Sister Shock and Surprise Blessing

By: Jonathan Noble

When I entered the local hospital’s BMU (Behavioral Medical Unit) I knew, deep down in my soul, that I needed to be there. Being bipolar with major depressive and acute anxiety disorder can cause quite an emotional upheaval at times and scramble your mind, even with medication and coping techniques. What can I say? The situation in my sister’s home — my own residence for over three years — had become toxic; not specifically because of my sister, but because of her poisonous marital situation.

After asking (or telling, really) her degenerate, loathsome husband to leave, we literally went through hell together for the next week . . . but by the end of that week, she was ready, and even craving, to bring him back. She decided (again) that she just couldn’t live without him, and this completely incomprehensible feeling, along with her newly created perspective, quite simply sent me into a tailspin. And so, lo and behold, I ended up in the BMU at the local hospital. Really, I had emotionally, psychologically (and spiritually) invested myself in the situation to a far greater extent than needed, and certainly to a degree I could not handle.

My three-day stay in the hospital’s BMU was precisely what I needed. I was able to dis-invest myself of the whole horrid (and insane) situation of my sister’s marital relationship and its attendant, innumerable problems. Consequently, I regained a sense of peace and stability along with an overall better perspective on my whole life in general. By the time my attending physician/psychiatrist released me from the hospital, I was fully ready to return home . . . but only to discover that I was not going to go back home!

In order to have her husband move back into the home, my sister told me I had to leave (at least for the time being.) She simply said she decided to ask him to move back in so that they could “work on their marriage,” and concluded that this would not be possible with me in the home. Perhaps this makes sense. In an otherwise “normal” situation, I would dare say this would be valid; however, their situation was/is such that he should not have been invited to move back in . . . not at this point in time. In fact, at this point in time — and for the time being — my sister really should have very limited contact with him, which is originally what she had carefully and prayerfully determined. But she changed her mind, which she has every right to do (despite however foolish), and so I suddenly found myself on my way to the home of two very dear friends of our family.

I was shocked, stunned and deeply grieved, to say the least. I could not understand, and I was even angry. However, the home into which I entered is a home of love, peace, compassion and stability. This did not dawn on me until my second day here, but now I realize that I am situated in a place of quiet serenity and . . . hmmm, emotional-psychological safety. Yes, that’s it: emotional-psychological safety. And I have to say, truly God is good. What will happen at the end of this week, I do not know, but I would be quite happy staying here for another week! This really has become like a sabbatical for me and, thus, an unforeseen blessing.

As for my sister, I do not know, but I cannot allow my mind (and heart) to dive into the deep end of that psycho-spiritual cesspool again . . . which is why I am simply going to end my little personal story here, on an upbeat note. I am safe, sound and secure. I am at peace and I am even feeling more and more hopeful (hope-filled) as time chimes on! Perhaps you have experienced something like this in your life — or, at least, an unexpected blessing in disguise — and if so, then maybe you will want to share something about that with us. If so, then by all means, e-mail your story to Pax et Dolor at (and don’t forget to include your name, or pen-name, and perhaps just a bit about yourself! Thank you!)

Blessings to one and all!

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.


Blogging Opportunity, Aid

By:Isolated Girl

It’s been just few days since Jonathan and I were talking about initiating a magazine (an ezine)

We explored together and planned many things regarding the commencement of this ezine.

To my friend Pawan, who had always been alerting me about my ideas…Thankyou!

Then Jon came up with this beautiful name “Pax Et Dolor” meaning “Peace and Pain”.

I got suggestions from my closest mate Roman. He suggested lovely names like  “Tathata” and more.

We strongly believed, for any creative and wondering mind, Peace and pain are a must.

And this was the day, we became excited about the idea of our magazine.

Then, we set up our site and as you can see Jon has posted so many things already.

But just Jon and I are not enough, so we would like to call you, all our friends and creative souls, over here to aid us at our initial steps, because without you, we are nothing.

We dream of creating a world of arts and literature. We want to unite all the wonderers of the blogosphere and contribute to the literature and creativities.

Any of your views, comments, ideas, knowledge, aid, suggestion, or anything!,would be very helpful for us and would motivate us.

You can drop your views in the comment section or mail us at our magazines address or e-mail me.

We also want to provide a good platform to the creative writers and thinkers. We have many sections like prose, poetry, travel, photography and cuisine.

We welcome you to shower your better and bitter words about our initiation.

