I am in pain, every joint, muscle, rib. Breathing is stretching, moving my hands sends splinter feelings up my knuckles, getting out of the chair is what I imaging 90 must feel like. I am crippled and I love it.
Monday to Thursday I spend 85% of the day on my feet, I spend 50/50 of that either under a (most likely difficult and unruly) horse and at the forge learning how to hammer steel into shapes. I have blisters ON my blisters, and they are all in the creases of my second and third knuckles. Breathing reminds me I need to see a chiropractor to get my rip placed back where the good Lord intended. I am so happy.
Last night, while attempting to fall asleep in record time I lay awake thinking about quotes on pain. “Pain is beauty” is the one that pops to mind first. Indeed often it can be, but honey, my hands look like a 50 year old loggers, and that ain’t beauty. I read a haunting book last year called The Secret History, by Donna Tartt. Read it. Here’s a quote that struck me:
Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming…Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it.
Beauty is terror. Interesting. So I went on a “it’s 12 am I now have 5.75 hours left to sleep” rabbit trail in my mind. You know the ones. Here’s the long, run-on sentence that it turned into.
Beauty is Terror, Terror = fear, The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom, I always thought the truly wise knew what and how much to fear, therefore Wisdom = managed fear. Wisdom is beautiful = wisdom is terrible;
Wisdom is Pain.
I’m sure it was the late hour and the fact that every time I rolled over my bones creaked like an old snag tree off the west coast but this meant something slightly awesome to me last night.
I’m n half a bottle of cab sav in, Something’s Got to Give is playing in the background, and I am getting ready to brush my teeth before getting into bed. Once again, before ten.
Life is beautiful