Those unfortunate enough--or young enough--to have missed out on the British radio comedy of the 1950s, The Goon Show, will not catch the reference in the title. The Goons--Peter Sellers, who later achieved film fame, got his start here--would refer to any dire sickness as "the dreaded lergy." Not that it made much sense, it wasn't meant to: I guess 'allergy' was in there somewhere.
But no matter. The sad truth is that I'm as sick as the proverbial dog. (Why dogs? Because they look so pathetic when they're under the weather? Maybe.) That cold I got in Budapest...? Seems I passed it on to Ellie, and appeared to be recovering nicely myself. Until yesterday, when it hit me again: sore throat, nasty cough, congestion, fever, the whole bit. From noon on, it was all I could do to struggle out of bed for the occasional trip to the bathroom, and drag myself to the couch in the evening to watch a movie. (We stumbled on "Munich"--not a cheering choice, but we got hooked.)
This morning, better, but not well enough, sadly, to attend our little sitting group, as we usually do on a Sunday morning. Ellie was well enough to make it there, so here I sit, all sick and lonesome, having made the effort to do my own brief sit and give the body permission to do the work it needs to do to heal. Too often, in my own experience, the mind gets hung up on the suffering and delays the healing process with its own self-pity. I'm trying to avoid that trap, and listen to what the body tells me about what I can do to help.
More later, from a better place. It feels good, by the way, to be back from the travel log and into The Buddha Diaries...