Scars

I have some in my body, remembrances of my mortality, of  my imperfections. Human imperfections, better said, since the wounds inflicted to our bodies heal, tissues recover, but not completely. Warning signs, that´s what scars are, just like those we see on the side of the roads: do not exceed the speed limit, do not pass, keep your right, keep your left. It´s the way nature found to warn us not to exceed our limits, to be more cautious the next time. 

So I have scars, it´s almost impossible to go through life without gaining some during childhood. From that period, I have one on the sole of my foot. It was caused by a huge nail that pierced my skin as I step on it. Frighthening experience from which I have very imprecise memories.  

Others were caused by medical interventions. Two C-sections brought my daughters into this world, so I am very proud of having that one (the incisions were made at the same spot twice, resulting in a single scar). Another two were the resulst of a plastic surgery. Was it worth it? I don´t know. All I can say is that it was an interesting experience to lose consciousness  and step into a condition of temporary non-existence, and then return to life with the realization that only the living could suffer from such an excrutiating pain.

I have other scars as well. They look and feel ugly to me, but are not exactly visible to others. Results of difficult healing processes, deep wounds caused by disappointments, and that is also something we cannot completely avoid during our lives; we suffer and cause suffering. Sometimes accidentally, unintentionally, sometimes with the deliberate intention of hurting as deep as possible.

And there are the scars we choose to have. Signs that only make sense to ourselves. Permanent inasmuch as life can be considered perpetual. So I added two more signs to the map of my skin. I tattoed two letters on my wrists: an A, the first letter of the alphabet, the inicial of my name on the left, and the Z on the right. There are many reasons why I´ve chosen to have those letters, but the main one is that I didn´t want to forget what they meant to me. Letters are my great companions, my partners in creating words that put together give birth to paragraphs, and then to full texts. And I just realized now that our DNAs are represented as sequences of letters. So that´s it. What we are, what I am, at the end:  a sequences of letters.    

          

Playing dead vs Playing Death

I´ve been fighting against this post for days. I should have abandoned the whole idea, but, I don´t know why, I kept on insisting. Maybe I could get something out of this subject, or maybe not. Let´s see.

Playing Dead vs Playing Death 

I read an interview with an actor that usually plays the bad guy, and, as it happens often in movies, or at least in those ones I am thinking of, bad guys tend to die spectactacular deaths, and so he did. Over, and over. Danny (that´s his name: Danny Trejo)  believes no one else in Hollywood has died so many times (or killed so many times) as he did (see LINK). But there was a sentence, that hooked me immediately as I read, which was:  "not just anybody can play dead".

I first smiled a condescendent and superior smile,  thinking, oh, c´mon. But then I realized that he had one moment of enlightment few humans experience in a lifetime. That was a definite philosophical statement. Being dead is nothing, really. It´s a condition each one of us reaches someday. And, as other things we experience in life, there´s no rehearsal. Either you get it right from the begining or you blow it, period. I was thinking about that while I was reading Don Quixote. In one of his conversations with Sancho Panza, he says something about the perfect death, and that would be an unexpected one in the battlefield, of course. Well, dying during a battle does not exactly come as a surprise, but, again, and this is very human, even soldiers do not expect to die. In fact, death is always unexpected, right? There´s always hope even in the most desperate situations. We cling to life until we can´t anymore. The surprise comes with the realization that we cannot scape. And that reminded me of the best scene of the first movie based on Stieg Larsson trilogy, I think is the one called  Men who hate women. The hero got to solve the mistery and to know the identity of the serial killer. The only problem is that he is about to become a victim as well, too bad for him, but, before going on with the kill, the bad guy not only describes his modus operandi, but also his drives. What really turned him on was to recognize in the eyes of his victims the moment they understand they were doomed. The realization of the end of their lives by his hands. A mix of surprise, disbelief, anger, perhaps? The definite end, no second chances. And, on this case, the killer played death, the major role, leaving the victims to the secondary role of simply dying.  
That´s why I think Danny is a fortunate man. He´s been having the great chance to face different ends for his different lives. Maybe not that different, considering his roles do not vary much, but still. He´s in a clear advantage when compared to mortals like you and me. He plays dead all the time. He´s rehearsing for his ultimate act. And has he learned something from his experience? Of course he did.
What he learned seems kind of a cliché, but I guess all the great truths are like that, so obvious that can easily be misunderstood: "When it´s time, it´s time. When it comes, it comes, so don´t think about it too much. Don´t be afraid of death". 

Then I read another interview, that one with Woody Allen ( HERE), and I could find points in common in the two different reasonings, which is kind of comforting, I guess. I am not sure Woody has played dead very often, but he certainly played with death as a writer, and as a director. Bottom line, what they say is pretty much the same: life ´s short, we´re insignificant creatures, everything passes. Get used to that. Of course, it´s hard, especially for some who have big egos and want to leave a legacy for future generations. C´mon, guys. That doesn´t make any sense, because, as he points out,  the whole universe will be gone eventually.
So why do we do what we do? Why to bother getting up everyday? Oh, well, since we´re around, we must do something in order not to get terribly bored, depressed or both. In his words: "the key is distraction" .And: "The truth of the matter is that your life is pretty much out of your control". 
Then, the best thing you can do is to chill out, and find something you think will be a good distraction. Since we´re all doomed, we better have some fun before the very end.





      

What hurts the most?

I´ve read an article where I learned that a person had developed a scale of pain for bites and stings and, in order to do it properly, he let different insects bit and sting his flesh before categorizing the level of pain felt afterwards.

What would be the use of such scale I can´t tell, maybe getting to know that a wasp bite was categorized as 2 meaning that it is painful, but not excruciating (that would be a 4), would have a soothing effect. However, if a tarantula hawk crosses your way, and that encounters works out really bad for you, meaning that you were bitten at the end, and boy, that hurts as hell, knowing that this is a top 4 type of bite would help you somehow?


Anyway, the article goes on to present the story of another man who was accidentaly bitten by a black widow spider. The bite wasn´t that bad, but the symptons after the venon started to spread were something else, pure agony, the worst pain he have ever felt (LINK).

Black widow spider

Scales of pains, categorizations of agonies. Interesting subject. I would tend to think pain is highly subjective. Something that would be very painful for me couldn´t be that awful for you. It seems thare´s a gender component as well. I´ve heard/read once that women are more resistant to pain then men, but I also read/heard that is the other way around, so, who knows, it´s a touchy subject.

I always had problems with categories in general. I don´t like the idea of putting things into specific compartments, adding values, and  attributing grades. When thinking about pain is even worse; every time I experienced some level of it, I hated it.  I don´t think it ever crossed my mind any attempt to categorize how much pain I was feeling. I just wanted to take something that could make it go away.
That´s my way of dealing with pain, others think it differently. Scientists, doctors, nurses, for scientific reasons I guess. So when I was asked to grade the level of pain after a surgery, I took the question as a valid and scientific one, even though I wanted to use very unappropriate words to describe what I was feeling, and that is also something interesting; why do we want to curse when we feel pain?
All of that made me think about pains and the different types we can experience through life. What would hurt the most? The more physical ones that reflect injuries in parts of our body, or those we usually associate with psychological agonies, such as the pain we experience after a breakup?

I wish I knew. I have the impression that although  the level of pain experienced can be highly subjective, there´s nothing like pain to attach us to the present. It´s like an anchor, forcing us to live the actual moment. There isn´t much space left  for remembering the past or thinking about the future. It´s just us, the agony and the god damned endless present.

I love this version of King of Pain by Alanis.
Have a good day.