplicity and yet complexity,
the exquisiteness of the senses,
or in the marvel of a world
that we live in, yet, do not understand.
Like beauty, happiness comes in many different forms.
The magic is when it is found and recognized.
It is always present.
It shares many of the forms that beauty does,
it even is a type of beauty
in and of itself.
So what is pain,
in comparison to its foes:
happiness and love?
Very little.
The way we look at life,
matters much. Yet is still malleable.
We even have easily two eyes to view through.
Not to mention the eyes of the collective society,
these artists of pen, brush, or bow
who really speak to us.
Also through the eyes
of those whose hearts are tied to our own.
We have merely to change our perspective.
To look with both eyes.
Looking,
looking, looking,
but never quite grasping
that little candle flame
right in front of us.
The happiness and love
that illuminates and warms our world
eludes all of us.
The pain releases our expression
and imagination.
Yet we do not have to
use that key to open that
door to view our shared being.
The staircase with an open archway at the top
begs, beseeches, and yearns for us to climb it.
Looking through at the greater chamber
of not only who and what we are.
But on to who and what we choose to be.
This expression, when experience is not
really replicated, as it is truly incomprehensible.
Not understandable on any level.
