What could I make of so much suffering? There was no way for me, or for anyone else in the family, to get anything out of it. It was a raw wound for which there was no adequate relief. You had to take it, like an animal. We were in the condition of most of the world, the condition of men without faith in the presence of war, disease, pain, starvation, suffering, plague, bombardment, death. You just had to take it, like a dumb animal. Try to avoid it, if you could. But you must eventually reach the point where you can't avoid it any more. Take it. Try to stupefy yourself, if you like, so that it won't hurt so much. But you will always have to take some of it. And it will all devour you in the end.
Indeed, the truth that many people never understand, until it is too late, is that the more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt. The one who does most to avoid suffering is, in the end, the one who suffers most: and his suffering comes to him from things so little and trivial that one can say that it is no longer objective at all. It is his own existence, his own being, that is at once the subject and source of his pain, and his very existence and consciousness is his greatest torture. This is another of the great perversions by which the devil uses our philosophies to turn our whole nature inside out, and eviscerate all our capacities for good, turning them against ourselves.
Yes, Merton hits it right on the head: there is no way to avoid suffering. Ignore that thing (or things) that causes you pain, and you will simply experience more pain. Little things that nag at you, build up, and, eventually, eviscerate your capacity for any happiness.
Pretty heady stuff to start the week off with. This weekend, however, has sort of forced me to confront some stuff in my life that I really didn't want to confront. Stuff that's been simmering on the back burner and sort of boiled over last night. I spent most of last night cleaning up the emotional mess it made on my stove.
Tomorrow is a new day, with new possibilities. New chances for joy. New chances for pain. That's what living is all about, I guess. You can't have one without the other. They're opposite sides of the same coin. (Sorry, I'm tired and can't think of a more original analogy.) As Queen Elizabeth II said, "Grief is the price we pay for love." If you open yourself up to loving someone, you open yourself up to the pain of losing them, as well.
So, you have a choice to make then. Either you accept the cost of love, and therefore accept the pain of loss. Or you avoid the possibility of love, and thereby avoid the possibility of pain. Both options are valid for their own reasons. I guess, for myself, I will always side with love, and all the tears and suffering that go along with it. I would rather have the chance of experiencing joy than live the rest of my life with regrets.
None of what I have just said is deeply earth-shattering. Philosophers and theologians have been writing and talking about this subject for centuries. Tonight, however, I am making a declaration: I will always choose love, and all the shit that accompanies it.
I taught a virtual poetry workshop this evening. A celebration of Walt Whitman's life and work. It was all about embracing the universe and everything in it--good, bad, beautiful, ugly, and all that exists in between. That includes pain and suffering. Grief. It was a perfect way to end this difficult weekend. A embrace of life, as only Whitman can embrace it. I was able to laugh and feel things, difficult things, deeply. It was a miracle.
And for that, Saint Marty gives thanks.
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