Again, I ran into Asclepius. He changes forms. This time he had a white beard. He took -- well, I was making myself scarce and didn't count -- but at least eight vials of blood from me, which was quite an accomplishment. Two sticks, one on outer arm, the other below right index finger (ow). And all very patient, coaxing and careful. Thank you. I'm going to be fine, heart tells me; just a bit of deep tissue rebellion. Can't blame it.
Am on 50 million different antihistamines, as in three. Glad I didn't take the steroids they offered.
Arm meanwhile is starting to have excursions, getting fearless. Even reached up to get some pillows out of the top of the closet. Amazed me. It does cheat, I notice, hunching shoulder up sometimes. Just trying too hard.
But: great breathing song -- once again -- Everlong. Sing along to your body -- loud. Or soft.
If you put your hands on this oar with me, they will never harm another, and they will come to find they hold everything you want. If you put your hands on this oar with me, they would no longer lift anything to your mouth that might wound your precious land that sacred earth that is your body. If you put your soul against this oar with me, the power that made the universe will enter your sinew from a source not outside your limbs, but from a holy realm that lives in us. Exuberant is existence, time a husk. When the moment cracks open, ecstasy leaps out and devours space; love goes mad with the blessings, like my words give. Why lay yourself on the torturer's rack of the past and the future? The mind that tries to shape tomorrow beyond its capacities will find no rest. Be kind to yourself, dear to our innocent follies. Forget any sounds or touch you knew that did not help you dance. ~ Rumi ~