Tuesday, April 17, 2012

If anesthesia is its own religion then suffering must be its pilgrimage. 

My first root canal ... at 42 years old I consider it something of a rite of passage ... like my first gray hair several years ago.

Seven days of agony, held at arm's reach by a steady diet of pain killers and abject stoicism.

Martin Luther King, Jr. said it best ... "All undeserved suffering is redemptive."

I am a pious astronaut cast adrift.
Amid the eerie ambient sounds of the Stars of the Lid "Dust Breeding (1.316)+ playing on my Ipod I find myself marooned in a comfortable nebula, illuminated by a warm, far distant supernova so bright that even my closed eyelids can't dampen its searing brilliance.  My internal gyro is useless as I slowly spin on my central axis and do slow backwards flips in the dental chair.  I am suspended upon a mixture of gas and chemicals which deaden all pain and expand my consciousness, putting me straight into a mindset to fully understand the lyrics to Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb."  

Just a little pin prick and there'll be no more "Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggghh."
Zero signal.


I am lost.