June 28, 2005

Gurney

One of the true pleasures of life is to be left nude under a thin sheet on a gurney in a cold hospital hallway. There, to study and meditate on the ceiling, largely to be ignored, occasionally to be bumped, suddenly to be pushed up to speed by disembodied hands and rolled rapidly and inexplicably away to some mysterious place where the ominous Walter Mitty pocketa-pocketa odiferous sounds reside, all the while praying and hoping that they’ve got the right guy for the right forthcoming procedural experience.

Further, it is especially conflicting for an intuitive extrovert who knows that so many medical types have to face life unfortunately constrained by mere sensate introversion. On the other hand, I am led to believe that what such an experience does provide is a renewed perspective on reality. It can reach the naked inner eye would we but let it, the place where life is no longer so filtered, where the deer and the antelope play, where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day.

I have never found such a time, albeit the pity, a very comfortable venue for conversation.

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