Saturday, July 31, 2010

HURT AND PAIN

Count It All Joy
(BeBeWinans/Jud Friedman/Allan Rich)

It's hard to understand sometimes
Is there a master plan,
How do I make sense of everything I'm going through,

But maybe it's not ours to know,
So we have to learn to let things go and simply try to make the most of every day and have faith That somehow we will find our way.

So count it all joy, all that you are going through even when you're feeling down.
Count it all joy each moment is a gift to you,
So turn it all around
And even in the darkest night
If you look hard enough
There 's a trace of sunlight waiting there
Yes waiting there for you.

Been searching everywhere to find
That rainbow in the air
Whenever I came close it just seemed to disappear
I had to change my point of view
Start looking at myself
I can't believe I never knew
Everything that I need
Was right here, yes inside of me

I don't have to be afraid
From today I have the faith
That somehow I will find my way

Count it all joy all that I am going through
Even when I'm feeling down
Count it all joy, this moment is a gift to you
So turn it all around
And even in the darkest night
If I look straight ahead
There's a trace of sunlight waiting there
Yes waiting there for me and you.

DAY 1

Never in a million years did I ever think I would be back at this spot again. I had promised myself that 'this' would NOT happen and yet here I am once again.
It is enough to make me NEVER TRUST anyone ever again, which is so sad, but true, because I am finally realizing that humans are just that humans and we cannot take anyone at face value anymore.
We must not drop our guards, no matter how nice the deal looks or sounds; or how lonely we 'think' we are.

DAY 2

I am now convinced that this pain was deliberately inflicted. That it was planned to instill maximum hurt.

DAY 3

Just as the Psalmist David made the distinction between sleep and slumber I learned this week there is a distinction between hurt and pain.

I am trying to deal with both, and the resulting revelations have taken me through so many emotions I am spent.

As humans we often try not to inflict hurt that would result in pain. But no matter how hard we try, someone, somewhere ends up hurting and in pain. I guess now it's my turn.

I have learnt that Hurt is the emotional part of the pain; that gnawing feeling deep down inside that, no matter how or what you do, is raw and puts you in the "I don't understand what's going on' column.

Hurt infuses your spirit and is lasting. You don't forget the hurt someone has inflicted, whether it is 'pretend sisters' or 'avowing lovers' spouting the same tag line "I'm here and I'm not going anywhere."

These 'relationships' are normally defined by subtle terms and conditions, loosely based around the other party's demands and you very quietly complying with their request. God forbid if you don't follow through on their demands. You learn too late and at much emotional expense, that there was never any trust.

The wound of that betrayal causes the pain and you are made aware that 'pain' is the physical form of hurt which can manifest in so many ways, you don't realize that it's the pain from the hurt has festered an emotional wound which becomes dull and numb pain.

I've been told time and work heals all wounds. Pain goes away but hurt and the betrayal never goes away. It impacts relationships and stunts the approaches taken from that moment on.

It is the hurt, not the pain that ties us to that emotional state where depression steps in and we are cascaded like turbulent waters of the waterfall into the out-spots of a state where grief and tears are mingled with our meals and sleep.

It's times like these when I retreat to my cave and roll the stone into the entrance. It has been painful and hurting. One moment I'm curled up in a corner sucking my thumb, the other I want to kick someone. I have screamed and I have spent many tears. I have prayed with my eyes dry and I have cried from the bottom of my heart but nothing has helped. Most of all I want to beat up myself for being sooooo freaking stupid for allowing myself to come back to this spot.

All the money, makeup, fancy hairstyles and the painted smiles in company of friends cannot hide my pain and will not assuage the hurt. It is there for all to see. AND unfortunately in my case time will not make this betrayal go away.

I think CeCe and BeBe couldn't have sung it better.

The Uninhibited Diplomat.




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LE NOIREAU- Prologue

There was chaos in Scotland Bay Village. Everywhere, everyone was busy; packing, unpacking, leaving burnt bare lands for the Americans.

Away from the noises and confusion the aquamarine Caribbean waves played a soft calypso rhythm, strumming, rippling, kissing bare toes, feet and ankles dug deep into the cold, clammy sand.

The air was laden, ready, thick with the rancid scent of seaweed, salt and smoke carried in the spray; pushed by angry, crashing, foaming waves against a stony coastline up and around the Bay’s end.

She was misted; creating an eerie appearance as she sat back hunched on a fallen tree trunk embedded in the sand; knees tucked under the wide folds of her skirt. Damp grainy sand and the sea waters rushed up; bubbling in between her fingers and feet. Gently she rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the fading horizon, watching the day in its brilliance and splendor of death at sunset. The fiery gold of the sun’s rays; fingering, shimmering on the aquamarine canopy of the sea, dazzling blinding and ever so slowly, churning to taunting, tangerine orange and saffron reds; cascading into purple, violets and royal blue of evening time with ballet like precision. And later as stars peeping first play hide and seek with the naked eye, streaks of charcoal gray strut into midnight black, shadowing the earth into illusions of peace-fullness, as twinkling jewels finally sparkle in the phosphorescent gleam of a splendid Caribbean moonlight.

The gulf steamer disregarding war time surveillance orders; tugged by, alerting Astral Le Noireau to the lateness of the hour. She sighed lifted tiny hands from the sand and stared as the grains quietly trickled back into their places on the seemingly un-rumpled shore. The signal light of the streamer as it passed by and answering flashed from the lighthouse, momentarily blinded her as she turned huge tear filled almond shaped golden eyes up and then out, taking in the silver-ness of the long familiar Scotland Bay coastline, now bathed in the beauty of a full Caribbean moonlight. The gentle breeze blew her blue black hair into her eyes and face, as one hand rose gracefully to whip the unruly strands back into place. Silently a figure standing in the shadows of a coconut palm tree observed her.

Astral stood crying silently, watching the village she so love fade into the night shadows as the steamer padded laboriously out into the first Boca. Every inch further way from Scotland Bay felt like a fist clenching around her lung, stifling her, killing her. She stood rooted until Chateau le Noireau was no longer visible as they rounded the bend at Delgada Point. Until tears of frustration overwhelmed her and she crumbled to the seat on the almost empty steamer. Astral Le Noireau and her precious possession were some of the last things to evacuate from her village.

The Marines had put her on the ferry.

(c) 2006 Cecly Ann Mitchell


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