Hurt – a prayer

As a spoilt Western world person, with most basic needs taken care of, my feelings were hurt by relationships. Or should I say "relationshits" as the comedian Dane Cook has it?

I remember being hurt when I caught a woman who I deemed a woman-goddess (I'm prone to exaggerate human qualities, or defects, I'm sorry) inside a taxi being kissed by another man a few minutes before we took the same train back to our home.

Or, much before that, being hurt by my father's friends and acquaintances joking and laughing just outside the chapel where he laid in his coffin, only to realize later in life that humor in face of death or other adversities is a most welcome relief, a helpful tool to keep us sane.

And hurt I was also when a man at work turned to me and said I couldn't keep my job position as a secretary to the administration. "You'd be the first suspect if any information leaked out."  He had no idea who I was, or which my political affiliations, work ethics and qualities were—a work "relationshit." I was depressed for months.

As you’re clever,  I don’t feel the need to add more personal examples here, and I'm sure you have your own list of stories related to love, family, and work. 

Heck! We can even feel hurt if someone unfriend us on Facebook.

The odd thing is that I've felt depressed when I hurt people, on one time for months. I remember thinking that if there’s one thing I wasn’t born to do was to hurt someone. But I obviously have failed on occasion.

Wiser people will tell you that the pain is inside you. It’s a truly private experience. So it must be dealt with at that level, or we risk exteriorising that pain with no result but having to exteriorise it again and again. At each wave of discomfort, at each gush of contempt, at each vomit of hatred the cancer cells of our hurt feelings keep spreading. And they spread until our soul is charcoal dark, dried out, and ready to ignite, an event which will burn everyone around us.  

I’ve been witnessing the above in people close to me for some time now. Nevertheless, I too am not a saint. Well, I’m kind of, of a very pagan type.

So, if your feelings are currently hurt, please deal with them first from within you. And please do your best to let it go, or to let me go, or to let her go. 

For some reason, you might not respect me enough to take in consideration what I just said. Thus I leave you with W. Somerset Maugham’s words instead:

It's no good trying to keep up old friendships. It's painful for both sides. The fact is, one grows out of people, and the only thing is to face it.

And if you’re still not convinced, it isn’t my fault that it's hard to please Greeks and Trojans at the same time*... Unless we organize a free banquet and sex feast at the very gates of Troy?  




________________

* Portuguese proverb.

Image from the 2004 film Troy, directed by Wolfgang Petersen.

500th Post

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state? 
-- Lord Byron, in a letter to Thomas Moore dated from July the 5th, 1821  


This is my 500th blog entry since I started in the last month of 2004, never minding the quality of those previous 499...  

For a while I entertained the idea of writing this post as a reflective story on how I changed or what I learnt through these almost ten years. That story would provide deep insight into the human nature, or then again it would only raise many a sneer, “Oh, how naïve António has been...”

Though the thought of writing that story was not abandoned completely, I decided to celebrate the 500th post in a lighter tone.

I've been in a long poetic state of late and it'll eventually end one day. While shaving I already cut myself twice. And three large plates and a wineglass tried to make a bloody adventure out of the simple walking on my otherwise dull grey-stone kitchen floor.

As poetry has been in my bloodstream, I think I must wrap it all up with one of my latest creations:    


Love is like reading through a stream of Facebook posts.
It'll make you laugh, shed a tear, think deeply, sing a song.
You'll feel an inner wave ranging from sweet to despair.
And the very next day, addicted, you'll do it all over again. 


I'm kidding with those who unlike me are addicted to Facebook. On a serious note now, and as the last line of André Breton's Nadja goes:

Beauty will be CONVULSIVE or will not be at all.