day two

Its 4:00 in the morning, and I'm pretty sure I have dysentery.  On a normal occassion, this would be cause for fear.  Given my current situation, though, holding cheeks together takes my mind off other "shit."  I'm supposed to go with my sister to visit some Buddhist temples today, but all I can think about is the lack of toilet paper and thank the virgin for giving me enough foresight to buy travel packets of toilet paper.

The hangover headache is gone, but I'm pretty sure its appendicitis or something and they told me to avoid the hospital. I crouch in a fetal position and try not to moan.

I worked with a lady back in the day who told me never to make any decision unless three days had passed...something about Christ taking three days to be resurrected.  I need a resurrection, God, how I do.

 I gave myself a few days and decided after three days on vacation, I'd be good to go.  I'm on day two, and can't decide whether to puke or go the other end.  Actually, my gut is in such knots, I don't have time to think about what plagues me...other than the cholera I'm pretty sure I've contacted.  Here's your Zen moment, Jens, it is what is...or as some may put, shit is shit.

I'm tired of shit.  Literally and metaphorically...all the allusions and alliterations.  But. It. Just. Won't. Stop.

Finally it does, and I realize I have slept for well over 14 hours...on a bed harder than your head.  I stumble out, shower, and Nik hands me a subway card.  "Temple," she says.  And it dawns on me how nondescript you get when no one else speaks your language.

I ask her if she knows where to go...kind of.  she knows how to find crepes, so we go back to the international district and eat crepes and goat cheese.  Have a mojito...actually two.  Then subway.

"Jens," She says.  "There are a lot beggars at the temples."  She's telling me this because she knows I'll get all broken hearted and give them everything.  "Don't."

I'm shocked when we get there.  I've read Karl Marx.  I get the gist of communism and homeless is NOT something acknowledged in that philosophy.  Open, weeping wounds.  They cover their head, having lost face.  Cripples, hunched over, people that actually CANNOT work.  A welfare state?  This isn't a welfare state.  These are the people that need socialism and they are left, without a face to show, begging on the street.  Handicapped.  They can't contribute, so there is no help.  My guts wrenches and it isn't the dystentery.

This whole thing started out as a spiritual retreat for me.  I was supposed to go to Lhasa, but they're immolating themselves and the boarder is closed.  So, I just have to meditate in communist approved places. Try as I might to overcome the indoctrination and rely on what I really  know, it isn't the same.  I light my incense and bow east.  I'm supposed to do all four directions, but home is east, and home, I realize, is where we help each other.  I pray to the east.

I see the most amazing buddha ever, and Nik says, "Jen, its ok to pray."

And in that moment, remembering the hunchback on the street, with his face shrouded, legs that wont work, open wounds, wearing a diaper (and the kids in China don't wear diapers, they shit wherever, not kidding), I realize I don't need to pray.  I need to give thanks.

I bow to the Buddha and give thanks to all that is holy, that despite my hard times, and what I think is tough, I am already VERY, VERY blessed.

I give thanks to clean air, and stars, and water, and by god, FOOD. I give thanks for TWO babies...sure, they make me want to drink half the time, but I get TWO.

I remember the noodles, dumplings, and beer yesterday, and how it cost about $10 for three of us.  Cheap, cheap, cheap.  Then you remember these people, most of them, live on $200 a month.

I bow deeper to the east, leave 100 rmb in the drum and walk away to catch the train to Beijing.  A first class train, and I feel so guilty.