kentonwhitman.com

The consensus is that it is food poisoning. A colony of unnamed bacteria reproducing in my gut. Regardless of the bacterial particulars, it’s had me spending the last few days in bed, my only journeys out of the sheets to wander down to the bathroom and perform certain functions for which I shall not go into great detail. I haven’t even had the energy to sit at the computer and write anything.

Lying in bed, I’m reminded that being ill is a perfect time for people to wake up to a very important realization. You see, when we’re ill, our mind is usually on one thing – wanting to get better. We dream about the foods we’ll get to eat, the energy we’ll have, and all the things we’ll get to do once we’re healthy again. We spend our time in a sort of dream, ignoring our present moment and existing instead in a constant state of wishing we were somewhere else. In essence, we’re putting aside the act of Living, in hopes that conditions will be better in the future.

Perhaps this isn’t so bad if it’s just a four-day bout of food poisoning. But what if it’s a chronic illness that leaves us in a state of ‘hope’ for years? Or, on an even more subtle and insidious level, what if we’re waiting for any of the usual things we wait for? Waiting to grow up to a certain age. Waiting for the end of the work-day. Waiting for the weekend. Waiting to get a divorce. Waiting for our financial situation to stabilize. Waiting to retire. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

If we observe our lives, we’ll often find that almost all of our time is spent in this state. There are things that we want – things we know will make our lives pleasant – and if we can just push through the next few hours or days or years, if we just work hard enough or are patient enough, then we’ll arrive and we can finally start Living. But as waiting becomes our most perfected skill, we soon find ourselves in an endless state of waiting, always knowing that something better could be just around the corner, and at its most tragic, we find ourselves at the end of our lives realizing that we never took a moment to Live.

Here is the key. Lying in bed, with the window cracked open, the birds make it sound like a jungle outside. Sunlight plays through the prism hanging near the window. My stomach sings strange, alien songs as it gurgles and burbles. The sheets wrap around me, and my body shivers with fever until I pull them up around my neck and am enveloped in warmth. Even dreams of the pizza I will get to eat in a few days, or of all the energy I’ll soon have — these dreams and hopes aren’t bad, as long as I can enjoy the dreams as they arise, see them as Now moments like everything else, and not use them as an excuse to ignore the present moment. Then hope becomes Joy, instead of Longing.

In this way the world is wondrous, and alive, and we can, in every moment, feel our true nature — the raw, pure experience of Living. Even if we’re ill, or in financial ruin, or if our spouse has left us, or if we are dying. Any of us can truly Live, right Now.

As is usual in the case of awakening to life, it’s not about forcing ourselves to pay attention to Now. It’s about ceasing our habitual effort, about letting go into this very moment, about noticing that our mind is always striving for some future that never arrives.

Being ill can thus be a great gift. It gives us a direct chance to notice if we’re engaged in Living, or if we’re stuck in our waiting game, waiting until we get better so that we can start Living again.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 18th, 2007 at 3:06 pm and is filed under Being Present. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site. Your comments will be queued for moderation and posted as quickly as possible.