De dolore.

Est nulla supera veritas quam dolore. Solo per dolore sensus simplex declaratio sunt cuius vir vero sit. Patefacit amorem, odium, cupiditatem, metum. Nullum venenum potentior, atque nullus sensus gravior, quoniam dolor numquam dediscor; obruens dolum et fecundans naturam, animam ut olim coporem diluvit. Cum illi stirpes summum perveniunt, luce diei aluntur.

Modus hominis non est in facultate sua tolerare dolorem, at in facultate discere ab eo. Nam dolor neglecta dolorem iutam procreat. Dolor amoris interiti procreare potest condurati basii virum, sed non debet. Dolor amicitiae proditae procreare potest frigidi complexus virum, sed non debet. Est eiusmodi etiam vocare virum postea?

Atque fortunatus qui vulnerem sentiat ante ferrum transfigat ut nauclerus tunc. Videns tortatum fluctuandum in mente, cum quoque vulnere conivit et cum nauta animam retinuit in concentu. Inde, cum plure audentia quam verbi vehere possunt, nauclerus clamavit,

“Striga!”

There is no greater truth than pain. Only through pain can emotions be pure expressions of who the man truly is. It throws open the love, the hate, the desires and the fears. There is no drug more potent, nor feeling more crucial, for pain is never forgotten; it floods the soul as it once did the body, drowning all artifices and fertilizing the essence. And when those stems reach the surface, they are fed by the light of day.

The measure of the man lies not in his ability to cope with this pain, but rather, in his ability to learn from it. For pain ignored begets pain indulged. The ache of love lost may father a man of calloused kiss, but it must not. The sting of friendship betrayed may father a man of cold embrace, but it must not. Can such a man still be called a man thereafter?

And blessed be he who feels the cut before the blade pierces his own skin as the captain did just then. Watching the tortured man drifting in and out of consciousness, he flinched with each new wound and held his breath in unison with the sailor. Then, with more courage than words could convey, the captain cried,

“Stop!”

*****

Nauta sum. Lux est victus meus.
I am the sailor. The light is my sustenance.