It took a long time to get outta bed this morning. I didn't get much sleep. Every which way I turned something different hurt. The most consistently painful spot is the back of my neck. It's almost like the pain is in my skin. I can't keep my head on the same place on my pillow without what contacts the pillow causing me unbearable pain, and I have to move. Moving doesn't help much. I moved and laid on that part of my head and neck just moments before, and had to turn from it seeking relief. I have eighteen days left before my appointment at the arthritis clinic at the VA in Durham. That's the earliest I'll get any relief besides ibuprofen and the DMSO liniment. What a drag, man. I hate making do.
I've been trying all sorts of stretching exercises to see if that helped. I guess it did a little bit. Then, I meditated for a good hour and a half, and that made my brain hurt. That's not supposed to happen. Surgeons operate on brains without anesthesia. How could my brain hurt? I kept on doing my count in the hope that I'd reach a release point. Not much happened except that the area I previously sensitized during my former stint at meditating, instead of serving as a signal that I was breathing exactly right, caused a good deal of stress. Since this pain is caused by the inflammation of my joints, it's easy to jump to the conclusion that I'm suffering the pangs of hell.
The longer I experience this discomfort the more it reminds me of Kundalini. It moves. It don't ask permission. It goes where it will and does as it pleases. It's physically changing my body to the way it wants my body to be. Once upon a time I might have elicited some sort of bravado to make my kin proud. But, since I'm it's victim I don't appear to have a say. C'est la morte!
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
