dens sapientiae
I have been to the dentist quite frequently this year for a myriad of reasons (though not because my dentist resembles an Adonis...because he doesn't). Each time I sit in The Chair, I find myself close to tears and on the verge of falling to pieces. Usually I am a gladiator when it comes to the dental chair so this wuss-like reaction is unnerving. On closer inspection I can attribute it to a recent phase of intense internal change: the repercussions of which are still unfolding throughout my life.
My kind and softly spoken dentist radiates the capacity for healing and I suspect that this is the catalyst for my flowery response. Healing my heart is an isolating experience so I am fiercely protective of myself and letting someone take care of me - even in the capacity of a dentist fixing my teeth - softens me. I respect his ability as a dentist and when I sit in The Chair I trust him to heal my teeth. My reaction is relief mixed with overwhelming gratitude because it feels foreign to let my guard down in any small way.
I am living in my own head so much that a simple trip to the dentist is not safe from reflection. In truth, I find it beautiful that clarity can be extracted from seemingly mundane activities when my eyes are open.
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