My arm hurts all the time now. It hurts right now. It never stops hurting.
When the wound/ No longer hurts/ The scar does.
Monotonously the lorries sway, monotonously come the calls, monotonously falls the rain. It falls on our heads and on the heads of the dead up the line, on the body of the little recruit with the wound that is so much too big for his hip; it falls on Kemmerich's grave; it falls in our hearts.
Losing still hurts, but that's good. When it stops hurting, that's when I stop playing.
When you have an open wound, it's festering and hurting constantly. Then it finally heals and then becomes a scar. Well, pretty soon you're not feeling it and not really paying attention to it.
What I'm most interested in is not necessarily the wound, but the scar. Not how someone is wounded, but what the scar does later.
A scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.
In meditation the mind stops, thought ceases. When thought stops, the world stops. When the world stops, perception stops. When perception stops, the sense of "I" as a perceiver falls away.
I healed. Not completely. A scar is never the same as good flesh, but it stops the bleeding.
That is the way it is with a wound. The wound begins to close in on itself, to protect what is hurting so much. And once it is closed, you no longer see what is underneath, what started the pain.
Sometimes I don't know what to say; the pain never stops. The cloud never goes away, the rain never drops
If men wound you with injuries, meet them with patience; hasty words rankle the wound, soft language dresses it, forgiveness cures it, and oblivion takes away the scar. It is more noble by silence to avoid an injury than by argument to overcome it.
From every wound there is a scar, and every scar tells a story. A story that says, "I survived."
Just a little rain falling all around The grass lifts its head to the heavenly sound Just a little rain, just a little rain What have they done to the rain? Just a little boy standing in the rain The gentle rain that falls for years And the grass is gone and the boy disappears And the rain keeps falling like helpless tears And what have they done to the rain? Just a little breeze out of the sky The leaves nod their heads as the breeze blows by Just a little breeze with some smoke in its eye And what have they done to the rain?
Do you know what hurts so very much? It's love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain. There are two things we can do when this happens. We can kill that love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel.
People say you should give until it hurts. I say you should give until it stops hurting. Know what I mean?