There was a tickle in my throat and a shiver in my shoulders.
I was coming down with something.
And it was going to be perfect.
How could it not?
Something inside of me was out of balance; the brilliance of my body was going to bring my natural balance back.
No need to panic, run for a test, blame someone else, hide from my family.
This was my sickness, perfectly created for me, by me.
I prepared my side of the bed, piled up with extra covers. I was being called to sweat.
The novelty of a fever.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one.
I readied myself for an adventure in a feverish dream that night, and I had the perfect book to prepare me: Wolferland.
Within, Martin Shaw would take me on a journey into a forest where the creatures, trees and moss would remind me that everything in each moment, had already existed.
I snuggled down with Shaw’s magic and then awaited my own.
I’d been renewing my kids’ passports and that is what I dreamt about! Perhaps there was a surprise nationality that crept in, but nothing more mysterious or enchanting.
A practical dreamer, mostly.
Not much sweat to report either, come morning.
I had a runny nose for a few days and felt tired.
“Are you sure it’s not…?” someone asked.
“Remember the days when you would have a cold and that would be it? That was it.”
I slept a little more, drank hot drinks and inhaled some drops of healing oils, and what had been with me, left me.
I waited over a month before I published this story, realizing that in these crazy times, people might start imagining things.
Then, when I shared the story on Facebook, someone did take the discussion right to: well what if an old person ended up on a ventilator?
This irrational fear of our bodies and the bodies of others is grounded in unproven theories of health and disease. For a further discussion on this topic, I encourage you to read my blog post: How I found health freedom in a pandemic