As I am recovering from liver toxicity induced by a certain medication, I am prescribed the simple remedy of rest. At face value, this therapy will appear dry, limiting, maybe even boring. Yes, I sleep more often than I used to, but my body is granting me the opportunity to live beyond physical borders – to live creatively. A day passes drowsily but excitingly, for I learn new facets of life in the quarters of each room, donning my day-old pajamas proudly. My body allows me to use my mind in unique fashions as I resolve in placing empathy above disdain. The sufferings that my figure endures introduces love that deserves to be experienced by all. Though there is suffering, there is self-appreciation. There is a vigorous relationship between the mind and the body that heals past the four white walls of a hospital room.
The ability to see beauty in the minutia of life, that is what a wound allows. The prescription for any inflamed sore is compassion, whether the sore be a tragic loss or a disheartening diagnosis. Do not regress in deprecation, but find peace in the present moment. Love is the most vital adjunct to any remedy, even if the elixir is as lucid as rest. Once love is discovered at the core of adversity, that is when the light touching the hospital windowsill transposes into a ray of nurtured wisdom.