Sometimes it is a time of hunger. Sacrifice. Trying to fulfil ones dreams can come at a high cost yet as I sit here by the river, in a town called Siem Reap in Cambodia, stomach growling and cramping up like a second heart, gasping for nutriments, I let the river and its wisdom fulfil my emptiness.
It is me who decided a little while ago to continue my life as a rambling wanderer in S-E Asia, as a freebird looking for her own song, while having no resources to really provide for that life. It is I who put the fate of these months in the hand of Life, who surrendered to its will. Is my faith now crumbling because of the needs of my stomach? I suspect an uglier reason yet.
I have known hunger before, there have been times in my life when I've survived on a few pieces of bread a day, when I have walked huge distances in a strange city, an illegal immigrant no less, begging for a job, exhausted, famished, and with blistered feet. Once I started to do well I lost something valuable I had gained during that difficult period- humility. The reason I suffer now is pride and being used to a life of luxury, this is the truth of the Now. I have never held back any expenses while I travel, I have taken the most out of every adventure. No more. It is the crumbling of my hedonistic soul I hear now much more than that of my stomach.
The river continues to speak.
I've always nodded sympathetically when the Cambodian people have told me of the reasons they would love to leave their homeland, how hard life can be here, how they barely survive. I've always told them that I understand. How easy it is to say that yet how many of the tourists who can afford the greatest luxury of all- travel, really do understand? I am lucky enough to begin to understand now.
The river briefly spurts as it runs over a rock at the same time that my stomach throws another tantrum. Doesn't the river always continue to flow regardless of any obstacles on its path? If a river had the ability to think would it consider any of the changes in its path an obstacle at all? Perhaps it would cherish all that comes its way as companions on its lonely path? Don't we humans also prefer a curving scenic route, amid mountains or valleys, to a long straight path with no variety?
I am stranded on a rocky surface perhaps for the moment yet I must remember that I am not treading on my dreams as Yeats once feared. Quite the opposite, these "sufferings" are the creation of my dreams, they flow out of the same pen which writes its ecstasies. It is me, yes me, who chose the life of following dreams above life-lessness.
I say goodbye to the river now, bow down to it with a grateful whisper, and find my usual street-side stall to eat my meal of the day. The dish of fried rice with vegetables is before me now and I notice a slight tremor in my hand as I lift the chopsticks. The gratitude! My stomach is filled after a few mouthfuls but I keep on eating till the plate is sparkling clean, despite the nausea that comes with the effort.
I am grateful for the new appreciation for my temporary home-land, for all that it suffers and for all the measly bits it produces with the sweat and toil of its inhabitants. Even more than that I have a renewed appreciation for another home that I inhabit temporarily- my body. And last but not least I am grateful for a rebirth of my faith in Life and Dreams. We may not understand the blessings of the more hard stretches of time, but everything is always for our own growth and thus happiness.
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