Day: 31-33

day thirty-one:

building upon the last two days, a sense of complete normalcy--imaginative creative thought feels as before--sexual function too, as before--only the slightest suppression of appetite--only the sensation on the crown of head remains the same--emotional range is slowly expanding--feels healthy, as if calibrated correctly--levels of irritability feel correct, which is to say neither blunted with drugs nor out of control as before


day thirty-two:

again, feeling perfectly normal--emotion appears to be operating within a healthy range, albeit somewhat limited than before but greater than recent weeks


day thirty-three:

as I regain more and more of my former sensibilities the real work begins, of working on my own mental processes, working on the awareness of emotion, of that charge of energy as it arises, learning again to see it as biological, as other, as a force/tool to be understood and if not understood, to be treated as one treats a wild animal, with respect, of appreciating the beauty without getting too close, arms length from danger--learning again to weed weeds, to see weeds as weeds, to have the courage and wisdom to pluck them from my daily life knowing that the plucking today is just the plucking today, that tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that there will be more plucking and that in fact, for the rest of my life, there will be plucking--but there will also be watering and planting and the beauty of flowers seen and felt and smelled and the peaceful quiet of sitting in a garden tilled, of remembering the feel of soil on the hands, under the nails, of that wonderful dark dampness of fresh turned mulch, of placing a seed into the ground, covering it, watering it--there will be days like that too--but not without effort--the pail must be taken to the river, filled, carried back to the garden, again and again--and one must know that this is life, that these moments, these steps, each step, each drop of sweat is life--that there are not two lives we have--that there is not another life waiting to be lived only when, only if--that this is it--that the ordinary is everything--that even in a sip of fresh coffee everything is contained, nothing is lacking