Incense as Salve

Too much time has passed since I enjoyed the aroma of a burning cone of patchouli incense. There’s something about that smell that helps improve my outlook on life. But the odor of incense—whether patchouli or something else entirely—is off-putting to many people, so I have stopped burning any incense cones in my study. And it’s too damn hot most of the time lately to sit outside on the deck and luxuriate in what seems to me to be the fragrance of serenity. This morning, though, the outside temperature is only 70°F at the moment, so I might break the cycle of abstinence for a short while; soon, the morning air will make sitting outdoors more than a little unpleasant.  Maybe the smell of incense will help ease the throbbing in my head. And, perhaps, it will brighten an attitude that calls out for brightening.

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My pounding headache this morning may be attributable to last Thursday’s chemotherapy infusions. But maybe not. It could be entirely unrelated to chemo. The same is true of site-specific joint pain. I do not know what difference it would make if I knew, with certainty, the reasons for the discomfort. I sense, though, that I might feel less perplexed by the aches and pains if I understood their source and how best to deal with them. None of the pains are awful; just irritating and annoying. They sour my mood and set an unwelcome stage for the day. Another night of on-and-off insomnia did not help. The good news, though, is that for the most part my post-chemo experience since Thursday has been better than previous rounds. I should not complain, then. But I do.

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The vision in my left eye has been degrading for several months. Even with drops and ointments prescribed by an optometrist, the itchy dryness and badly blurred vision have gotten worse. The optometrist said she would refer me to a cornea specialist if the treatments were ineffective; it is past time to ask for the referral. I doubt the problem is related to chemo or to cancer. Whatever it is, though, it is maddening. I cannot read comfortably. Watching television is unpleasantly “choppy” and imprecise. And it’s not just my vision; dry skin, too, is not responding to ointments and the like prescribed by the dermatologist’s APRN. I wonder whether my body simply is decaying from overuse? Aging has become something of an enemy to me. Mentally, I feel as young as ever. Physically, I am unable to ignore the growing number and severity of signs of deterioration. I could use some strong infusions of youth right now. The assertion that youth is wasted on the  young has more than a kernel of truth to it.

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I want conversation. But not conversation about cancer or politics or the decline of humanity or the horrors that face so many millions of people on Earth. What, then? Talk about how colors can alter one’s perspectives…discussions about the beauty of oceanside cliffs…how wild animals’ instincts enable them to teach their young how to hunt and protect themselves…the aurora borealis…why ripe peaches can be so fabulously tasty…the way poetry can draw out an incredible array of emotions…a thousand other topics that reinforce one’s sense of awe at the universe around us…even the simplest things like eyesight and hearing and taste and touch.

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If I’m going to smell incense, I should do it now.