Reduced From A Torrent To A Tickle

I passed by the nursing home again today and felt nothing. What is happening to me? Is the power of distraction that potent? I was sure that this was not a passing phase; well, I claimed it was but I thought I was just in denial. Surely the pull was too great. For weeks, even months I felt dogged by this relentless nagging, this tugging on my pant leg to turn back or at least stop moving. And then, just like a near miss with a car on a dark road, it is gone and with it all the passion, pain and insight into my condition. I looked around for any trace that it every happened but it was all a faded my memory. A memory upon which everyday experience heaps piles of meaningless instances onto so as to completely obscure its fleeting moments of clarity. I am numb...worse, I am distracted. I have slipped back into my stupor, barely taking notice of the road signs.

What more is there to say. I feel as if this is my only memento of that experience. To let it end, to peter out like a half hearted ovation, would be to completely resign myself to its falsity and with it the adventure of life. The truth is that I loved the pain, the disquiet; for in it and through it I felt something which meant that I could feel. Feeling allows us to experience life beyond the senses beyond the confines of observable truth.

But now I am in the dessert or more accurately, a tepid pool of water. No more raging seas and harrowing waves on the horizon just an imperceptible grey. In light of this, drowning is conceivable a more acceptable risk when one is dying of thirst. But what if one only has an annoying tickle in the throat?