A Lesson in Viscosity From Rick Simpson Oil
Using stillness to flow through chronic pain flare-ups
I filled 5,000 syringes with Rick Simpson Oil (RSO) at work last week—a sentence I never thought I’d say, but here we are.
Unlike the phlegmatic live rosin vape cartridges that I usually fill, RSO is extremely thick and temperamental. RSO must remain within a narrow temperature window to flow properly.
The machine I use has two separate parts: a 140-degree chamber and a 175-degree needle. As the RSO passes from chamber to needle, it thins, creating a workable consistency. When the needle empties, after filling 25ish syringes, a pause is required for the chamber RSO to rise in temperature as it refills the needle. The filter between the chamber and the needle clogs if I move too quickly.
RSO’s temperamental nature can be managed with a few moments of stillness.
The word viscosity kept popping into my brain as I worked. When I looked up the exact definition—a measure of a fluid’s resistance to flow—I thought, huh. I’m in my own viscous state as we speak. I might not be liquid, per se. But my body is 60% water. Perhaps a few moments of stillness are required for proper flow. Perhaps I’m clogging my own filter.
Today I’m flying low and I’m
not saying a word
I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
The world goes on as it must,
the bees in the garden rumbling a little,
the fish leaping, the gnats getting eaten.
And so forth.
But I’m taking the day off.
Quiet as a feather.
I hardly move, though, really, I’m traveling
a terrific distance.
Stillness. One of the doors
into the temple.
-Mary Oliver
Last Monday, I spent six hours in my hammock waiting for a package delivery that required a signature. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do. Except be still and wait. I took the day off. Quiet as a feather. I savored the sound of wind rustling through the leaves, as they will soon change and fall. I relished in stillness, one of the doors into the temple.
I hardly moved, though, really, I traveled a terrific distance.
To hit my RSO production quota, I worked four days instead of three last week. This resulted in a crippling chronic pain flare-up. I know my filter is clogged when a red, itchy rash appears on my eyelids. My only Labor Day weekend activity was recreating last Monday’s hammock oasis. Flying low. Not saying a word. Letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.
as you move toward September,
may you always remember
all the changing winds of August
you already made it through.
for somehow,
through the push and pull of everything,
they did not overtake you.
yes, you have felt it all,
and you have also made it here:
swept through headwinds that shaped and reshaped you,
you have lived through it all, another year.
you are not going in circles.
you are moving through cycles
with every breath you take.
inhale, exhale
at this threshold,
in rhythms,
you are awake…
and even though
you have become all too aware
of all you still need to say, to reach, to do
nothing can take away from the wisdom you have already gathered
from all you have traveled through
to get here
where August ends
and September begins…
another turn
in a cycle, a chance
to begin again.
-Morgan Harper Nichols
I’ve noticed a daylight shift recently, a descent toward darkness. The sun is rising later in the morning and setting earlier in the evening. This year, I’m welcoming the changing winds from August to September with open arms, as darkness creates extra space for stillness. Autumn feels like a long, powerful exhale after a bustling summer.
My only plan for September, aside from filling 20,000 more syringes with RSO, is to breathe at this threshold, remembering all that I have already made it through. For somehow, through the push and pull of chronic pain, I have not been overtaken. I have made it here: swept through headwinds that have shaped and reshaped me. Even though there is much to say, reach, and do, nothing can take away from the wisdom I have already gathered.
Like RSO, I need moments of stillness to flow properly. A specific internal viscosity is required to manage the temperamental nature of flare-ups, to begin again without clogging my own filter.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I am awake at the moment where August ends and September begins…
I’m hardly moving, though, really, I’m traveling a terrific distance.
Progress.
