Recovery is not about regaining a past condition that is static and fixed in time. It is not about slipping away from ‘illness’ intact, towards a predetermined state of normalcy. Recovery is not a straight line or even a discontinuous series of lines that leads to wellbeing. Recovery is about rich infections and knotty situations. To recover is to be touched and to be changed, and to account for those changes – following the sinewy threads of our grand becoming. To recover is to re-discover. Considering that modern thought is so caught up with the idea of adaptation, mitigation and recoveries, and so committed to the anthropocentric project of maintaining humans as the locus of politics, nothing could be more soothing than relieving us of the idea that we must try to replicate an already existing notion of justice. Or that we must try to arrive at a place that is already made. It could well be that falling sick, being invaded and haunted and troubled, not knowing, dying, grieving are how we must recover. The road doesn’t lead to Damascus; the road is Damascus.