on pain

Pain protects the body. That seems a little unlikely since pain hurts - it must be bad for us, right?

When a creature feels pain, it's a warning signal. 'Move away from the fire.' 'Set down that hot skillet.' Paying attention to the warning keeps flesh from getting destroyed by burns. 'There is something in your eye - rinse it out.' 'You are ill - rest until this passes.' 'You hurt your foot - don't put weight on it and make the damage worse.' It's good that the body puts out this signal!

However, sometimes, pain shows up that has nothing to do with injury or illness, and the false signal is confusing. If pain centers in the brain are stimulated in unnatural ways, you might feel a sharp pain in the foot when no injury has happened, there is no stick nor stone in your shoe. It just feels that way. You might stop walking or go to a surgeon thinking something is wrong with your foot when your foot is fine. You might keep taking that shoe off and shaking it. The pain is a hurtful feeling not related to any injury. To artificially cause such pain in another is usually cruel.

Some people have few pain signals at all, or the volume of the pain is very low compared to what others experience. These people may take more risks because the consequences are not very painful, and in the long run they may be more crippled by damage because it didn't hurt when it was happening. They may walk or run when they have a broken foot, preventing it from healing properly.

Chronic pain - pain that continues day after day - can be disabling in itself in that the individual feels too uncomfortable to focus on anything else, too uncomfortable to enjoy life.

There is emotional pain, such as grieving over separation from a loved one - but that's a whole volume in itself.

In a community - it can be helpful to have people with different pain thresholds. The very sensitive people will give warning that something is awry, there is something hurtful going on or approaching. The less sensitive people, the people with a higher pain threshold, will not notice perhaps, feeling no pain. But when there is need for someone to stand up to the threat, they may be cheerfully willing because they are not afraid of hurt; they don't know pain.

To artificially disconnect a person's pain sensors, for example with drugs, may not be in that person's best interest in the long run. It's helpful to know when you have an internal injury or a fracture. However, once the person knows there is a problem, and can address the cause, or finds there is nothing further to be done, pain relief can be a blessing.

Amado M. Peña, Jr. is an artist who was fabulously popular in the 1980s. His paintings, imbedded within the Pascua Yaqui tribe of southwestern Native American life, were stern, dry and visually compelling. Sometimes we think popular artists who are able to sell thousands of prints are commercially successful, but not the 'real thing'. Yet, I would attest he created works that reached deep and drew the eye over and over.  To me, that is the real thing. There was something new to discover each time you gazed at his paintings and yet they bore the same imprint; he touched upon a tribal archetype within each work. Though his subject matter had complexity and detail, his instinct for balance and composition was not sacrificed. The paintings were complex, but easy on the eye.

Were I to have lunch with Mr. Peña, and were encouraged to ask him one question, my question would be about the hats his subjects wore. The arcs of their brims are simple, yet often seem to shelter a small world of their own. Tell me about those hats, I'd say. How did you come to repeat that specific arc again and again?

contemplation of the clam

contemplation of the clam

crusty old clam
denizen of the deep
sitting on the ocean floor
contemplating his
nonexistant navel
a brain in a growing skull of shell
thinking thinking
wise un-thoughts
humming along
with the sleeping-waking-
sleeping-waking rhythms
of the creatures breathing air above -
and the creatures swimming below -
the flat barrier known as
the surface of the sea
the ceiling of the sea
his non-thinking a web of connection
sighing, now fluttering
rising and falling like a wave or a
breeze beneath a prayer flag
pondering existence each to his own.
each mind is a part of the physics of the universe;
each mind is a contained universe
far larger than its bony container,
the clam
so much bigger than his shell

Rumi's writings from the 1200s bring comfort, but not a cozy cocooning kind of comfort. His poems open doors and windows, letting out stale air, and bringing in awareness of the infinity of experiences available to us. Reading Rumi, one breathes in something bright and delicious.

There are many references in his writings to his friend and teacher, Shams-i Tabrizi. These include not only reflections on the brief time they shared, but his experiences of connection to his Friend after Shams departed. Reading these works made me think he saw his love for his teacher as a conduit to God's love.

I've looked for samples of Shams' works in the past with few results. Like many materials on the internet these days, there appears to have been some informal editing. Still, I'll share the quote below:

'The universe is one being. Everything and everyone is interconnected through an invisible web of stories. Whether we are aware of it or not, we are all in a silent conversation.'

sign language

One day, a kid passed around a bundle of cards with pictures of how to sign the alphabet with our hands. Amazing how fast kids will learn a new language when it isn't a requirement. I think just about all of us had the alphabet down within the week and were signing secret messages across the class rooms.

As I understand it - and I'm no expert - there are several sign languages that use the hands to communicate. There is one that is more literal in that the hands communicate word by word the same vocabulary and grammar that is spoken verbally by the community. So if you want to ask, 'how is your car engine behaving this week?' you sign every word of that sentence. There are also sign languages that fly on their own. They don't use words that are in the spoken language, except perhaps to communicate the names of people and places. Instead, the hands use motion and signals to communicate direction, feelings, whether something is past or ongoing. This is hand poetry, a wordless complexity and simplicity. With this visual art in motion, the body perhaps communicates on more levels than words can usually reach.

the cousins' canoe


the metal canoe
gently rocks
under the moonlight.
the cousins talked of going floundering
but the gear is untouched -
they relax, bare feet
touching the water.
lights freckle the shoreline -
small waves
splash the side of the boat
the wistful rhythm
of summer
dwindling to an end.

the genes of a song -

Music is like a family tree. The style of singing, the rhythm, what instruments are used, the palette of notes - you could think of these as genes. Someone who is well familiar with musicians of different generations might recognize a guitar riff from a blues guy three generations back. There might be an Eastern European strain, or an instrument that is found only in Korea. Our music teacher in high school, Ms. Lee, taught us how to identify various genres of music, and I sometimes listen for the attributes she pointed out.

Randol's, a restaurant in Lafayette, Louisiana, has a dance floor. In the evenings, local bands play - usually Cajun music which I've thought of as Louisiana Acadian French - also known as chanky-chank. Sometimes after eating, we've stayed and listened as dancers move around the floor. Plaintive Celtic melodies unexpectedly surface from the Cajun music, with the accordian used like the drone of bagpipes. Mexican and German accordian is strong. There are the Louisiana French lyrics. You can hear blues repetitions. The blues has origins from African chants. Zydeco has a lot of African-American and Creole influence. The word zydeco is the local spelling of 'les haricots' - French for snap beans. 'Les haricots sont pas salé' the song goes.

The area I grew up in prided itself on its Cajun roots, and there is that and there is so much more. You can hear the family tree in the local music.