writing for self-discovery

I enjoyed a fun night out with friends watching a film at Namaste. It was Deepak Chopra doing what Deepak does so well. And if you don’t know Deepak, I’ll clue in in. He was charming an audience with his brilliant mind. And though I’m onto him, I succumbed to his spell and left believing that if you think it, so it shall be. Of course I believe that to a certain degree anyway, but on with my story.

I hit my pillow within moments of returning home and fell asleep instantly. About 2 a.m. something roused me. Suddenly I was fully awake, flinging my bedcovers wildly to the side, and mad-dashing it to the toilet not quite in time. I felt remarkably ill but the cramping subsided and I fumbled in the drawer for fresher undies. Back in bed I employed deep breathing techniques and tried to quell the disturbance in my belly. That lasted the whole of 10 minutes and I was again dashing, and again off in my timing. This story repeated itself until I realized I should just set by a store of clean underthings and minimize my effort. I grabbed a handful of tidy-whites and stacked them conveniently near the toilet.

About this time things were escalating. My body has a strange and familiar routine when it needs to vomit.  First a sensation like a ripple of electricity passes through me. Cold sweat breaks out and nausea of the most wretched kind triggers the gag reflex. Then I pass out. The throne in my current residence sits on a curious little 5″ pedestal. That would allow for a 5 inch greater distance to fall and smack my head on the unyeilding tile floor in the event of a faint.  The electric ripple had begun. I scrambled off the throne and went prone on the tile averting catastrophe. The technique worked remarkably well. I skipped the faint and went straight to full-on vomiting.

The following two days were lost in a delerium of raging fever, chills, and body aches that made me wonder where I had filed the ibuprophen. But I was in no condition to look for it. I had to conserve my energy for the ongoing poop dashes. There had been a single bout of vomiting but I seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of do-do. Ketut came by with fresh young coconut water. I affectionately screamed at him to get out and get as far away from my vile germs as possible. Wayan stopped in and insisted on hacking the nut open and pouring the nutrient packed water into a glass so I could drink it. I began to scream at her, too, but she sushed me and told me she works with patients at the hospital and never gets sick. I meekly obeyed.

It’s now the end of the eighth day of feeling less than wonderful. I have a new found reverence for the word, diarrhea. I also have a s**t-load of dirty laundry secured tightly in a plastic bag that I can’t bring myself to open. I am contemplating just making it go away, but I have visions of roving dogs sniffing it out and distributing my dainties throughout the streets of Ubud. If had a washing machine and could hold my nose, close my eyes, and dump the darned things in a tub of swirling, soapy, water, it would be a non-issue. But no. Every stinky piece must be scrubbed by hand and hung out to dry.

Thich Nhat Hanh

I know what I have to do. It’s a lesson…of course. I remember the teaching by Thich Nhat Hanh where he tells a student, “There are two ways to wash the dishes. The first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes and the second is to wash the dishes in order to wash the dishes.” It’s an exercise in mindfulness. I need to wash the undies in order to wash the undies and take joy in the fact that I have life and breath available for washing the blighted underwear! But not tonight. Not yet. I’m quite certain that tmorrow is destined to be deeply supportive of this particular mindfulness practice!