For dropping your entries and writings or any curiosities, mail us at any of our addresses:

@Pax Et Dolor Magazine

“Peace and Pain”

Cry of Desperation

By: Jonathan Noble

Lord … I have done all that I can do and can do no more;
My whole body, mind and soul is in pain that does not wane,
And I am spent now, bent on walking through the exit door
Hoping there is something more on the other side to abide;
My whole self is empty whereas once I had plenty to give
To live life fully, but now I am truly and purely dried up;
And is there any escape from my fate or is it now too late;
Yes, late is the hour and now my destiny hangs on the bower,
And I can see the dark tower looming ahead calling the dead;
It beckons to me to leave behind the debris to now be free,
And so what shall I answer so filled with numinous cancer?
Now, maybe, the time has come to say farewell to the world
In which I was hurled; will I be missed or kissed goodbye?
Lord, will you come to rescue or let me do what I must do?
Despair fills the very air and fair dreams are so far away,
And I have no desire to see another day … not this way!
Lord, let me fall asleep and keep my soul for the new dawn,
But let me pass on whereupon I will finally find true peace

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.

Fine as Wine

By: Isolated Girl

Me would love to be yours

unless thou art mine

thou art mine own addiction

thou art mine own wine

i did drink thee sip by sip

with mine own lips

and did stir thee

with mine own fing’r tips

thou ranneth along

mine own blood and veins

mine own heart wast a des’rts

and heavenly it rains

i becameth intoxicat’d

with thy wine

and goeth life of mine

fine as wine !!!

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.

Today is the Day

By: Jonathan Noble

Yesterday is a stream already flowing into the ocean,
Tomorrow is but a dream still blowing in the wind,
But today, my friend, is the cream of life to be drunk
Without being sunk into despair in the affair of living;
Today is a moment of prayer, repair and the welfare
Of your soul, which can be a bowl of poison or good;
What do you choose? To gain thru your pain or lose?
. . .
Yesterday is a stream already flowing into the ocean,
Tomorrow is but a dream still blowing in the wind,
But today, my friend, today . . . today . . . this one day

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.

Reminiscence: Grandpa Eads and the End of the World

By: Jonathan Noble

Grandpa Eads, my mother’s father, whom she always affectionately called “daddy,” was a strong man. A carpenter by trade, his features were rugged and his hands calloused; interestingly enough, however, even though he had spent most of his life outdoors, he was as pale-skinned as any Norseman crawling out from under a mountain of snow in the dead of winter! He burned very easily; never tanned (so far as I remember).

I don’t know exactly how old he was when I was born, but he was old. Not as old as Grandma Noble. She was born in 1890 and, so, was already 80 years-old when I entered the world. Grandpa must have been in his sixties, at least, given the fact that my mother was 39 (almost 40) years-old when she birthed me. Not that it matters that much. Grandpa lived younger than his actual age up until the last few months of his life, really.

He taught me to drive a nail when he and dad, Greg and Mr. Emfinger built the “barn” on our 20 acres in the country, just outside Headland. (Mr. Emfinger stands out in my mind because he wore glasses with two different colored lenses.) Grandpa also taught me to play horseshoes, which remains one of my all-time favorite outdoor activities … even though I don’t get to play very much.

He certainly had his hand in teaching me to fish. Dad did, too, but he was always so busy and never seemed to have a lot of time. We fished quite often in Old Mussy Creek, which was about a 15-minute walk from his little house at Camp Abel, two to three miles from our 20 acres ~ christened Noble Acres ~ where we made our home when I was about 10 or 11-years-old.

There was something else Grandpa contributed to my life not nearly as fun as playing horseshoes and fishing, or as practical as knowing how to drive a nail, either: Despondency in the future of this world. Hopelessness. Futility. Waiting for the “rapture” in prayerful expectation, all the while looking (and discussing) the “signs of the times.” This old world was quite literally going to hell, according to Grandpa.

Being able to look around the world for signs, and knowing what they meant and what would happen was kind of exciting. My own future in this deteriorating, death-ridden, already-damned world was not very promising, though, and I found myself wondering what reason there could be for me to think about doing anything. I certainly could not make any lasting contribution, any positive difference … unless, maybe, I became an evangelist, pulling as many “brands from the burning” as possible before the end.

Grandpa never got raptured ~ that is, taken directly into heaven by Jesus before the final, honest-to-goodness end of the world ~ and I know he was disappointed. He died of cancer many years later in our home in Crossville, Tennessee. Mom and dad, neither of whom shared his passion for the end times, eventually decided he had really been afraid to die and that’s what it all came down to, period. I think I agree.

Eventually, I cast aside his super-despondent eschatology of hopelessness. I simply could not continue on in life in this world saddled with the sickening thought that anything and everything I did or might do would, ultimately, prove absolutely futile. “Well, my life might end up being no good,” I thought, “but I’d like a chance … or at least to believe I have some chance to do something good and lasting. Just an opportunity.”

I still like fishing and playing horseshoes, and when on the now-rare occasion I do, I always think of my Grandpa Eads and, too, anytime I’m engaged in anything like carpentry. I wonder how he’s doing? Surely, better and happier; at least, I hope so, and I hope to see him again one day. (Do they play horseshoes in heaven?) Right now, though … I’d still like a chance to do something good and lasting. Just an opportunity.

Note: The copyrights on the article belong to the author. The responsibility for the opinions expressed in the article belongs exclusively to the author.