Break the grip of pain! The phrase sounds very familiar to me, like it used to be the motto of an over the counter medicine 40 years ago, Ben Gay or Compound W, Castor Oil, Selsun Blue, red dope, cough drops, something.
Just to take the phrase literally -- Break the grip of pain -- is to find some kind of pill, cream, or salve to rub on my aching muscles while I'm energetically engaged in the heavy work of industrialism. Then I'd spread it on the offending muscle and relax while the throbbing lightning bolts diminished to the point of being soothing blue cool waves. How much repetitious heaving can my poor muscles take? These tires are heavy, unless I roll them, which is easier...
But there's another grip of pain that many residential industrialists want to have broken, and that's the doubts that we have thanks to the various forces arrayed against us. Chief among these, of course, are the major industrial powers, whose scheming seems like it never comes to an end. I've been on their bad side more times than I can count, so I'm always expecting them to pounce when they're least expected.
In the early days -- actually before the Residential Industrial Movement (RIM) got started -- when it was just me, the major industrial powers were all over me. Those were lonely, tough days and nights, which, if you'll look back in my archives you'll see were tough. They had me confined to my home for a pretty good stretch of time, and only when I dressed in Grandma's old clothes and sneaked out of the house was I able to elude them. They were literally shooting fiery arrows over my roof trying to smoke me out.
Since then, and some of this I'd almost forgotten, I had a few unlikely allies, and they themselves probably didn't know much about it. Paul Krugman was one of them, when he commented something about industrialism. That was a big relief! That got the majors off my case for a while. Krugman knows how to break the grip of pain. He's a well known advocate. But it wasn't until the movement itself (the RIM) got underway that I was able to enjoy safety in numbers. If virtually every man has his own factory, that spreads out the offense far and wide, and the major industrialists were pulled off my scent.
But still, they're out there, roaming our towns and neighborhoods, physically causing pain for some, and by their threats, mentally causing pain for many others. It's the string-pulling behind the scenes that really gets you! In some towns, the majors still hold a powerful sway. They're on the corrupt city councils, in charge of the school system, or pulling the purse-strings at the biggest mega-churches. And so the start-up guy, the guy who's only trying to make a buck in honest residential industrialism, suffers, because they're able to squeeze him in the grip of pain.
Last night I had some of this mental pain, and that's why I'm writing about it this morning, to alert everyone to some of the things happening below the surface, below the radar. Through the night, I dreamt that my own factory (a tire factory) and my own electrical generating plant were no more. This was a dream that was so vivid that even now I'm putting a wet cloth to my forehead just to make sure I'm truly awake. In the place of my facilities, Grandpa's half-acre was transformed pretty much back to its old pre-industrial form, except there were big holes all over the place, with muddy slopes and crawl spaces down below, and I was down there trying to figure out what to do about it. That's trauma!
Just to wake up helped me break the grip of pain was far as the dream itself was concerned. Because the first thing I did today -- even before going to the bathroom -- was to look out the south window. I could see, instead of holes, everything as it's supposed to be. I have some lights strung up on the smokestacks, so both facilities, as well as my warehouse, were there glowing in the dark. What a relief!
It's my biggest fear -- call it irrational -- that I'm going to wake up someday and all of this will have been a dream. But no dream can last this long. Or, about as bad, that the major industrial powers will truly do me in, as I hear they've done others. I keep telling myself not to think so negatively, but, hey, I'm also very realistic. If it's happened to others, it could happen to me. And, really, why wouldn't the majors try to get the fountainhead, to pay him back?
There's no salve, cream, or rub, unfortunately, for this grip of pain. But if there were, I'd love to find the guy who made it. He might be a neighbor of mine! I know he'd be very successful just selling it within the movement. I'd take a whole case all by myself!
Just need to get back to work ... and be brave.