Vachon Imagined

Smiling through pain is a way to meet the insufferable with joy—almost with delight. It is counterintuitive to those who insist on living only in a world they can name, defend, and possess. But for those who lay down logic and naming conventions, even for a brief moment, there is a taste of another land—something like a different source entirely. A kind of nourishment from elsewhere.

It is life, untouched. The place where children seem to dwell because they do not yet live in the future or the past—they live in the now. A space of spontaneity, purity, and innocence. It is only in adulthood that this begins to look impetuous, foolish, or even wrong.

I once heard a Buddhist teacher speak about the importance of smiling at insults, and I remember thinking, for fuck’s sake, clearly this man has never been truly offended. But I was wrong. I had mistaken peace for happiness, and happiness for a good life.

Smiling at pain does not erase it—it allows it to be met with understanding. Anger toward pain, on the other hand, does not dissolve it; it tends to fortify it.

I’m not Buddhist. I’m not much of anything these days—or perhaps ever was. I tend to treat religion the way I treat ordering sushi: à la carte. But I listened. And more than that, I practiced it.

That was when envy began to reveal itself. So did comparison. Both are simply human, but in the wrong hands—or in the wrong meeting place—they can distort even the best people, and unravel the best intentions.