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The hole left in my jawbone from the extraction of the tooth the dentist removed actually ached for the first time since last Wednesday when I got up at five o'clock this morning to take the antibiotic capsule at the scheduled time. It may have ached because enough time had passed for it to get over the shock of the cavernous indention there in the tooth's stead.
Ex-is-ting is an accurate term in this case. The is-ness of my tooth being there in my mouth for seventy years was X-ed. My jawbone may be aching in lonesomeness for it. It may be pining. The former tooth that served me for such a long time is no long a part of my physical being. Maybe the reason it 'is not' any more happened because I mistreated it by ignoring it's needs, and it spitefully and painfully left me like many of the significant others in my life have . No blame.
This morning, in addition to the amoxicillin capsule I swallowed, I also imbibed a caplet of Vicodin. This time for real pain and discomfort. I took it for the actual reason the pill was initially designed. I guess it was one of the few times I've imbibed a Vicodin tablet for it's designed purpose. I don't do it often for the purpose of alleviating true pain, but to gain relief from some deep sadness that no pill in the world will ever cure.
As usual, when I went back to bed after taking these prescription medicines I lay awake for a period of time drowning in regrets. Like many people, I have lots of them. I'm pretty much a thoughtless bastard for all sorts of reasons, and I've made many people pay for my deep sadness who absolutely didn't deserve to bear my sense of shame. I made judgments and caused them to also feel regret at the same time I declared love for them. Worse, I know exactly what I do to bring it about. I'll really fry in hell for that.
I've only been using the expression "Mind is speech. Speech is mind." as one of my .sig files for less than a year now. I didn't invent it. I saw it some place on the internet, and immediately started using it as if my own. In the light of another saying "There's nothing new under the Sun.", this statement IS my own. It's probably the truth precisely because I didn't invent it.
I didn't invent the state of ecstasy I experienced for a good long time during the night last evening. It's what happens when humans become lucid while in the Delta phase of the sleep cycle. It's literally golden. Every cell in my body felt golden and it was delightful beyond words.
I tried to keep it going, as I always do, for as long as possible, but that's not really up to me nor has it ever been. When I employ the hyphenated expression "me-and-thee-ing" to replace the term "meaning", this is it's most intimate use. There are no human substitutes for the comforter.
No aspect of being can compete with this source of ecstasy. It's apparently not exclusive to my person, and it certainly seems to arrive unearned. I sort of think it happens to most people in the deepest phase of the sleep cycle if they become lucid during that period. It probably happens anyway whether they become lucid or not, but to be appreciated and adored I personally have to be consciously aware it's going on.
It happened to me most profoundly when I was fourteen years old. As now, it was the most wonderful event possible. I was so moved that I spent much of my life attempting to bring it under control so that I could institute it at will whenever I begin to experience the deep sadness.
It's been only recently that I've realized that's not possible. It isn't something to be created, but to be discovered via becoming conscious at the right time. Maybe my re-discovery of it has something to do with the eventuation of my belated spiritual puberty. Perhaps it showed up simply because it was time.
The low pressure system that was responsible for all those tornados in Missouri and the midwest passed over here without incident during the last couple of days. The ferocity of it couldn't survive the height of the Appalachians. It seems trite to write that I am grateful for the cooler temperatures it brought with it. I'm sad it killed all those people out west, and for the similar storm last week that killed all those people here in the local area.
In the quiet early mornings when I indolently lay in bed regretting my numerous mistakes and misdeeds, I regret being a wordsmith by nature and by spiritual calling most of all. Poetic justice can be a cruel task mistress. The unsubtle nuance of my clumsy curiosity might find the chink in a person's armor unintentionally, and unless they strike back forcefully in the moment, I'll probably ignore the winced expressions as an undeserved convenience. I bear shame.
This condition is not deliberate. I really don't mean to hurt people by my flagrant disregard of their feelings. I am is not intentionally mean for the hell of it. Most of the time. It's just that I gotta know if I'm right or not about the potential results indicated by whimsy.
It's a matter of thoughtless misdirection, not intent. My caustic manner of innocently abusing people could be the main cause of my deep sadness. Many capable people don't take my apparent heartlessness laying down. They get revenge for my uncouth behavior, and many times I don't even know why they're pissed at me in the first place. Why am I always the last to know?
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