I’ve been battling a terrible cold these past few days, or rather, my body has. I’ve done very little but sleep and take medicine and drink tea. I tried to get up to write a few times, but my mind has been too clouded to go about the busy work of sifting through thoughts. Everything’s just been a bit fuzzy around the edges.
Although, regardless of illness, that’s probably always true. What in this world can be called clear and absolute? What idea exists that isn’t just a little bit fuzzy? Most things that are important lack a certain precision.
I don’t know very much, but I do know a little. Mostly that I am not supposed to always know, but to always keep seeking, keep sifting through the fog in search of an idea. Every once in a while I will find one. It will blaze through me like fire. It will warm my bones.
When I have a cold, I start working in slow motion. Nothing is done without great effort and thought. I struggle just to breathe. All day long my body works to heal itself. It is a good lesson in patience.
Lately, things have been tough. I am waiting for them to get better. I know it will take time and there’s very little I can do. It all feels slow, and surreal, and fuzzy around the edges. Nothing is certain or absolute. We can only wait and see.
My head is too cloudy to write anything of value today, but I wanted to try and write something. I wanted to relax into the comfort of this familiar exercise, as though it were a cure. I wanted the warmth of words to ease my cold. I wanted to try to seek, and sift, and bring things into focus.
But there are some things that will never be clear to me. I can spend a lifetime’s worth of hours sifting through them, but it will be of little use. There is no fire of understanding to be found in what has happened. There is no part of it that warms me. There is only ash. It is grey and cold, like fog. It makes it hard to breathe.