The precision of pain and the blurriness of joy. I'm thinking how precise people are when they describe their pain in a doctor's office. Even those who haven't learned to read and write are precise: "This one's a throbbing pain, that one's a wrenching pain, this one gnaws, that one burns, this is a sharp pain and that––a dull one. Right here. Precisely here, yes, yes." Joy blurs everything. I've heard people say after nights of love and feasting, "It was great, I was in seventh heaven." Even the spaceman who floated in outer space, tethered to a spaceship, could say only, "Great, wonderful, I have no words." The blurriness of joy and the precision of pain — I want to describe, with a sharp pain's precision, happiness and blurry joy. I learned to speak among the pains.