[an-uh-dahyn]Â

See also: analgesic.
I mean this almost exclusively in the sense of a balm to the soul rather than a bottle of Tylenol. There have been far too many raw nerve moments in my life not to appreciate the value of temporary relief in place of an elusive or unforseeable cure.
And these consolations are myriad. Found in tumbler and at table, punishing physical feats and in a lover’s embrace, frenzied activity or the darkness of slumber, on the inadequate cushions of the kneeling rail or wrapped oh so carefully in tissue and placed in the stiff-sided bag with soft braided handles.
And it is easy to tell certain cures provoke disdain while others go willfully unseen. Our very culture was born from our need of the comfort and safety of things wed to the stern eye of The Lord. Meanwhile those who seek solace by changing only the landscape inside them are scorned as weak without will to do better.
We are all subject to our wounds. Whether and how well we heal varies as greatly as the planes and curves of our bodies. The way we ease our hurts as personal as a prayer.
Comments are closed