There is such nobility in facing down one’s existential angst and pain – attempting to construct sense and express them in creative ways. Through various efforts – bad poetry, good poetry, bad art, good art. Any attempt to mold the ever-inexpressible clay of pain into something resembling beauty. Crawling through the desert of suffering, with the spirit of resilience absolutely pulling your carcass inch by inch until somehow the smallest of oases appears and life’s elixir enlivens the cells and consciousness opening the path towards your next experience. The body is wrecked and revolting, the mind drowning in exquisite agony, but somewhere deep beneath all arising is a space of supreme awareness that is impermeable by any malevolent force. Here is a raised glass, spirited or virgin, for all the armchair or professional philosophers and seekers that display such nobility. You are my brothers and sisters, children of the cosmos. When the time comes and the lights go out and our atoms are repurposed, we will have left something for posterity, for the perpetuity of Existence.
Pain is the great distiller, focuser, cleanser, mystery-solver, and Enlightener. It sharpens the blade of the mind. But take care with this blade – for you can use it to cut through the thickets of delusion and suffering to find yourself on the shores of liberation or end up butchering yourself.