Gastric Singlehood

Time does not move here. Clocks are nonexistent, and the only meter
for sleep is the crashing tide of the rising river, an ever constant
sonic exhale from the mouth of the mountains. At night, it helps me
battle the clash of present and future thoughts, those kinds of
calamitous images and memories that can flood through the portholes of
the mind when the subconscious opens to welcome a new stream of
dreams.

By day, I pass the time strumming the guitar for 10-month-old Cawan
(Indian for "bird of the Amazon"), the youngest of the family clan
whose fascination for beating the instrument like a tribal drum is
matched only by his curiosity to open ever door and cupboard in the
house. And when the family sings "Cawan, Cawan, Cawan!" his arms
raise to the sky, his body rocking to off-kilter rhythm in his mind
that only he hears, exciting his voice into giggles.

When the monsoon rains die down, one can even make attempts to swim in
the upper stream at the base of the waterfall. In an attempt to
convince myself of some form of mild adventurer status, I rock hopped
half-naked to a steady pool, staring blankly upon the brown waters,
pondering what over-sized animals awaited my submersion so they could
nibble on my toes, or nip at my flesh. Alone and unaccompanied by
onlookers, I clutched my arms across my nipples (a common and often
pointless attempt to fight off chill that we all seem to practice),
muttering incomprehensible hoots and hollers until I finally worked up
the nerve to dip one foot in with the grace of a nearsighted
ballerina.

Once submerged, I somehow reverted back to the style of swimming
common to a water-phobic child wearing water wingers (e.g. me from age
5-10 in ANY pool), performing some butchered version of the doggie
paddle that miraculously kept my head afloat. After a few moments of
swatting at imaginary leeches (which turned out to be stray leaves), a
more syncopated breathing pattern returned to me, and I was able to
raise myself onto an ant-infested mud patch next to a rock, and crawl
my way to shore. But dear God, I had gone swimming in the jungle!

My body has even adjusted to the wholely vegeterian diet, which at
first induced spells of light-headedness which my sense memory had
associated only with that time I forgot to eat breakfast in third
grade, played a legendary game of dodgeball, and then proceeded to
pass out from lack of nourishment (the impact of my head hitting the
gym floor actually woke me up). I've actually become quite fond of
the buffet of organic fruits and vegetables that make up each meal,
and being a boy who previously only ate brown foods for a almost 5
years straight, the copious ladles of beans are a welcome substitute.
(Admittedly though, being a bachelor has made this experience much
easier, considering the gastric responses beans induce. Praise be
singlehood in the presence of beans.)

I've even started making legitimate attempts at meditation. Of
course, when I am finally able to clear my thoughts into an objective
flow of non-thinking with my breathe, Stevie Wonder's "Uptight" keeps
invading my conscious mind. This morning I even visualized my brain
as an antique FM radio, changing the station whenever a song became to
prominent in my thoughts. At first, the results were immediately
fruitful, as I tuned in almost instantly to the ambience of the
natural surroundings. But when Creed's "Higher" abruptly began
blaring (probably from some cob-webbed channel in my brain connected
to the early high school nu-metal memory bank), I had to give up.
Meditation, it seems, cannot defeat Scott Stapp.

For now I am passing the time in the shade of the porch overlooking
the water, marveling at how I once again managed to get sunburnt in
the shape of my palm across my chest (thank you book reading on my
back!), why Brazilians seem so fond of spandex and lycra (think early
90s BayWatch montages) as semi-formal beach attire, and whether or not
those Argentinian cookies I smuggled across the border will have
melted after being wrapped in long underwear for two weeks . . .

I think it's time to meditate.

Peace and Wellness,

Phil