“What the hell?” Daniel stopped, glaring ahead. The road looked perfectly normal – for a dirt road – all the way to the curve in the mountain, so why should it be different beyond?
“From the size of that hand, maybe the Bigfoots live around the corner and don’t want trespassers.”
“You’re going to feed me that shit?”
Shrug. “Suit yourself.”
He watched Daniel stride confidently around the curve and disappear, followed closely by a terrified scream and then silence.
“I told him they didn’t like trespassers,” he commented as he turned away. A good cup of tea would be just perfect right now.
I have been thinking about the above statement for a few days now, sorting it out in my mind. Pain can become something more. A way to tell you are alive. A way to overcome adversity. The path to a new understanding in your life.
In the beginning, however, why else would there be pain except as an instinctive response to preserve life and limb? Feel pain. Bad. Run away. Or crawl away or whatever one is capable of doing at the time.
Pain? Shouldn’t climb that tree and fall out. Shouldn’t fall off of high rocks. Or let a snake bite you. Or a saber-tooth tiger. Or stand in the way of a woolly mammoth stampede. Not sure how fast Woolly Mammoths were able to run, but even at a plod, standing in front of them was not a good idea.
Then came tools. Sharpened flint. Arrowheads. Axes. Swords. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.
Pain itself was a different experience in the distant past. I’m not saying our distant ancestors didn’t feel emotional pain. I believe all living being feel both physical and mental/emotional pain, but when does pain turn into something more? Maybe the first moment one of our ancestors stood in front of that Woolly Mammoth charge and died, leaving behind other family members. Or maybe not until we evolved enough to understand many of the truths of the world and of death and life and all that come between.
I don’t like pain, but there are times I embrace it. Sometimes I embrace mental pain to counter physical pain or vise versa. And sometimes, I embrace a deeper mental pain to dull another mental pain wreaking havoc in my mind.
Pain is one of those constants in our lives which, as far as I am concerned, we will never fully understand.
Where does pain fit into your life?
Please feel free to answer these questions on your blog or in the responses. If you leave me a link to your post, I will re-post it on my blog. You can also feel free to forward these questions to anybody who might be interested. Thank you to those who have already shared their thoughts.
What is the most important thing on my desk at this moment?
The most important things on my desk at this moment are my notebooks. My Journal, my If-I-Lose-This-Notebook-I-Am-Screwed Notebook and my Planner. That or my bottle of Chocolate Silk. At this hour of the morning, chocolate is pretty darn important. The notebooks are not yet cracked open.
I need to crack the notebooks (including my next manuscript which has not yet made it from my bag to my desk) and catch up on things, but I’m not quite at that point yet.
Ever had those morning? When you can’t quite get going? I seem to have a lot of them lately. I could say I don’t know why, but I do. I have been staying up too late, watching Youtube. Last night, I stumbled upon videos about the Skylar Neese murder and was drawn in immediately. If you don’t know about the case, Skylar was stabbed to death by her two best friends because, according to the videos, they didn’t like her anymore.
What? Two high school friends, stab their third, best, friend, to death because they didn’t like her anymore? What happened to just snubbing the girl who was no longer a friend? Whisper campaigns? Sure, bullying and whispering aren’t right nor good, but they are a hell of a lot better than murder. Teenagers can change friends like socks. One day, you are best friends and the next, one friend hates the other.
But to stab her to death? To stab her? To chase her down when she ran and then stand over her while she died?
What the hell?
Then they spent months ‘grieving’ over their missing friend (she was not found for a time), wishing she would come home, would call them. One of the friends even texted the father and bemoaned the fact that she was Skylar’s best friend and why wouldn’t she call? Plus how much she missed her friend.
I do not understand people.
I know this had nothing to do with what is on my desk, but it is on my brain since last night. I watched way too long and I still can’t comprehend what those two teen girls did to their friend. Killing a stranger, much less a friend, wouldn’t even cross my mind!
What is becoming of this world when killing crosses the minds of two teens as the only way to handle breaking up a friendship? What indeed?
Now, back to my desk and notebooks. Time to crack the pages and get my morning going.
“We accept the love we think we deserve.”
― Stephen Chbosky,
variants: or pishoge \pə̇ˈshōg\ or pishrogue \(ˈ)pi¦shrōg\
Magic, witchcraft; a spell, especially one designed to cause or cure illnesses to man or beast, or to increase or decrease the quantities of farm products such as butter or milk.
Witchcraft; incantation; charm.
I reached for it and rubbed it—even though I knew the talk of fairies was a lot of pishogue.
Secret of the Night Ponies
“Even though it’s pishogue, it won’t hurt to be cautious,” I agreed.
Secret of the Night Ponies
And when they were brought out to be burned the woman said, “Bring me out a bit of flax and I’ll show you a pishogue.”
The word ‘pishogue’ comes from the Irish ‘piseogm,’ witchcraft.