' And While Our Savior Languished On That Loathsome Cross...'

Mar 11 2012

‘And While Our Savior Languished On That Loathsome Cross, He Begged For Water, But Was Given Vinegar, Instead.'

03/11/12

To my oh so dearest and constant friends, and wondrous, ever-loyal readers,
In life, we are faced with so many situations; some involve ‘one trial' learning, such as when a child first touches a glowing stove element. Or, when, by accident, he nearly trods upon a snake, to at his first time at a beach, swimming out to a depth above his head.
These are painful, frightening, inexplicable events that-if survived-are never sought to be repeated again. Even the comical getting of one's toe in a tub's faucet, are not usually repeated again, for the remember pain, and embarrassment is quickly coded into one's memory at that instant.
And so, by these little ‘Life' experiments, we learn about our world, about the natural consequences of our actions, and how they may affect for the remaining sum of our years.
While perhaps not considered so, these are little survival skills that help-with others-to propel us further into young adulthood, through adulthood, and guide us to the inevitability of, A=B; If A, Then B; to whether A may be greater or lesser than B, and so on, leading into C, and further, and further from mere cause and effect, to establishing a ‘confidence level; the ‘goodness of fit; and to the ‘null hypothesis'.
Along the way, decisions we must make do not just divide into a binary ‘on' or ‘off' position, but pass into a multiplicity of possibilities upon which success or failure are irreparably bound.
We generally call this ‘learning', and is subsequently how we try to figure out the workings of the world, and of our place in it.
We quickly learn our limitations to what we can, with little or no effort accomplish with the minds that we are given; and, for the most part, settle into a life that is to some extent secure, predictable, and manageable.
Occasionally, we must try to make our way through that hazy cloud of that which, which-perhaps-predictable, is nevertheless emotionally and mentally unprepared for: the sudden and abrupt betrayal of friendship or of love; the surprising loss of employment; the death of a parent. Sometimes while these things can be foreseen, or even casually discovered, still, these events take us by surprise, and demand we raise our awareness and ability to understand, and to thus cope with, and survive. And to accept, and to move on. It is a demonstrated trait, and measure of our ‘humanness' that we often learn more from our mistakes, and we do from our successes.
Sometimes-though-the ‘playing field' is neither level, nor is it green.
Beliefs we've often held for years are brought to question, and, depending on the circumstance, our very ability to judge, decide, and to move on become so enmeshed in need, in other person's thoughts and desires, and our own uncertainty suddenly, about the ‘normalcy' of things. Too many variables confuse this process, and can arise from anywhere to impede one's judgment.
Perhaps the greatest fallacies to which we cling in the course of everyday living is that reliable things will always be reliable; that any change can be bested by a more clever mind, or endured with a better heart. Perhaps we also think that everyone will be as good and giving as are we. We also consider so much as our due, for being who we are. Thus, minor disappointments pile one on one, until we are left uncertain, having had no ready referent for comparison, and disillusioned to a worldly truth we, ourselves reject.
And should one already be weighed down by illness of other woe, we find ourselves too fragile, resisting change, trying to hold on to immutable hope that things will right themselves, if not by design, then, by magic, when all the stars above might suddenly align; or those with purer thought prevail, or, simply that we be borne away by angels, and some actually pray for such things: why, for such things, as a miraculous healing against all odds; or, in speaking of outlandish odds, the desire, and hope of winning " just one Lottery ", when the odds are much less that one will be struck by lightning.
Still, in those instances of catastrophe, such things are most devoutly to be wished. It is but an attempt by the fevered imagination to rectify reality.
Especially to those whose lives are already filled to overflowing with monstrous, and unending pain; an confluence of circumstantial agonies that seize the breath, and make low the spirit; how each little stress becomes unendurable, and each small alteration to life unbearable.
When such pain would seek to consume all thought, and strength of purpose or of mind, the conscience retreats behind a medicated shell, in seeking some kind of refuge from this torture, and despairing, and to the very lack of wanting to go on.
In such instances, how easily is the ‘Rubicon' of fortitude, crossed by evil intentions; how micro-miniature can be the ‘straw' that breaks the spirit?
To us whose illnesses have so surely revoked our chance at normalcy, to be-in fact-like others, strong, capable, and directed. In having illnesses and agonies of inner pain that little reveals itself to others, how often are we ‘judged' by others as somehow ‘second-rate', dissembling, or counterfeit.
And when in unerring pain, we outwardly rock, scarce able to move otherwise, or when our sleep (what there truly is of it), is broken into a thousand moments of encapsulated nightmare, or when we cry, or are quite unable to perform the slightest tasks, we are misunderstood by even those who claim they love us, by their easy anger when we fall, or are unable to catch up.
If pain-much like power-corrupts, then, absolute pain corrupts absolutely. How compromised are we by our agonies, and by our illnesses.
We are rejected by a society that has never experienced a totality of pain; even our so-called medical Providers stare at us with often unbelieving button eyes. The test results are in, and added to that pile of previous results; why is it not enough to convince them?
And while I am as are you enraged at this easily disposition, and subsequent lack of regard, there's not much we can do to further convince them. If I had a cancer, then its progress could be tracked through it different stages ‘till the end; if I had a broken leg, it could be casted, and its healing path arrived at.
How much longer must we endure the very suspicions by the medical community? Why must we still be thought of as outcasts, pariahs in our own society, who, frankly, would rather see us dead, than as leeches upon an economy we still contribute to? How much more should we be used up by greedy, and self-serving individuals who seek to line their pockets with our misery?
For us, the ‘one-trial' episode of long ago has never ended; even as adults, our ‘childhood hands' are ever held to the stove's searing heat.
All we wish for is some sense of societal parity, and from our doctors, medication that might mitigate our lasting, and enduring pain.
We came to them, seeking from them, some cooling drink of water, to allay our agonies. But-too often-we still come away with the taste of vinegar in our mouths.

My every dear, sweet friends, I can only meanwhile wish for you days of lessened, or of ‘no pain'; clearer minds, and better strength.
I love you dearly,
'Zahc'/Charles