Suffering, in great abundance

While I was in the hospital, I was lucky to get a bed by the window. I spent my time looking at the sky through that window. I kept it open all the time, because life was out there. Death was out there, too. I needed the air to dilute my helplessness. I used to spend a lot of time in my head before I got sick. Being at the hospital pulled that habit out like a bad tooth. The real world came into focus. The soft apricots of Cádiz. Lilacs in bloom. The sweat of the sea in Saloniki during the days of suffocating heat. The sand of North Frisia, like fine cane sugar, a whip to the legs, the sand of my home. The wind through my hair. The salty mist on my face. The sticky banisters of some companionways. The vibrations on the steel net when someone’s in a hurry. Holding hands. And of course suffering, in great abundance.

That’s all there is to it.