Perhaps the thing that makes you happy is even the specific aspect of the strain, the concentration of all strain upon the body that you’re now heading back to. Right now—or not yet, or not any more—you aren’t ready to reject this form of effort outright, this effort that challenges only the body and leaves out the mind and its possibilities and especially the possibility of choice. You think you might be able to change something about the work or make something possible, and you think it wouldn’t need all that many changes, in theory. You wish you could organize the work in such a way that it wasn’t fatal. Yet this wish isn’t accompanied by specific ideas, and as soon as you have an idea to put into practice you see an army of head-shakers and brusher-offers before you, around you, and above all inside you, all of them saying: Nonsense, that won’t work. This army inside you is what you have to get past. Presumably you weren’t and aren’t—outside of this book—a person with armies standing at attention inside you, but that’s different now.