For a month or more I have gone missing in that narrow place. That place which is ruled by illness infection antibiotics fever chills pain and the rest of the jailers. They dictate and control like a totalitarian regime. Wales moved from spring into summer while I wondered what happened to my weeks to my months to my year. For that time I had no space for wishes but then sometimes there was a hint of life and I wished then only for something shiny to hang my hope on, if only for a moment so I might know that this too has an end and that there are places beyond the narrow one.
The fevers brought on vivid dreams of bamboo forests and medieval cathedrals. In fevers I challenged duality to reason all is one – every living breathing moving particle is one is the absolute. Duality is an illusion, I argued. It must be if this narrow place contains the infinite. Only in a fever do I understand gravity and advanced physics. Only then do I understand that which is shiny, that which hope hangs on, is the shimmering effervescent realm of continual creation.
Now, without fever, to remember this.