Under the Knife or Sky
Morning Thoughts #267
I wanted to change my life, so, in the mode of a surgeon, I began to plan for an operation. Exploratory to a large degree, the timetable was uncertain. To prepare for this, for the uncertain duration of the procedure, somewhat naturally I sought to teach myself the art of anesthetization. Vitally important in the moments right before the first incision, its application was less indicated in the prolonged lead-up to the act.
Which, however, is what ultimately ensued (oh reflective self!), a long drawn-out preparation for surgery, so much so that I began to consider this process as part of the surgery itself. Planning and painkilling, sense-muting, became roped together. As a patient serious in his surgery (a surgery whose anticipation hardly ever left my mind, and when it did, it was mostly a side-effect of the drip of these premature infusions, the strength of their counterproductive doses originating from an oversaturation of thoughts yearning for general transformation and life progression).
As a result, over time, the desire for change began to wane in its intensity of feeling, though not in its preponderance of accumulation. This fact took a while to be noted by my conscience. The preparation, the diet, the surgical task list, it kept extending outward.
My sensitivity to the world (the symptom that started it all!) decreased precisely as a result of this yet unrealized treatment (the planning stages misinterpreted as initial forays into self, spiritual incisions). Its original acute sensitivity dimmed. Living in a time of delayed procedure, it became a matter of getting the anesthesiologist and surgeon on the same page, getting their timing synced.
Realizing now, amidst a life of late summer heat, it is well past time to finally place myself under the knife or else willingly submit myself again, medication-free and defenseless, to the full force of the open air, skies of existential blue, sunny with restless winds. To be felt again in all their reality. Which is all the reality you can contain, anything extra that spills over is wasted anyway.
Yes, you cannot live in between and hope for life to come to anything destined. Uncured in body, asymptomatic in mind.