Pain is Water

A few days ago, I participated in a jam night with blues music as its focus. I very much like blues music. I very much like jamming. I did not very much like this night's jam as a participant. Perhaps because my ego got involved or perhaps because the musicians were more annoyed than inspired. I got hurt. I was not happy with the way I felt.

No one made me feel these things. I felt them. I'm not confident enough in my own emotional control to say that I chose to feel the feelings.

The world is a reaction.

Everyone is a microcosm of the world. I can either turn the butterfly wing flap of their words into hurricanes of anger, or I can west wind them over plain states in order to turn turbines and make a change through the charge I was given. After all, turning wind into the way you're reading this post is the new transmutation, ins't it?

Pain is water. We are plants. Too much pain, and we can drown. Too little and we can become anemic. Just enough and we can grow.

Pain allows us an opportunity to grow so long as the pain we've felt is looked at as something that can help us pinpoint our difficulties and take steps to fix them.

This is where poetry steps in.

The Prompt:

Think of a memory that has a lot of pain associated with it. (Sometimes the farther back in time this memory is, the better.)

Let it all out - every negative thing you felt, put that down on paper and let that stuff go.

Now, think of what actions this experience led you into taking.
Who are you now that you've survived the pain?
Who might you have been without it?

As for the jam I talked about earlier. I realized that my knowledge on blues chords is severely lacking. I can comprehend what a 7add13 chord is, but I have no idea how to fret one on a guitar. For this reason, I'm going to learn a lot more about how to play those chords. And I'll try my best not to be upset that I don't know as much as I'd like to.