To goodness and wisdom we only make promises; pain we obey. - Marcel Proust
In my life until now, physical pain was something philosophical, something that happened to other people, the old, the infirm, the people in TV documentaries about disasters who cried on camera. Poor them, the poor dears, I would say, holding a tissue to my eyes while I watched, sympathetic to them, but removed from them by my radiant health. I flagrantly used action verbs: run, jump, gambol, dance, walk, skip. I used the word embodied to mean the joy I had in myself.
Now that sit is an action verb, and every movement has a consequence, "embodied" has a different meaning to me. Inside these misfiring nerve fibers I am trapped, I am embodied.
In his play No Exit Sartre famously wrote hell is other people, but I disagree, hell is yourself in your body in pain, the kind of pain that has no topography, it's a pure straight white line endlessly moving forward like an arrow. Without choice, you obey.