My Pain

My pain is not political. It isn’t hypothetical. It comes from a place deep down in the soul. A soul that I don’t even believe in. See. My pain is self righteous. It tells me to be afraid and to survive and to limit risk with every action that I make. My pain is tyrannical. It controls my every thought, and when I fight against it I am lost. My pain isn’t like a firefly. It doesn’t burn out after a white hot flare in the night. My pain isn’t like a satellite, orbiting the earth in vacuum. See. My pain is shared among the rest of you. My pain is one of want and greed and poorly given salvation. My pain isn’t a shooting start that has burst in our atmosphere. My pain lives in this atmosphere and when I say that I mean my body. My pain isn’t like a supernova. Nor is it like a black whole, and this just might be the worst of it because I can see the light in front of me and my thoughts can’t escape the pain that I feel today and that means there is hope. My pain is hopeless, but it likes to tease me all the same. My pain is the vision I have of blocking away my biology, my humanity, and becoming something more conscious than my neighbor and the rest that line the streets. My pain is the coffee I drink in the morning, and the teeth I brush at night. My pain the solar winds–the deadly radioactivity that obliterates life if not for an atmosphere born by chance, just like my body, my sad ecosystem of humanity. See. My pain is my whole life. Waiting. Pain is waiting and this long day, this never-setting sun, this is our unfortunate condition. And my pain isn’t unique. It’s shared with you, this long dark. It’s shared with each person I meet and I scan their eyes and look for the consciousness they may have of the pain. But in this, perhaps, I am alone.

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