Dear Pneuma,

Someone told me this week: "It hurts, really bad," and I replied, "That's all right. It's supposed to hurt." I wondered if there was something wrong with me. Should I have said, "Hush?" Should I have said, "That's enough?" Should I have said, "Don't worry. It will go away?" Maybe I should have said, "It can't be that bad. Just get over it."

I didn't because I simply don't believe that we are supposed to live our lives avoiding pain. Life is supposed to hurt. It does hurt. Because we touch. Because we are bounded and connected in physical being. Because we care for others and they are not always with us. Because we mingle our souls and they are pulled apart. Would I trade the hurt for the touching, for the boundaries, for the connections, for the mingling, for the cares?

Is there a sickness in me that I am happy to pay a price for being alive? Should I expect life to come free instead? Should I believe the Universe unjust in that it requires some day I will die? Should I aspire to a place of ease with no limitations?

Yet I can't help but wonder what ease would make of me. How would I know what I am, if I never found an edge? How would I know myself different from you, if there were no spaces between us? If I never felt alone? If I never had to let go? If I never drew back with a bleeding wound? I believe pain must be a good gift of God, which, like so many others, is easily misunderstood, mismanaged, and misused.

May I be brave and wise in knowing when to embrace hurt, when to resist hurt, when to face hurt and when to run away.

As Ever,

Cobalt Dreams