Short Fiction
My Pain Is Your Salvation
Sometimes in Order to Find Yourself, You First Have to Get Lost
By the river, I sat and cried. Exactly how long I don’t know. Something amazing happened to me that summer evening. I became aware of a truth seemingly so simple that we all witness, but choose to turn a blind eye to.
It is commonly said that the soul is incorporeal and intangible; that we cannot see it or touch it, but can only feel it, and then only if we are completely honest with ourselves and others. I cried and watched as my tears fell into the river and blurred my reflection in the water. It was these tears that flowed from my soul, they were its material manifestation. They surfaced precisely in moments like this — in times when you are lost and searching for yourself, but also in times when you are truly happy. Tears are the easiest way to express yourself without having to say anything.
What are words? Aren’t they the ones that confuse us even more? In our desire to express ourselves, don’t we run the risk of being wrong because our thoughts are a billion and our words are many times less? And the flow of thought itself is much faster than our speech. That’s where a lot of misunderstandings come from, and the more you try to clarify what you want to say, the more misunderstood you become. Some things cannot be described in words, not even in thoughts. Feelings are those fleshless endings of the soul that appear like lights in the sky. But precisely because they are not material, they also have no strictly defined boundaries. They are like the stars — you see how many there are, and despite your desire to focus on one particular star, after a minute your efforts prove in vain because they are all so much alike and clustered in one place that it is impossible to find the exact one you are looking at.
It is the same with feelings. We know we have them because when we come in contact with a loved one, they show up. How strong they are, we only imagine we know. Have you by any chance heard of a unit of measurement to determine the level of feelings? Personally, I haven’t. The beauty of feelings lies precisely in this unknown. A lot of times we try to define them so we can be more aware of ourselves; we want to put them into some sort of framework because we think we’ll control them better that way. And if we start controlling them, then they will inevitably get distorted because they are fragile, just like our souls.
As I sat on the shore that summer evening and the wind tried to wipe away my tears, several boats passed before my eyes. They were all filled with people passing on the river and looking at me in wonder. “Why is this girl crying?” they might have wondered, but no one dared to ask me. Everyone passed me by and even looking me in the eye showed no sympathy. We humans habitually avoid people with problems, we shy away from them because we have enough of them as it is. I was thinking how nice it would have been for one of all those boats to stop, its boatman to smile at me and invite me for a ride. But my thoughts were all about me, and the boats were just like people — coming and going from the river of life, some stopping for a little while, others for longer, but at the end, they continued on their way, and I was left alone on my bank, still gazing at my river image.
I wondered what gives rise to the powerlessness of being oneself in front of the whole world and why in most cases we choose to play the role of everyone else but that of our own self. Perhaps the answer lies in the fact that we don’t know ourselves, no matter how hard we try. It is much easier to imitate because we look at a person from the side, and we catch their behaviour, gestures, and reactions. We can’t observe ourselves — our idea of what impression we leave on people can contrast strongly with what they actually see in us. And let’s face it, how many people would we have the luxury of showing every single strength or weakness? It doesn’t take much thinking before we can answer that question. Everyone prefers to keep some secrets to themselves because they fear how they might be interpreted. And if we will always find it in ourselves to forgive, others will have less patience than ourselves.
The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down my face, going through the valleys of my cheeks and then making a turn around my lips, and from there, right into the river — into the mirror of my own frightened self. It was already getting dusk, the sun had almost set, and with the last of its strength, it tried to melt my tears. Sadly, they weren’t enough and it went back to its heavenly bed where the moon was waiting for it to come out for the night shift. He must have decided to tell her about me, after all, it wasn’t every day he saw a girl crying on the river. Even in the heavenly chambers, news spread fast and before you knew it, everyone was ready with their version of what happened.
I looked at my reflection again — what was I so afraid of? Maybe it was the power that was inside me; the power that can make us build towers of dreams, but also destroy ourselves. The stars had already taken their places on the blanket of the sky — some of them were obviously cold, for they were huddled together as if they were warming themselves.
Others, clearly of a more individualistic nature, had spread themselves wider and were winking playfully at me, hoping to get my attention. Amidst these stars, my tears glistened with even greater force. The moment they fell from my face into the river, they emitted a soft light, just like well-cut diamonds. The boats had long since stopped passing, the people on the shore were also at their homes, and I stood on the bank waiting for my soul to find its rest. Sometimes it’s better to let the tears flow and not stop them. After all, it’s the only way for our soul to show itself and breathe for a little while. Carrying it inside us and loading it with various problems and fears, it suffocates, it lacks air and so it comes out of our eyes at the first opportunity.
After all, they are its windows… We try to close them to the truth, but in fact, we do not realize that once we see through them, many new, unseen horizons will open before us. Yes, we humans are blind. Our environment changes us so much that we forget how we reacted when we were children — back when fears didn’t exist and curiosity was a way to learn about ourselves and the world.
I knew that inside me I kept a tiny child, at once defenseless but also very brave. It is pain that shapes us. It makes the fearless child — a timid adult, unable to cope with the difficulties in his life; with making important decisions. It is the responsibility that burdens us, but it is also the key to true freedom — the freedom to take the risk of being happy when everyone around you is unhappy and to tell the truth just when people are lying.
My desire to meet a boat and a boatman who would invite me along for the ride didn’t go away as the evening wore on. On the contrary, it was the only thought that sustained me and distracted me from the uncertainties within myself. I knew the chance of encountering such a boat at this time was slim, yet I kept hoping. I thought maybe this was my salvation from the shore I had been standing on for so long. A shore that offered a stunningly beautiful view, the sun rising and setting before my eyes, but there were so many places I hadn’t visited, and maybe if I saw them I would find the lost part of myself. As I thought all this I looked straight down into the river.
The sky was beautiful, but I didn’t have the strength to count all the stars, so I just touched the water with my fingers and watched the reflection of the moon that lit up my face. At that moment, I felt a wave, though not very strong, wash over me, followed by a second and a third… I stood up and looked around into the river. I thought I saw a boat. A dark silhouette started waving his hand at me, I smiled back:
- Yes, yes, this way is the shore! Come!
The boatman sat down and started rowing towards me. I was so happy that my wish was going to come true. The boat approached. The young boatman turned to me:
- I was lost. I was too late to get out into the river, but from here I saw a soft light shining. It was as if small bright stars were falling one after another into the water. I don’t know exactly what you did, but you saved me!
Astonished by the miracle I had caused myself, I was unable to respond. Had my pain become the boatman’s salvation? It was I, who felt helpless, who saved him! Amazing is the power we carry within us! And since the boatman would not get off the boat, I made to get on.
- Let’s go for a ride, I suggested to him.
- Aren’t you afraid of wading in the river in the middle of the night with a stranger?
- Was it not I who, with the light of my tears, showed you the way to the shore? Life is just like this river and the deeper you go into it, the more you discover about yourself. I don’t think I could learn anything more if I stayed on this bank.
- And aren’t you afraid we might get lost?
- Don’t worry about that, I remember well the path of my tears. Do you see how the water glimmers differently right here? I left a part of my soul here. There’s no way I can forget this place.
Reassured, the boatman took the oars, I settled in front of him and we headed off in an unknown direction. That’s the beauty of river life — you never know where it will take you.
My shore will always remain in my heart, but if I want to know myself, I have to go with the flow. I wasn’t alone, there was an equally confused boater across from me, but he had the soul to see my tears, and that didn’t happen often. He paused, perhaps hoping to rest from his journey, but I had yet to feel the need to begin mine…
