(375) Life has but one purpose~ to give, to serve! (4)

“Pain. So much pain. Unbearable pain.” How can there be such excruciating pain in this world? It began as a vague sensation, as though something deep inside my organs were twisting and writhing. Then the force gradually intensified. Within just one or two breaths, it became like a sharp blade stabbing through me—twisting, pulling, tearing. My breathing grew rapid and chaotic. I felt I could not go on.
Charles looked at me. My eyes were vacant, my face ashen. He knew I was having another attack.

With what little breath I had left, I managed to say, “It hurts so much. I need to use the bathroom.” Then I rushed to the toilet.
I still remember that the toilet in the village house had a simple metal hook latch. The very moment I reached out to fasten it…
Everything went blank.
Total darkness. Not a sound. Absolute silence.
I have no idea how long time and space disappeared. When consciousness finally returned, I found myself curled up on the floor.
Ah… once again, that murderous pain had dragged me into shock.
I have suffered from this problem since childhood. Whenever the pain becomes unbearable, I simply lose consciousness and collapse. Since I never know how long I have been unconscious or where I have fallen, every time I come around, besides the pain throughout my body and the overwhelming weakness—as though every ounce of energy has suddenly been drained from me—there is also this strange inner fog: confusion, bewilderment and sadness.

Seeing me return, barely breathing, Charles said nothing. I collapsed onto the bed and closed my eyes. He touched my forehead. “Are you all right? You’re colder than ice…” Yes. Every time I come out of shock, I am drenched in sweat—great beads of cold sweat pouring from head to toe. I believe my body must be consuming enormous amounts of energy at that moment, desperately trying to repair itself and keep me alive.

Charles knows me well. He understands that all he needs to do is keep me warm. Wrapped in blankets, I could feel his large hands resting gently, again and again, on my cheeks, shoulders, arms and upper back.
At that moment, that warmth meant more than anything in the world. Every cell in my body seemed to be fighting for warmth, desperately grasping at it. Only when my frozen body gradually began to regain its temperature did he finally relax and reassure me:
“Don’t be afraid. Your temperature is back. The danger has passed.”
I had no strength even to open my eyes or respond. All I could do was silently give thanks for those warm hands that had supported me, holding me steady as I slowly, step by step, returned to life.

Sigh… truly, man proposes, but Heaven disposes. This sudden attack happened on the very day our Plein-air painting event came to an end. That evening, there was a group exhibition and a traditional folk-music performance. Yet just half an hour before the event began, I was suddenly forced to stop.
Charles looked at me with concern. "Why don’t I stay here with you…?" “No. You need to share your painting experience with the guests. I can rest here by myself.”

Charles went to the event as planned, while I quietly rested. Half asleep and half awake, I found myself thinking about the life of the great painter A.V.

So many of his words came back to me: “Painting is not simply about depicting the world we already know. It is a continuous journey of exploring the unknown. I love painting outdoors because everything is fleeting. Every creation is spontaneous—without rules, without formulas. It is freer. And this presence, this being fully present, comes closer to the ‘truth’ of nature.”
Lying there in bed, unable to attend the grand gathering, I felt deeply disappointed.
But why at this very moment? What deeper meaning might there be?
A.V. once said:
“Everyone is vulnerable. Yet vulnerability does not always appear in the form of tragedy. Sometimes it can be seen and understood anew through humour, even through the absurd. This is the belief at the heart of my work—to see truth in the absurd, and to touch the depths of life through playfulness.”

Honestly, after fainting countless times since childhood, this excruciating pain has taught me something about the very essence of life's fragility.
I often joke:
“There’s nothing much to fear. If I wake up after going into shock, I’m fine. If I don’t wake up, then it’s no longer my business.”
Life and death have never been mine to control. There is no point worrying about them.
What matters far more to me is this:
While I am alive, have I done my very best to make good use of this life?

Ah… suddenly I understood why that stabbing pain had struck.
Perhaps it had come simply to deliver a message through me:
A.V. was passionate about Plein-air painting precisely because he wanted to reveal how precious every single moment of life is. The present moment can never be repeated. The more we recognize the fragility of life and the unpredictability of the world, the more we should open our hearts and embrace Heaven and Earth.

Perhaps awakened by the pain, and deeply influenced by A.V., I suddenly had an impulse to ask Charles:
“I know your paintings are quite valuable. But what is more important—life or money?”
“You poor thing. Has the pain addled your brain? Of course life!”
“Exactly! Every painting we created in Ziboliškės village was inspired by A.V. and propelled by the energy of this place. Shouldn’t what we have created be given back? I suggest that the proceeds from the paintings created during this Plein-air event be donated to Ruta for the future expansion of the village. Let this beauty continue to grow and ripple outward.” Charles looked into my determined eyes—and agreed. ✌️

Life is about giving and contributing.
To be alive, to breathe freely, to be able to share and do something for the world—that alone is the greatest joy of being alive. There is no second prize.
I am grateful for the pain.
Grateful for A.V.
Grateful for every guidance that has brought me here.
And once again, I have been set ablaze with life.

(To be continued)