Tonight's entry is about pain, "dor", illness, "doença", and beauty, "beleza".

One of my favorite poems begins as such: 

O poeta é um fingidor.
Finge tão completamente
Que chega a fingir que é dor
A dor que deveras sente.

When Fernando Pessoa (ele mesmo) wrote these lines it was not to confuse us. Rather, his "heterónimo" meant to open us to a novel way of conceiving of our world.

Our world. That term takes on new meaning when you have a cold, or, if you are like me, you have a cold that goes to your left ear. As a left-hander (zurdo, canhoto) I have an inclination toward to left side of the body. Even my hearing and sight are stronger on the left than on the right. So when hearing in my left ear becomes at all impeded, the universe in which I live loses some of its flavor - a paella without azafrán, a bitoque without the egg. In not perceiving the more sinister side of my ontology in the way to which I am accustomed, I feel somewhat lost. This is not the feeling of Andresen's "Jardim Perdido", although there is an element of lost love in the mix (the love of perception, perhaps). It is the pain of sudden change. It is the novel concept of the world which I am forced to accept that makes me beg within myself to take it away, not because to my person "é dor / a dor que deveras sente", but because it is the "fingidor" who convinces me that I cannot survive without.

Yet there is a loveliness to the new epistemology of the swollen ear canal that takes me back, full swing, into a reality of healing. This afternoon it snowed (yes, in late March, in Georgia) for around 20 minutes. This is highly unusual for this region. At the time I was cooking and attempting to listen to a song my daughter was listening to; once I realized I could not hear it well enough to make it out, I turned to look out the window. In other words, if not for one sense being temporarily impaired, I would not have allowed myself the opportunity to become so taken with what was happening outside. I may never have seen it at all; we may never have called to our daughter to come take a look at "a neve de Março lá fora".

Even the pain of a slight loss can bring beauty to illness / Até a dor duma perda leve pode trazer à doença a beleza. I wish a healthy week to all - good night! / Boa noite! / ¡buenas noches!