IT IS THAT FEELING AGAIN

Abstract

I wake up from my afternoon sleep,and it is that feeling againso much similar to pain.A dark, intransigent, all-demanding pain,as if the head were a volcano that hadjust started threatening an eruption.Smoke, liquid-hot swirl of lava,congealing into one hard massinside the skull’s intolerable walls.Migrest, Stemetil, Aquidrin—two each at a time,as if they were my staple foodand I was hungry again.It is that close feeling.The body light like a feather,a dried-up leaf, a speck of pollendrifting in the spring air,as if it wasn’t there at all.The head is heavy. No names, no thoughts,no words. Who chooses to bea guest here so frequently it seemsthe stranger needs to settle permanentlyin this stupid, clumsy house like mine?A volcano? A disembodied body?No answer; only the tremoring fingersdisclose: “You are not the same.You are not what you used to be,”and then the advice: “Sit quietlyon the bed, legs folded, the spiritin ascension through the straightened spine.”Perhaps that is yet another matter.What then does one do at such moments?Laugh it away, as if it was alreadyyesterday? Or just throw oneselfin the old bed and pray?