Tag: pain

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Doctor

I went to have my x-rays. It seems that the situation of my lower vertebrae has not changed, the disc seems somewhat crushed, which causes inflammation. The doctor said it’s not bad enough for an operation to be necessary, but I should definitely take a rest and maybe consider taking medicine.

I decided to bear the pain and not take a medicine. I want to know what my body is telling me.

Pain is just a signal, and obscuring it wouldn’t feel right. I know my body is not stupid; it knows what it’s doing. Also drugs for this sort of thing makes me super sleepy and unable to really function. And I have to take care of my son.

For some reason I have dreamed of horses recently. I feel sad because I know I may not be able to ever ride one. I tried it before but my back instantly got hurt, even when just mildly trotting. Somehow the sitting position in the saddle was just not good for me.

But a thought came to my mind this morning. Maybe a horse could understand how I feel.  They carry humans weight on their backs but are still elegant and free. Horse’s pride is not obnoxious, it’s natural and beautiful.

Yes.. maybe a horse could understand.

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Pain of Photography

I find Susan Sontag’s words healing in some strange way, in this chapter she writes about photos of Arbus,

“According to Reich, the masochist’s taste for pain does not spring from a love of pain but from the hope of procuring, by means of pain, a strong sensation; those handicapped by emotional or sensory analgesia only prefer pain to not feeling anything at all.”

It could be argued that photographers seek connection to the world through their photos, great photographers often have had some traumatic event in some point of their lives, after which they find it difficult to connect to the world same way as other people can normally. Ordinary days feel so alien to us..

Photographs may become a way for people to feel something, but it’s at the same time, looking photographs also anesthetize.

Photography can be a way of ultimate cure, entire lifestyle which is built on supporting and protecting the artist’s soul. And at the same time, moments recorded on photographic paper turn into dust, photos themselves fade and disappear, and people forget them. Life is fragile like a piece of paper, other side being death, it takes a faint breeze of dust to flip it around, unexposed image becomes exposed.

Yet, recorded evidence of life makes somehow everything seem less painful, even though actually it might worsen the pain itself in form of nostalgia.