Sick and Lost Day

I was sick all yesterday; bedridden and stung by poisoned food.

I had been bragging two days ago about how I had not yet fallen sick in Nepal and happily contrasting that with the weekly bout of poisoned food explusion I counted on in Lhasa.

Then, the palak paneer I ate that evening awoke me the next morning to say, "oh, by the way, your body is going to completely reject me having already digested a bit of my spinach and cheese. And, considering we have been digested only in part, we will make our exit via the nearest route, be it this way or that.

So, I spent the day laying in bed with occasional forays to the tiled bathroom to make way for my lovely but violent visitors as they flew forth with their greatest effort.

It was a funny way to spend the day. Well, funny may not be the most precise name for it. But, I was a bit surprised to walk out into Nepal this morning. It may have been my hunger, muted, but growing, but the world seemed a little abrasive this morning. I realized that I had not been out of my house in thirty or so hours. I walked down the street, soaked and muddy as usual, and was apprehensive about every step. Should I put that foot down? What will happen? I will certainly step in that curious concoction of mud and shit that paves the streets in my neighborhood.

Then looking up and taking particularly and unfairly seriously the plain stare that greets me everywhere that says, "what is that (referring to me)?" Usually, I appreciate it very much because it means eye contact, which I love, and, even though it does not mean what it may seem, it is refreshing nonetheless. But this morning, those eyes looking directly at me and mine were threats and danger for some reason. They looked at me and I looked back, but somehow I saw wrath in them and wondered if it was those eyes who were wrathful or my own confused eyes that projected that wrath into the world.

It is hard to know, but I am suspect.

So, I kindof forgot about Nepal while sleeping and writhing. I watched a couple of movies, said goodbye to a couple of friends, and did not eat a couple of things.

Otherwise, I laid around and wondered what was going on with the pain in my body. By 11 AM, the question had been answered. It was bad food that was making knife cuts in me and demanding more of my body than it really wanted to deal with.

Compounding the pain and illness was loneliness and isolation. My partner in crime had left that morning and I was feeling it. He had shown me China and I had shown him Tibet and Nepal. Without him I would speak less English, certainly, but also without him, I would not have a critical sparring partner, something very important to me. So, I was feeling it. Not to mention, I am kindof a crybaby and rarely get sick, so when I do, it might as well be as if I were dying.

Which I thought of while I was laying around: I need to do some work on that. If getting sick bugs me so much, how am I going to deal with death? I have been thinking for a while that I would like to die consciously. And, how will I do that if I freak out about a bit of pain? That is the thing, I think, to face the gross pain and the subtler fear at the time of death with conscious awareness.

While getting depressed and sick at the same time sucks, it is probably a good time to practice dying. I hope I can remember thata for next time.