In which words reach out across the centuries and sooth my weary soul
Last Sunday was a very-bad-truly-terrible-utterly-miserable day.
In January, I started the process of moving my aunt Martha to Ashland and I became her caregiver and trustee. The journey that I had to take to get her here and settled, and all her finances sorted out, took an incredible toll on me.
One of the things that people with long Covid have to do is to pace themselves. They cannot push through when they are tired, physically or mentally. They need to stop and rest. I was not able to do this during Operation Auntie Martha because I had deadlines to meet, and a wonderful old lady was depending on me to get her settled in a safe place. So I pushed through: there were many twelve hour days spent working; I got very little sleep; I was under an immense amount of stress; and a lot of physical labor was involved.
Last week, I finally completed the biggest of the tasks that was left to do. I sold my aunt’s house in Las Vegas, and now there are only a few loose ends to tie up. Though the heavy lifting is now over, I am paying the price for having pushed myself so hard for so long. I feel now as I did in the summer of 2020. Inflammation is raging throughout my body, which means that I have fever every day, headaches, my whole body hurts, and the fatigue leaves me feeling as limp as an overcooked noodle.
To add insult to injury the systemic inflammation that I am experiencing has made carpal tunnel symptoms in my hands much worse and so I cannot do many of the things that give me joy and that have helped me, in the past, balance out the grim reality of living with a chronic illness. I cannot garden, or play my musical instruments, or write much. I cannot clean my house the way I would like to. I have to assess almost every activity to determine if it will be too much for my hands, my body in general, and my brain.
Last Sunday, the state of my health weighed on me so heavily that I just started to weep. I’m not a crier usually. Normally I can see so many of the bright things, the good things, the beautiful things, that I have in my life. But, on Sunday, I realized how far back I had slipped and I felt overwhelmed with grief. It had taken me years to make some progress and now all that work had been undone. I tried to scold my myself for giving in, but in the end, I just let myself go.
During the week that followed, I began the process of learning how to pace myself all over again. I have learned that physical activity is not the only thing that wears me out. Too much brain activity does the same damage. I did not know this back in 2020 so at least I have more information this time round. My reserves are minuscule now and I have to listen very carefully so that when my body says stop, I hear it and stop.
Lately I have been watching documentaries about English history. This week I was watching a fascinating program about King Alfred the Great (849-889) and the narrator mentioned how this Saxon king went to great pains to educate himself. He believed in the power of education to such a degree that one eighth of his kingdom’s revenue was spent on education. He had tutors, some of whom came from Europe, to teach him and his followers to read and write in both Latin and his native tongue, Old English. Alfred commissioned many books to be translated from Latin into Old English because he wanted to make the writings of great scholars accessible to his people. He established a court school where both nobles and commoners were educated in both Latin and Old English. This was very unusual in a time when few Anglo Saxons were literate. Indeed, at that time, many of the monks in King Alfred’s lands in Wessex could barely read the Latin words in the bible. This state of affairs greatly disturbed the king and he set about getting books translated so that the clergy and his high ranking courtiers could read and understand the bible and other great works for themselves. Many of the books that he commissioned were given to religious institutions as gifts. Among the many texts that he studied were the writings of somebody called Boethius. Apparently this man’s writings had a profound effect on the king. Curious, I paused the program to find out who Boethius was.
Boethius was a prolific Roman scholar of the sixth century AD (circa 480 to 524 AD) who played an important role in bringing Greek science and philosophy to the medieval, Latin world. His most influential work is The Consolation of Philosophy. Boethius left a deep mark on Christian theology, and provided the basis for the development of mathematics, music, and logic in medieval Latin schools.
The narrator in the documentary shared some of the quotes from Boethius’s writings that King Alfred quoted in this own writings; the king wanted to record Boethius’ words and perhaps refer back to them. The words of a Roman philosopher who had lived so long ago, which had moved the heart of an Anglo-Saxon king who lived so long ago, reached out to me. Naturally, I then did more research about the philosopher and his writings and came across a quote that gave me strength when I was at very low ebb.
"So dry your tears. Fortune has not yet turned her hatred against all your blessings.
The storm has not yet broken upon you with too much violence. Your anchors are holding firm and they permit you both comfort in the present, and hope in the future."
Boethius
My anchors are indeed still strong and I do have so many blessings, even though I have a chronic illness. I have weathered this storm before and will do so again.
Who knew that the curiosity of an Anglo-Saxon King and the wisdom of a Roman philosopher could offer comfort to a sick and weary woman in the year 2026. The fact that words written so long ago can reach out across the centuries and still be relevant and compelling today is truly wondrous.
Art (Top): A page from Boethius' book The Consolation of Philosophy
Art (Right): King Alfred the Great
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