I am losing sensitivity in my fingers.
For 3 weeks now, bordering on 4, I have been succumbing my left hand to the rigor of steel guitar strings. The result has been a deadening of the nerves – a limbo land of acute sensation and rhythmic numbness, with numbness slowly domineering.
I stare at my fingers, symbolically. Something tells me there is a a meaning to this numbness: “a man of stories goes numb”; or “idle hands find their tune”; or “one must lose life in order to find it.” For the price of sensitivity, my hands discover harmonic beauty. For the price of time, my heart beats with new sounds; from these sounds shall come new words, and these words will find homes among my stories.
