Of pain and love

“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read. It was books that taught me that the things that tormented me most were the very things that connected me with all the people who were alive, who had ever been alive.”

James Baldwin

This captivated me; arrested me, completely. In mid stride, as I walked along, past the window and destined for the front of the store, the entrance to Shakespeare & Co. In mid stride, one leg on the ground, one in the air. Rocking forward on the grounded foot, ready to land and rock forward, walking.

I can sense that mid air, my airborne leg ceasing going forward and following an unspoken command from within. A command, momentarily, to rock back. Stationary, in mid air, and then back to where it started from the ground behind. As if I had rushed past now, into the future, without giving now sufficient consideration. Slowly, returning to now, and giving my full attention.

And, my most memorable life events are those which stopped me in my tracks. Beauty of Beautiful T; meeting her, and again. Joy of Nature in Mrs Clark’s window. View from Table Mountain. Sleeping Beautiful T.

No one has painted her. Yet. Maybe I will. Maybe I have, in words. As words are so important. Words, to understand, to deceive. Truth to one, an illusion of truth to another. Parisian truth, my truth. My being, there, drawn there to be here, now. Stopped in my tracks, by a literary giant.

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He never ran. James Baldwin. A man of greatness, with greatness he was born to, in a different era. Connected, through words, his, mine, others. Connected, through our pain, our beauty, our suffering, our joy. Our living.

My arresting was in 2020, and I yearn to return. To renew, rather than revisit or retrace. To renew,and disvover anew.

As I had when I stood, earlier that morning, second day of my Parisian visit. Stopped, and drawn, entranced, by the vista of my finish line. Marathon de Paris, 2012. On that day, 16th April 2012, embossed and imprinted in me, sighting of the Arc de Triomphe, as I emerged onto Ave Foch. There, dead ahead. There, me. Accelerating through fumes of my energy reserves, to make that iconic time, my first marathon run inside 3 hours. Aged 47 years and 47 days. So much pain, in preparing, in readiness, so that pain was and is familiar. That day, every day, today.

Make friends with pain, and you will never be alone

Ken Choubler, quoted in Born to Run, by Christopher McDougall

Revisiting in 2020, 14th February to be precise, I began to understand the now of that day, that race finish especially, which I was revisiting, was far more significant than I had ever realised. I had rushed past in my eagerness, way back on that day, in 2012. Eagerness for next, for living, for another target, another race, another compulsion, another achievement goal to obsess with.

A travelling companion on Eurostar home, a few days later, suggested that I had run the race on that day in 2012 and finished it, for the first time, here in 2020. Wisdom.

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Between Baldwin and Choubler, I begin to sketch my relationship with pain, and with suffering. Worn as badges of honour, until, one day, I break. From pain and suffering. From living. From being alive. From being me. I break.

I break less badly than in the past. I break more visibly, and I can see the slow motion of my breaking. Still rather powerless to prevent breaking. It is the consequence of pain, when it gets too much.

Run until you drop. Then, get up, and repeat.

Alan, in motivational message to a fellow runner, morning of her Berlin Marathon

Maybe, now, I take my own motivational message. Maybe I do as I have done so often. I find energy, I light, I shine. On.

Now there’s a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.

Lyrics by Syd Barrett

The beauty of familiarity with pain is that. Familiarity. I recognise pain, the suffering it causes. I know how to deal with it, how to run with it, how to work with it, how to live with and in it.

My own beautiful crazy. Magic in all that I see. Mystery above my screen, above my book, around my journal.

And, vulnerability. My genius. My heart and core.

Believe, I suggest. Believe, in myself. Believe, in my genius. Believe, in me, the true and unadulterated me.

Tall, handsome. Gentle pride, immense heart.

I matter. Love matters. Love of Beautiful T. Love of life. Love of my life.