When sun’s gold hits God’s gold, we know:

gold shines bright. We look –

it shows our reflection.

Do we like it more then, or like it less?


Golden love is molten: the purest kind shines brightest, fuses tightest, boils with warmth and brilliance, burns what is not ready to embrace it, is capable of glistening even rock.

And we, made in the likeness of the maker… can we forgive ourselves our humanity?



regeneration of the heart and soul: symptoms, signs, and similes

Save me from cliché, but I must declare:

Today I am filled with hope

that my life will have meaning,

does now,

and has before.

This morning I went to see the nurse to see how my left index finger was evolving. She had asked me to come in because she did not like the way the cuts looked; there seemed to be suture string inside the cuts covered under layers of newly set skin, and the cut was still quite open.  I had been in to get my 6 stitches taken off on Tuesday, having two weeks ago split it open in several cuts with a hand-blender. (Contrary to what the name implies, you are not to stick your hand, or any part of it, into the blender).

I asked her if I needed more stitches for it to fully close up. She replied no, that the skin around it was already dead, would not ever reach the other side of the skin, from which it had been traumatically severed off. She said that cuts on the finger tend to look this way after stitches. It’s funny that one of our body’s most irrigated, innervated, necessary, used and useful areas often heals tormentously.

It’s almost analogical to wounds of the romantic heart.

I also told her about the loss of sensibility I have in the area distal to the cuts; some would be regained, some will have perished forever, and only time will tell.
                                                                                      Well, this is familiar… déja vu?
My fingertip has been tingling recently and I have a compelling urge to always be touching it, although at soft touch I feel slight pain; is this normal? “It’s normal for the recuperation of nerves to be accompanied by burning, tingling, and/or a variety of other painful or uncomfortable sensations.” It’s also normal to want to be constantly stimulating it, to make sure it’s still there, to encourage it to start feeling as soon as possible, to prevent it from forgetting how to feel altogether.
                                                                                      Well, this is familiar… déja vu?

In order for nervous sensation to return to a territory after damage, the nerves must grow regenerational sprouts and try to establish connections with other parts of nerves or the tissues it must reach to employ with function. If the new fibers struggle and fail to make a connection, no recovery will take place, and the molest sensations may remain, and become permanent. This moves me still, having done so from the moment I first learned it. My nervous system regenerating, once again, is an analogical allegory; leaves me ruminating, in reminiscence of amorous scar tissue.

Because when heartbreak takes place, a traumatic separation happens within: the division of the other and yourself. You acknowledge that the path has ceased to be made for two, and you must accommodate for that.
Once again I find it funny to think of those little cells there on the line of fire on my finger, like little people who got ripped from their buddies in an earthquake, and now are too far to ever touch each other again. The crater created by the blade of the hand blender between those last spartans, those last rows of cells, is too great to cross and close. If only they had an airport or something of the like; if crossing oceans is possible, a millimetrical cut… for a biological machine that can overcome an infestation of microbes with nothing more than a fever, or fall from 7 stories and still live… it seems like nothing. And yet it is.
It’s funny to think that those skin, blood, muscle, tissue cells, who just happened to have been created to create my finger, give it shape, grant it function, just happened to be sitting there then my brain had a misfire and my right thumb pressed the button that decided the non-integrity of my finger. Is it all up to chance, and casualty?

When healing a hurt heart, it is similar; the gap seems unabridgeable where the bond was undeniable.

As with tumor surgery, you aim for the bulk, try your best to not leave any malignancy around it, but there is room for error. You can try to take away more lesion and risk taking away healthy tissue; you can opt for a conservative approach and risk leaving malignancy, latent but due for a regrowth, postponing the lottery draw for an unknown time. Either way: dead skin around the lesion.

I think it is for a reason that some lesions close but leave a scar. Memories fade but there are some lessons we must always remember; maybe that is their purpose? For remembrance. Yad Vasheh. Out of horror stories come great heroes, come great lessons, exemplified historically for even those who did not live to see them. Memory can be painful but it can prevent from new pain.

Also: regenerating nerves is painful; rebuilding connections is not always easy, not always complete; final recovery in sensibility may not be complete. Recuperating after trauma is painful too – any kind. Extrapolate to wherever applicable, and help yourself understand this.

We may never get what is lost back in its totality, but I can find at present two blessings in this fact to be thankful for: the first is that memory is a beautiful yet fickle thing, and since we can never be exactly sure of how true something we remember is, we should never be too upset about not regaining something or other, as we cannot even trust that we have kept it immaculate in our recollections; and the second, that what we regain may not the same in numerically or in character, but this says nothing on the quality. Thus, in tune with the relativity of our thoughts, memories, and thus identities and interpretations of our own realities: if we insist on bathing everything in an agreeable perfume, or venture to adjust the lens through which we see and approach and experience the world and make it acquire a tone of rose, we can define a set of surroundings more agreeable to our nature, our disposition, our role in the niche environment we were chosen to live in.