Stronger, younger men would despair to find themselves in my place.
My circumstance - immobility of my lower limbs - would become an irreparable psychological blow to what many fellows believe the defining characteristics of manhood. Taking risks that are possible only in youth, these sturdy heroes march forward with confidence. They stretch toward a future of assured promise and prosperity. My frame, however, has been weakened by degrees through a lengthy illness. This sad body lies inert at the threshold of atrophy. The divan shall evermore be my home.
Though the physical is irrevocably on the wane, the spirit is, conversely, waxing most prodigiously. Though my feet no longer provide me the simple pleasure of a solitary promenade, nor the capacity to gambol about the sylvan expanse of my family's estate, I am, more than any robust youth who runs and leaps, free.
I possess a joyous liberty and fullness of heart that soars higher than a lark. Useless limbs are no longer a source of ruing my entry into the world. Spiritual emancipation arrived when I recognized the sublime importance of the dearest yet simplest of gifts. A student of so many years ago brought me the means to record my every thought: pen and ink and paper.
I have found freedom in the bottom of an inkwell.
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