Story time.

This guy – he was wandering around 25 years ago in the brush somewhere and got these thorns in him. He got stuck out there for 25 years, and since the thorns were hard to grip himself, he wandered around with these thorns in him.

His body became a reflection of his guarding from the pain – a bit twisted. He knew that there was an old Battalion Aid Station around, so they might have something to help him with these thorns. Forceps, whatever they called them. And in 25 years he found nothing.

His life had been altered by pain because his body had been altered by pain. His mind had become altered as well.

But he found some forceps. They were broken, so he had to find some way to fix them. It took him a bit of time, as much as his hands hurt with the thorns, but he got it working again and he started taking out those thorns. Each came with a sigh of relief, a slight relaxation of the muscles, followed by meek contractions to see how far things could move without hurting.

Within a day he pulled all the thorns out. He slept. And he awoke, sore – but he stretched gingerly and winced before contracting his muscles all the way. It hurt a bit, but not as much. And he did that again. And again.

He healed over time. His body mended, his mind slowed – but on that one day, a very big thing happened.

He found the solution and he healed.

And he got out of that brush now that he wasn’t looking for those forceps – or whatever they call them – and he came back a bit older, a bit wiser for his journey, and with a strong aversion to thorns.

This is a metaphor for a real disease.