1:10 p.m. - Thursday, Apr. 08, 2004
I thought that I had thought of something pleasurable, as sometimes you think of someone you love, or you suddenly solve a problem you've been puzzling over, and at once you are flooded with a pleasure so nearly palpable that you couldn't say whether it was mental or physical — but no, in my case it wasn't a thought: it was, instead, a momentary cessation of my cramps. Strange that the relaxation of a muscle in my abdomen should give me a glimpse into Heaven! William James would say it that it was not necessarily any less clear a glimpse for having been viewed, as it were, through the womb.
It hardly seems worth the effort to come in here and say that I've been sick as a f*cking dog all week, that I stayed home sick on Monday, that even now I'm in tremendous pain (intermittently) — it's not really important, and yet in the moment it seems, or seemed, very, very important indeed.
I slept all day on Monday and had a dream, with which I shall not bore you. However, it reminded me that I should be glad that Mr. Nice Guy hadn't answered my e-mail from Friday yet. Then last night he finally answered.
If I had sh*t sense, I wouldn't answer him.
How can I be so sceptical of such things as destiny, reincarnation, higher powers and any meaning to life, and still say to myself (and believe it) that I was put on this earth to do one special thing? And that anything I do, however pleasurable, that distracts me from that single purpose is a sin against myself? And how can I have a dream that makes me think: I lived that experience; it happened about 1915; it was the sweetest experience of any of my lifetimes? — and still think reincarnation is a bunch of crap?