The God of Pain


Deep in the gloomy forest is a house,
Plain and simple inside and out,
Built of dark stones: 
The Temple of Pain.  

The only furniture is an altar, 
And behind that a gray stone statue watching over all.  
Behold the God of Pain.

The God has two faces.  
One reminds us of everyone's Mother 
Kissing the skinned knee to make it better.  
The other is a stern Teacher 
Frowning beneath his academic headgear.  

The Mother's hand holds a cuddly stuffed toy.
The Teacher's hand holds a whip.  

The toga-like garment leaves the Mother's full breast bare, 
Ready to give sustenance at a moment's notice.  
The Teacher's chest is flat and muscular.  
The rest of the body is wrapped in mystery.  

Behold the God of Pain:   
Taker of pain, giver of pain, recycler of pain.  

From those in need of comfort
The Mother takes their pain,
Their grief, their fears, their suffering, 
Their bitter memories,
For the Teacher to pass on 
To those who need painful lessons.  

Behold the God of Pain.    

On the altar are many offerings: 
"Please, Mother, take my pain."  
Mortals do not address the Teacher.  

If you know you need a lesson 
You are halfway to having learned it 
Without the Teacher's attentions.
And the needs of others 
Are not for us to decide.  

Justice? 
That is for other gods to mete out.  
The God of Pain teaches but does not condemn.  

Revenge?  
Vengeance can look like a lesson 
But is in truth only a human failing
That the gods would have us outgrow.  

Behold the God of Pain.    


                              Thomas G. Digby
                              Written 12:40 p.m. November 23, 1997 
                              Edited  12:50 a.m. December 8, 1997 
                              Format 13:32 12/22/2001