A few weeks ago, I was in an old house in Athens. The old house has sharp cupboard corners. I stood up quickly after stooping to pick up a stray dart. Splitting pain. Sit on floor. Head in hands. Warm blood drips down face. Stand up. Watch it drip.
I yelled for Peter who was upstairs, to doctor my head- to do anything, really. I didn't want to bleed all over the floor. I didn't want to bleed alone in the kitchen. But before I yelled, I had a moment... When the pain was more of a rush than a reality... My body felt warm and separated into physical body and the energy surrounding it. I watched my blood drip onto the white tile floor for a few moments.. I've never been bothered by seeing blood, but have never seen a lot of my own blood. I watched. I stared. I saw. The sensation of physical being overwhelmed. I realized that I let my mind disconnect from my body so often. I'm usually in a state of wandering-daydreaming-self-proclaimed-reality. I forget about my physical being. I forget how fragile the physical being is: its absolute essentiality.
Rush of pain. I feel. I shout.