I Digress

People often say in the beginning that there was nothing. In this case, it is quite the opposite. There is no way to quantify what there was in the beginning because in the beginning there were no numbers and no such trains of thought to be dreamed up. In fact, there was no such bed to do the dreaming in.

If there ever was a beginning, I would know nothing of it, for I was not there, as I was not something if there was nothing. When there was something, it all sprung out of control. And it wasn't beautiful- it was crashing waves and sizzling of molten rock and flashes of red hot lightning like the streaks of pain that occur during the worst of headaches. I digress.

But when there was something, there was also turning slowly of soil, there was slimy, unaesthetic creatures pulling themselves from the depths onto sodden rocks that stank of sulfur. And, overtime, as that creature progressed and managed to bring itself to the trees, to it's feet, to it's paths, I also had my own beginnings, deep in the brains of the infant race like a tulip bulb near a fence.

There also is no feeling until one is sought out and thought of, no thinking without a definitive understanding of pain. Pain, in it's infinite glory and wisdom.

For I am pain, of it's own sort, the kind that sinks in slowly and hits you in the middle of the night at realizing the bed is too cold for comfortable dreaming. The pain that comes with a phone ringing at three A.M., the kind of pain that would strike every time the Grandfather clock does. I am the pain that some take days to seek out, devote their lives to, ruin their lives for.