The 13th Fairy.

“Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional” – Byron Katie. As well as Buddha.  

She knocked. I looked through the eyehole. Yes, it´s her.

Looking down at her patent leather shoes, straightening folds on a once designer but now out-dated trouser suit from another century, surely taken off from an emancipated feminist or a Hollywood actress like Katherine Hepburn from the 1930s.

Resembling her quite a bit too, with a perfect hairdo (when only does she have the time…) and red lipstick, as if ready for shooting the next Oscar scene.

No amount of makeup can hide the sadness in her tired eyes.

She was fidgeting nervously with the handle of her black shoulder bag, too big and modern to fit the rest of the elegant old-fashioned ensemble, when I opened the door.

“Pain, my old friend.”

She stepped in and briefly glanced at me. Does she still see that little girl, not yet crippled by the 40 years of pain of all sorts?

…The little girl with blond curly hair and green or blue or grey eyes, -depending on who looks at her, – colour fluid diamond eyes, like the sea, reflecting the cruising through the day skies sunlight or the night stars.

This brave, happy soul, laughing child, carrying a bunch of tiny plastic animal figures in her hand, nails dirty with garden mud, holding her little friends tightly in her fist, through the centuries, giving them a voice.

Oh the gift of giving a voice to the ones who either don’t have it or no one is interested in their message – a magical gift of empathy.

Here on Planet Earth, in the physical realm of burning innocent women alive, of chopping off heads for fear of losing a metal chair and a metal head accessory; of nuking life as a scientific experiment of the imagined super power; of mass murdering animal souls for pleasuring the taste buds; of bombing homes of those without defence for their land or oil; of torturing the ones with different coloured blood for the delusion of superiority – are there gifts that come by themselves, clean and pure?

Can you see the shadow that follows them like a faithful dog? It´s Her. The omnipresent curse of duality, the twin sister of Pleasure, her Majesty the Pain. She is exhausted from having a large family.

Acute pain, dull pain, chronic pain, localised pain, pain on a meridian, dispersed pain, shooting pain.

Muscle pain, migraine, dental pain, heartbreak pain, soul pain, existential pain, growing a body pain, growing old pain, pain of rejection, pain of being bullied, pain of loneliness.

The numbing pain of feeling empty.

The excruciating pain of not belonging.

The killing pain throbbing through the whole body, twisting it in a dark knot.

Pain of a dead foetus being cut out from the womb, a few cells that could have been a child, if his tiny heart hadn´t stopped.

A whole world of pain, intruding on the world of pleasure.

Father bringing a sledge with him on a rare snowy day of a mild southern winter, when picking up a 5 year old daughter from the kindergarten, hiding the sledge for a better surprise at the entrance, laughing, playing, running and pulling the girl on the sledge all the way till home down the white alley, the snow still falling, tickling the girl´s rosy cheeks with little, needle like sharp, frozen snowflakes, the world is safe, exciting, happy and filled with love – pleasure.

The 5 year old girl wanting to disappear from the seat of the trolleybus, being looked at with pity by the 2 strange women, her father standing next to her, clasping the metal bar at every bump on the road, smelling of vodka and cigarettes after a party with old friends, the world around feeling so big, unfriendly, unsafe and shaky as this trolleybus, carrying them through the still, for the next 13 years, un-bombed city streets; carrying them through the night into a home that is just as shaky – pain.

The pain of losing a parent, pain of losing trust, pain of neglect, pain for being shouted at, pain for feeling less loved than the little mean sibling, pain of not being kissed or talked to by the mother as a punishment for being strong, pain of being smacked around, pain of being criticised, pain of a broken family, pain of losing a home, pain of broken dreams…

Stomach pain, back pain, shoulder pain – the whole world is swinging its heavy legs from her shoulders.

Standing on a playground under a shady tree, next to a wooden bench, looking at children playing on a sunny merry go round, chasing each other and ignoring Her.

Pain stood there all by herself.

If she came a step closer they would run away from her, screaming in horror at her strange look.

“Pain in the neck, Pain in the ass, the Killer of Pleasure!” they call her.

Avoid it at all costs.

Ignore it.

Medicate it away.

Brandy, wine, whisky, beer it away.

Cannabis, Cocaine, Ecstasy, LSD, Magic mushroom it away.

Ayahuasca it away.

Dance it away, sing it away, mantra it away, meditate it away.

Break the blockage in manageable bits and drag it out with your electromagnetic qigong hands.

Locate the intrusion and cut it out with the help of your spirit guides.

Use the pain tracker protocol, find the energy root and use one of the multiple methods to balance it out.

Transform it.

Breathe out the pain.

Sleep it away.

Binge watch it away.

Shop it away.

Eat is away.

Sex it away.

Overwork it away.

Degree it away.

Achieve, achieve, achieve it away.

Build the walls of your house to keep it away, fence your garden to keep it away.

Protect yourself, your kids, your parents, your pets, you kin. Away, away! Shoo, shoo, not me, not mine!

Go to those, who aren´t like us. Go to the ones with the different skin, different gods, to those with more money, to them with castles and villas, or to them living in the slums, the embarrassment of the spiritual society, in the country of gurus and meditators.

Go to those with no money, – what do they have to lose?, or to those who send spy satellites into space, who charge us taxes, to the ones who vaccinate our kids, to them who are neither man nor women, to the shooters, to the terrorists, to the ones who read different books and don´t believe what we believe. Take them!

The 13th Fairy never invited to the ball. She comes anyway, people. She kisses your new-born and curses it to fall asleep at the age of 18 – if the girl decides to not stop playing at being an ostrich and begins to talk to her 13th Fairy Godmother before that. And what do we do – we pretend the curse didn´t happen.

We hide the child from any possible danger, from that damn needle, that she will find anyway…

Because this is the price for not including the Pain.

Let the Pain be one of the Fairy God Mothers and the Child will not need to sleep for 100 years, awaiting some Saviour Prince. Who can turn out to be the opposite of Prince Charming anyway, not even the enchanted Beast, not even the cute, gassy, smart Shrek, but just a vain self-involved narcissist, who gets there just to take a selfie with you, his highly appraised royal trophy, to show off and to collect likes on his social media account.

Pain is the price for Being.

For being here in the middle world, for having a body.

Do you remember the Little Mermaid´s tale?

She didn´t have legs, just a fishtail.

She fell in love with the handsome and strong captain – those don´t pay attention to girls with fish tails.

Magic gives her legs with one condition – with every step she takes she feels hundreds of sharp knives cutting into her new tender flesh. Enter Pain. Not even alleviated by Love.

And the world goes round and round, the show must go on.

What if we invited Her to the sacred circle around the Fire?

Asked her to dance for us?

To sing her Power Song?

If we gave her the pipe of peace as a microphone, if we unmuted her and listened to her story.

Come in, my friend.

I know you are here, because I am here.

I am not running away from you anymore.

Have a seat, have a cuppa, mi casa es tu casa.

Tell me your tale of the End of Story.

04.06.2020