Frustrations

Time is remarkable. Wonderfully long or dreadfully long. Usually the latter. Nice and fast or too fast. Usually the latter. But no matter what, I can usually put my finger on how time feels to me. Strangely, right now I am not so sure. Has this month been long or short? I have learned so incredibly much and experienced such a vast assortment of new things and taken in a functional amount of a new language, small though that amount may be, but there is so much more to learn and experience. I know I will never have time to see it all, of course, but cannot escape the incessant pressure to look for it and smell for it and listen for it and throw myself out there to find what I can find, and also, to try to find what I may never find. And what is 'it' anyways?

Sometimes, mono takes over and I am stuck in bed for hours-- despite multiple doctors visits I have not been able to shake my nausea and headaches and overwhelming exhaustion-- and so I sit in bed, anxious and apprehensive, dreaming, whether I am asleep or awake, of all of the things that lie just beyond the door. A Sufi woman asked me a few days ago if I was tired. I was exhausted per usual. She told me that before we can accomplish anything spiritually or metaphysically we must allow our bodies, the receptacles for the spirit, to rest. But what if my body never feels the same as it used too? What if I never regain my energy or strength-- whether to accomplish something as big as a spiritual revelation or as small as walking out that door? And how do I draw a line between when to rest and when to push myself on, out that door, into the utterly magnifect world that is sitting here patiently, just waiting for me to get my act together and explore it.