This 'flu has hit me pretty hard. Last night I was so hopped up on Ventolin and fever that I couldn't sleep, so I lay there flying through the cobwebby corners of my head, having brilliant insights and making breathtaking connections between the various mysteries of life. Most of it I don't remember this morning (probably a mercy), but I did manage to suddenly recognize some patterns behind what a client is presenting, and some oblique treatment strategies to address those. Even looking at it more soberly this morning, it still looks like a heck of a good idea. Incredibly so. I've since spent some time looking through various texts, and the bonds between the seemingly unrelated parts are unmistakable, if you know where to look. I didn't know yesterday, but I know now.
In a lot of ways, I'm not a person with huge reserves of self-discipline. Fasting, long bouts of prayer/whathaveyou, sitting alone in the bush for days, those things aren't on my to-do list. I don't have it in my to motivate myself that way. But every now and then, through the discomforts and altered states of fever or (unintentional) sleep-deprivation, I have these moments when my mind loosens its scrabbling grip on what it thinks it knows, and goes wandering naked in unmapped territory. Lots of what it finds are just twigs and dried leaves, but occasionally I stumble into a cave of wonders, with ancient paintings on the walls, lit by fires not made by hands. It's strange, and it's humbling. I don't know how I got there, and I don't know how I got home again, but I've been, and I'm different for it.
I don't know what else to say about that.
Maybe nothing. I'll just ponder it in my heart.
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