In my throat, pain like sandpaper which refuses swallowing. Under my tongue, a burning. I'm not sure where to assign the blame of burning, since I see no canker sores, and what kind of sickness burns the mouth?
The sickness has ebbed and flowed for weeks. I thought I was healed, but the burning came back with a fury on Friday, and has yet to ebb out.
Sickness does this at least: it reminds us that we are always touching death, and yet not consumed by it. It brings us barreling back into the fragility of the child, reminding us that we stand so carefully upon someone else’s ground. Grace is one word for it: a) recognition of the contingency of our lives and b) thank you, God, for allowing my breath to continuously enliven me.
To breathe. Now that is an underrated hobby.
I think this when I fast, on Mondays (with bread and herbal tea, only until 3pm).
I think how when starved clean of necessary nourishment, we are forced to focus on other filling things.
Things like the breath, which may fill the entire body if we let it, which may animate the hungry body with the blood of life, at least.