the pain of being human

The other night, I wept on the floor over no particular drama or heartbreak, but over the pain of the world.

I know. If that isn’t the most blowhard “I’m an ahhtist” thing you could possibly say…

I don’t want to say it nonchalantly like it’s a normal thing. But I won’t lie. This kinda thing ain’t totally unheard of round my place.

It’s not a cry for help. I’m doin’ just fine, thank you though. This isn’t a “hey, look how sensitive i am.” (Well, maybe yes, a bit, because I want you to realize you are too.) But really, why document? Why record and save publicly.

I dunno. Because it happened. And it was really lovely and wrenching.

Because I know you break down in the middle of the night as well.

We seem most honest and vulnerable at night, don’t we? It’s almost as though facades break down in 24-hour cycles. That’s their shelf life. So by 11 p.m., we’re gettin pretty honest. (Or we’ve just had a glass of wine or two.)

So much of our life experience is not tangible. Who we really are is an ether. And a fissure in your composure, I like to think, lets your truth show. Making something visible out of your most visceral, invisible characteristics feels like an acknowledgment of existence. The ego wants to know it takes up some space in the ecosystem.

Also, I figure if it turns out I can “turn into an echo in my mind” because I have some weird brain tumor or something, this info could help the doctors.

But I’ll tell you what. This wasn’t capitulating breakdown; it was absolution and release. Do you ever get this? Where you just feel everything so damn hard? Yeah. You’ve been there: There’s too much to carry and it collapses you. You’re absolutely forced to let go. I think people get drunk, or high, or have sex, or work too much, or watch tv or whatever to try keep it at bay. But, man, could you imagine if we all just let ourselves feel? Well. Maybe that wouldn’t work. Everybody would be sobbing on the floor like this, getting snot bubbles on everything. Bad idea.

But we could get there, if we learned how to be in it, observe it, and release it. I wanted to watch myself go through this, I realized as it was surfacing. To capture the imagery data of a test human. I wanted to record this as you’d record a time lapse of a flower opening.

I wanted to remember this very potent feeling: That of being a conduit, a charge being sent through. Energy that brings you down to your knees. I sound sadistic, but I wanted to look at myself in pain, because those have been the times I’ve felt most defenselessly, profoundly alive. And the body in pain is strangely beautiful. So an overwhelming pain of unassigned origin is even more interesting in its effects.

It felt like, birthing pains …as I imagine them. (I’ve never had a kid.) It was this shrieking, beautiful, bittersweet, rolling pain.

The thunderous pain of creation. The ebullient pain of love.

The pain of being human.

You’re crumpled on the ground asking God and the Universe why they would put so much in you. Why send it through you. What’s the point?

“I dunno.” said God and the Universe. As they watched the silent sobbing.

I think they’re just messing with us. They know full well why.

Because we’re all going to lose everything, so the having is unbelievably precious. Because we all suffer, so the ease given to others is food to the starving. Because I was listening to music so beautiful* that it hurt. And in my mind, I became an echo. And I bounced through canyon walls, and I tripped the light fantastic ‘cross the world. I woke up next to every child opening eyes in the dim light in fear or joy, and sweetly touched each forehead. I saw you sitting by your dying friend. I watched a city decay, the love put into it falling apart. I saw a whole culture decay. I witnessed death in nature with God eyes. I understood. I was there at the birth of the world. I was there at your birth. I was rain. I was light.

As human I can’t understand why. Why make us feel this and try to share it with each other. Why give us death. Why give us life.

But as the rain, I just know. I know we’re the ocean. We’re the sky. We are beauty. We are love.

So there is nothing to try to achieve. We are the achievement.

It’s difficult to let ourselves feel this strongly or intuitively because it seems pointless and out of control. It’s difficult to reconcile being human with being more than human. No one will let you off when you say “Well I’m not going to pay these bills, because I am the rain.” (It’s worth a shot though, and let me know what they say.) Once you realize you’re made of fire and love and joy, it’s super annoying to have to go to the grocery store and think about what you’re going to take to work for lunch this week.

I don’t know what we do with that. But I do know, if you’re breaking open in the night, let it come.

You’ll feel your heart and you’ll feel your pain. And that means something in your life matters. Something in your life is love.

Allow the crippling pain, the hollow wails, the embarrassment, the wonderment, the hope that rises midway, the joy that comes through at the end of release.

Those tears are salty only because you are rain. You are ocean. You are sky. And the whole world knows your pain of being human.

There is a point at which you are laughing at yourself. And then you have nothing left to lose, so you succumb to peace.

Feel gratitude for the pain. Be immensely thankful for bearing such sensitivity. Be astonished by the unlikely miracle of your human placement.

The hope and joy that follow are the plea for the strength to be able to let go again.

Again and again, until letting go becomes a way of living.

In the end, I collected great data. I practiced a human cycle while in self observance. These instances can be most beneficial when we don’t brush them aside. So let’s attempt to not do so. Not when there is so much hope to be gained.

I work from photos of myself sometimes. Because I need figure models and I don’t have them. Because this way I know exactly the torque and the feeling of where the flesh is. And because I like working alone with no judgement. (Perceived though it may be.)

I didn’t have a preconceived thought to do drawings from this experience. But the imagery and the feel delivered me a new line quality.

How can you turn away from that?

From pain comes new beauty.

Full disclosure: Not on drugs. NOT on my period. OKAY? gawd.

*”Mountain Call” by Balanescu Quartet.** And turn it up loud. You’ll become an echo too. Totally full of peace, and joyfully bouncing off of canyon walls.

**In fact, listen to their entire album Maria T. It’s a spectacularly lovely tribute to Maria Tanase‘s music.