Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about pain. The absence of it, the presence of it; pain in different forms.

This past week I was bitten by what we think was a centipede. It checks out as I found two dead ones at the base of my bed. Maybe one was the culprit and the other, accomplice. Maybe they were both two innocent passersby and befell death in another way. Who’s to say? But the bites are a throbbing, enraged red—tender to touch. Since then, I’ve felt a tingling pain shooting up from the base of my heel all the way to my rear. Bum’s the word. 

This morning, bending down proved a nuisance as a previous muscle ache in my hip area made things strenuous. I dug my elbow down deep into the sinews hoping to loosen the tightness a bit and bring relief. Why does it seem that delving into the pain’s source brings healing?

When I was 18, my dad and I travelled to southeastern France to a quaint town called Fontaine-de-Vaucluse which, taken from its French and Latin roots, quite literally means ‘spring of the closed valley’. 

Out of this spring flows the river Sorgue which remains to be one of the cleanest, most transparent rivers I’ve yet to encounter. River rushes through long, vibrant green aquatic plants. Like flowing mermaids’ hair, they stretch to show off their tails all languid like and playful. 

Following the river up to the source of the very thing that gives it life, takes time. One must hike up deep into the hills, through rock and brush, over stone and weed. Up, through, down and in. When my dad and I made it to the source, we smiled and were satisfied. We stayed there for what seemed hours, exploring, admiring, taking it all in. 

The source is dark and deep. Positioned in a cave that depending on the time of year can be walked down into for an even closer viewing of the place that provides the flow. The cave walls tower high and protect the source—containing her, making space for her, holding her. As for the water herself, she is dark and deep; unable to fathom what is shallow. One can sense that she has witnessed heaviness over the years. Pain wells in her very being, yet she continues to show up and flow. Pain has surged within her, yet she’s absorbed it without allowing it to destroy her. Stronger and more powerful.

With the aid of gentle sunlight, air and the strong walls that contain her spirit, she’s transformed the struggle and birthed life. Out of her, a river that gushes clear, vivifying waters springs forth to bring bounty to whatever it touches. She possesses Midas’s power, although with a different take: expansive, not preventative. 

I’m finding that the same is true of my emotional pain. Making space for it and allowing it to be present without being overcome or overwhelmed is helpful. Trailing the pain to its source from a place of curiosity and not judgement, trying to make out the cause and sitting with her for a while seems to give birth to renewed confidence. By sitting with the thing, by exposing myself to the feared emotion, it becomes less scary. I’ve come out on the other side without being destroyed and in that time have been able to create new thoughts and paint new conclusions. Pain exposed is pain lessened. Pain lessoned is creation developed.

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I think about the river’s beautiful power as my pulsing heart brims with ache. I go in to inspect and find the source of the pain. Sitting with myself and feeling low—the tears—they glide down and lap onto my jeans. Let it out. Some relief comes through the release. More relief comes with bathing a bit in the sadness, dampening not dousing. Then, it starts to feel slightly better. Giving myself permission to cry and to feel in my body leads to a state of self soothing that comes about naturally, putting salve on the ache. It allows me to tend to my wounds like a cat cleaning her fur with her tiny tongue. Little by little and lick by lick. 

O heart, O ache, O tears—I am grateful for you all! To feel. What a gift. To ache. What a wonder, I’m not a robot. I am flesh and blood, after all. Gloriously, flesh and blood. Woundable. Achable. Lovable. 

My inner sun comes out to shine after the storm has had its fun and passed. I inwardly smile. The sun shines, it glistens. Hope pours, it roars. It surges and soars. It rushes and gushes and pools out, fountaining up and spurting out to finally flow forward.