the beginning of the end

12/03/09

What is a journey if not for self-reflection? Sometimes the edge needs to be pushed beyond the comfort zone to make for clarity. Well, I am definitely beyond my comfort zone. The experience has gone from pleasant holiday to something to endure. A test of equanimity. I had thought that the night several nights ago was the bottom. But last night was a step further down.

When I had booked my room, I was so pleased. It was so cute. Looking onto the water. So many quaint touches: the canopy mosquito net, the bamboo hanging curtain for a bathroom door. I settled in for a comfortable night. Then the disco started down the road, celebrating International Woman's Day. My sinuses blocked up and I couldn't breathe. At all. I was forced to keep my mouth open, tense jaw, dry mouth. I had eaten a candy bar and was wired so I read my book to pass the time till I got sleepy. Then the man in the next room started to snore seriously. The classic log sawing. It was a long night. Somewere in the middle of it, I started to recognize all the opportunities I had missed: Why didn't I buy that menthol cream from the young man at the dock? Why didn't I ask the nurse for an antihistamine? It was crystal clear to me that my pride was my blind spot. That my righteousness, my incredibly stiff perfectionism was holding me back. Was actually causing me harm. Here I am, quite sick, spewing massive amounts of green snot for the past 3 days. I see a nurse about my aching ear and don't think to ask for drugs. This insistance on purity, on the natural way - where has it gotten me? Being so fixed on being good, doing the right thing. Here I am: sick as a dog, an aching hip, ear, nose. This perfectionism has not made me perfect. Just stiff. Despite believing philosophically in accepting what is, I continue to crave comfort and well being.

And so. a long sleepless night. An ongoing humbling journey. My self image of strong and capable has been eroded. How can I care for others when I can't care for me?

It is the next day. I sit in the boat. I am in the very last seat. Seems fitting. It is a dark grey day. The spray comes up past my window. The locals look with fascination at the Costa Rican side of the river. They are building a highway on that side. All the trees have been cut down. The Nicaraguan side is still pristine tropical jungle. It starts to rain. I put on my rain jacket to keep dry from the spray. The boat slows to negotiate some rapids. The music is blaring. Then it speeds up. The music fades away.