Note to self: Get Robby to take some photos of me when I see him this coming weekend. Last one from my phone, almost a month old. I’ve obviously no idea how to take them myself. Plus, I don’t look like this any longer; I’ve dropped some more pounds. Still working on boldness (feels like arrogance somehow).
A visit back to my original blog. I miss writing here. The photos, so gorgeous, they are light years away in their beauty compared to how I post them now. As I sit by the window here in Lexington, typing, seeing the familiar “Add Media”, “Publish”, my favorite, the “I“, I am transferred back to a different place in time. Mostly I think of the study in the Lanka flat. The maroon cover on the futon where I would sit, monkeys screeching in the background. Those pink and silver pillows, square and thin. Typing. And there’s my ‘desk’ on the bed in the Sarnath guesthouse so that my husband could have the rest of the place, his space. I was so giving to that man.
I was reading about Africa in a memoir earlier today when the thought of returning to India occurred. The book brought back the idea of travel to difficult places, so of course, India came to mind. I try not to think of that place; it makes my stomach hurt every time. But I did and next thing I knew, I was here at my blog. A familiar and endeared place. Sadness hangs here, heavy now, like the weight of foggy mornings at Cape Alava on the Washington coast. Or like in Revelation 16:8, the place filled, dense.
And the temple was filled with smoke from the glory of God……
I saw myself in Lanka, on the street. Horns honking, a black and white bull with thick, full hips, standing. The vegetable carts with their purples, their greens and whites. Crowds of people moving in waves. A thick, dirty smoke hanging in the air. The never-ending feeling of loneliness, isolation, abandonment. Some kind of desertion. Empty. Right from the start.
And then I was near the flat. And next, down at Assi Ghat. A heaviness in my chest. As I saw myself there, warmth moving through my torso the way it did when I was sick two summers ago. The IV, laying in that cold, dimly lit room. The table moving into the scanner. A prick and a sting as the dye began to go through my body. At any moment, I thought I would pee. So much (sick, uncomfortable, I’m about to puke) warmth going through me. It felt the same way today as my thoughts turned to India again.