there is a condition. it is
fiberglass—shattering, explosive, unidentifiable—we call it pain. this is an
umbrella term—for malaise, suffering (often without a source), or insufferable
agitation. we do not omit times of happiness, elation, or heightened sensory
material. indeed, material is a unique word for consciousness, but feelings
hold substance, substance is made manifest, but we might feel resistant to
internal properties; however, pain is its ransom, its machinery, its
indebtedness. why have we said, indebtedness? it seems a deep intrusion. it
seems to agonize until it dissipates. we say indebtedness for it creates art,
beauty, impulse, or drive. but we go further. it often has no home. we must
call it into question. yes, we must impugn pain.
attraction to joy becomes a drug.
apprehension of pain becomes an obsession. but attaining interior happiness
becomes a hassle, with its inability to remain absent of suffering.
I saw blue blades of grass. I thought
about heaviness—notwithstanding, our existentiality. I say such to point at an
inability, a chasm, while we assert pain can be balanced. one looks at a
redbird. one looks into a sandbox. a child is eating sand; a mother is wiping
his hands; if alert to beauty, a sensation will ripple slightly. this sensation
comes from a reservoir, a cascading essence, which requires a modicum of pain
to register in an agent.
such a claim! one might ask, “Can we not
feel beauty absent of pain?” to that question, I am uncertain. but it is argued
by the author that recognition of beauty requires a drought of some nature in
the observing agent. one might say, that is senseless. to this, it is argued
that appreciation of beauty requires training for assessment, insight into condition,
with a level of understanding our human predicament, which generates a
level of healthy pain.
oh no! we are not calling some "pain" healthy! indeed, we are. speaking of internal operations, we say healthy pain,
pain in general, increases awareness, appreciation, plus, keenness.
