The Wound

I said something that, as always, is just random words coupled together for dramatic effect, but on second thought have a hidden more. When something is hurting, that means it will soon stop to hurt as we become accustomed to the pain. The next pain will be a more high-level pain, and it too will only hurt for a bit before it becomes habitual and invisible. And onwards the pains will keep mounting on top of each other, drowning the previous ones until one of two eventualities: the end of pain, doubtful, endless bliss is always a suspicious prediction, or, the confrontation with an unsurmountable pain, beyond my being, something larger than me that, were it a physical pain, would tear my body apart. But this - this wound greater than I - it remains now for me (perhaps forever) beyond contemplation. I can rest easy, in a way, knowing that, due to my finitude, with enough work I can push through the lesser pains to a plateau of apparent (but pragmatically very real) bliss, as the wolf of the giant wound looms in the distance, never quite resolving to strike. "He's an old man, just leave him be."