A second round of deep needling … wide bore radical penetration … and am beginning to feel like a warm voodoo doll. Though it’s merely more probing of some mortality spot in the old form, today’s version came loaded with cartoon menace. The doctor looked like he’d staggered out of a bar fight and went to work with slightly punchdrunk aggro and minimal patter. Leaving me for most of the day in a stunned channel and moving without skill through a vastly unreadable afternoon and a penitential evening.
Would it be entertaining to decorate/camouflage any discrepancy between what’s known and what’s operational-experiential in such a noting? Only if done brilliantly and only for a corrupt moment. Though it’s generally not a good idea to answer rhetorical questions, this one bears all the weight of the typical and is bearing down like silent thunder all the while.
Hugely on the mute-line, it’s calling for answer from within entertainment addiction in all its aspects, degrees and intervals and from within any distraction syndrome of an otherwise engaged heart. It’s calling for emergence into living as answer. And that totally surpasses getting any kind of score. It’s sure calling me and I am acutely aware of spluttering with personal details of logging on at the outskirts of its awesome range.
Wrapping up this end of this day it’s clear there’s no space to play expansions of a little answer. But about this, to be only answer. And may resting be testing of rising. Newly.
