One must face oneself as an indelible attendee, here for the total duration—not just for the openings of time, the ins and outs—forever bound to our finite experience, with our conscious lens always processing, always aware. We must, at all times, watch and study the occurrences that happen to us, from casual events to the most crippling moments, remaining fully perceptive of these fragmented elements—as they break us and as they lift us.

On this, don't our lives feel eternal to us, despite the end scheduled further down the line? The present moment is nothing more than a permanent stretch of possibility, manifesting as access to life as it happens. In preparation, with our anvils and hammers, for when the sentience of meaning and strength possesses us, we go to the anvil and pound the marvel of our spirits into creation.

These creations can be seen as reflections that lead us to the real nature of the human being—in simple terms, without anything else applied on the surface, this nature is that we are forced to bear everything presented to us in this world. We are endurers of the world, bearing its artistry as we transform into creators ourselves, sculpted by the duality of pain and pleasure.

Whether we interpret these tribulations as good or evil, or more simply, good or bad, positive or negative, they must be met with the same approach: to bear and endure the task presented to us. The only difference lies in the appearance and identity of the good or bad, which alters our reactions, leaving us exposed in those moments when we are vulnerable to their so-called requisitions. These requisitions can take the form of restless body movements, racing thoughts, crippling headaches, chest pain from emotional suffering, or psychosomatic manifestations of deeper truths. They may also include the lingering effects of spending a day or two with a loved one—all used to develop a balanced understanding of an experience that can be conveyed socially to another.

This is where fear completely limits our lives; it stops us in our bodies and makes us freeze. Fear of expressing emotional requirements and the failure to harmonize our bodies as chords to the events that have impacted us prevent us from fully expressing our bodies in their true form. Without this harmony, we risk allowing anxiety, fear, paranoia, and sickness to spread across our entire perception. How we see the world from our eyes becomes more shaded, the palette loses its color, and the subtle gestures of reality grow more intense.

We have moral duties to serve our companions and friends. We have honors and responsibilities we must engage with and continually polish to renew their future arrivals. The creations we make in the moment—whether it’s a decision to leave a job, end a relationship, or pursue those thoughts that inspired and motivated us—are our gifts. Interestingly, these creations, the steeples of our minds, live lives of their own. Whether we are distanced from our conscious reality or fully engaged with it, those fantasies of self-preservation, the instinct to grow, the gestures of power and love, the movements toward hope and away from darkness—all survive. If we do not see them, it is because we are not yet ready to utilize these truths of conscience in our present situation. Whether we act upon them or avoid them, whether we turn away in fear, they exist, with or without the presence of pain.

As with nature and our garments, we must cover our bodies from the elements, as they, too, can work against us. Whether we are sheltered or not, the weather continues to follow its true course upon us. In this thread, we are victims of the natural order of existence. This victimhood encompasses both the external and internal—we have forces beyond us that we must engage with and protect ourselves from permanently. If we do not, we must simply suffer the consequences, or we can train ourselves to develop resilience, becoming as solid as stone when these challenges arise.

But let us explore the agony we all know very, very well.

If we look at the moments in our lives when we have felt true pain—the horrific intervals of torment and devastation for various reasons—and when we look back, we observe an old, different timeline from what we experience now. This process creates a diversion from our current mode of perception, one that splits the timeframes and naturally compares the two lives in the theater of that moment. We notice that the suffering we endured often "made us who we are today." This is a common phrase we apply to our suffering, and we tend to agree that after the time spent overcoming our pain, it leaves a surface that renews and enhances us, even though it may also have destroyed parts of us.

Yet, notice how we are still alive. No matter the magnitude of the pain we have endured, our bodies, our eyes, our hands, our mouths, and our voices remain. No pain removes the essence of our being. We can still raise a fist, shout out, look upon the world, and watch it unfold. True, the suffering we’ve endured may have damaged certain aspects of our being. Sometimes we reflect and say, "I used to be so much more..."

This is the timeline reference I mentioned earlier; we find ourselves gazing back at a time when we were not the same person. Perhaps we’re looking at an old trait we had, like the ease with which we could make others laugh, a natural flare of confidence, or an ability to stay present and engaged, less trapped in thought. Whatever it is we’re observing, in those moments of reflecting on a life prior to suffering, notice how the world we now inhabit has changed. We have traveled through a collection of multi-layered experiences, always finding ourselves in the midst of it all—these are things happening to us, not things we are actively creating.

We now may find ourselves in a new world, in a new location, operating with a different system, after what may have been a reckless and wild journey or a bleak, tauntingly melancholic period.

As we look back on the times we were crippled by pain and recognize how different we are now, it’s true that the pain has dissolved—or perhaps it never truly left. It may be that our strength grew, allowing us to tolerate the suffering, or that the pain dispersed throughout our lives and, through acts of busyness, we no longer see the sickness as clearly. Yet, despite all of this, the movement away from pain has led us to a state of calm. It may not be bright and sunny where we are, but we are inevitably calmer than we used to be—and stronger, for that matter. Therefore, all true suffering becomes peaceful once it has been transformed into peace which is always where pain must lead to.

All the agony we once felt has flowed through various channels of our consciousness and lives, spreading evenly across different areas. Previously, everything was overwhelming and painful, but through this distribution, the suffering has now been integrated and eloquently balanced across different facets of our being. Here is where our nature and appearance unravel—this is the human identity. We seem to function that can embody the entirety of these channels, the moving monad.

And the result?

We are now at peace from this suffering; justice has been served by our own ability to endure the depths of this agony. Serenity, therefore, is an arrival point from pain. As night grows cold, the day warms; as we suffer, we inevitably return to peace. Like the measurement of time, we observe its passing, watching the hand move from 12 to 12 again. As it rotates, so too are we in the same rotation.

So the answer here is this: no matter the depth of suffering you feel or have felt, understand that by the laws of the earth, and by your own inner laws, everything permitted to you—as it has come to be—will be renewed and transformed, circulating back as something new and esoteric for you to understand and wield as a source of strength.

Remember

My friends,

Suffering to peace.
Peace to pain.