I've been on a journey to the underworld. That's what the flu feels like to me. The chills and fever, the throbbing sinuses and sore throat, the muscle pain, also the inability to think straight in the "real" world - yeah. The flu is a trip to the underworld, at least in the Reyaverse.
In the sickness underworld, my immune system fought valiantly and skillfully, dispatching the attacking virus (or whatever it was). I tossed and turned, dozed off, woke up with a start a few times, blew my nose, shivered and shook, had some crazy dreams. You know. This morning it came to me that shamans, when journeying and fighting demons, dance a similar dance. It's interesting to think about.
A cousin of mine, with whom I'm acquainted only on Facebook, is a political rabble rouser. She said this morning that to wage peace, we can not be peaceful. Hmmm. The term wage peace really bothers me. It's clever, but what is the meaning underneath the words?
But the rest of what she said makes some sense at least in terms of human immunity. We are not peaceful beings. Achieving homeostasis involves battling, violence, the killing of viruses and bacteria. White blood cells gives their lives every day to keep us alive. When sick, we wage war internally.
Even me, the biggest pacifist you have ever met, wages war internally. At least I did yesterday.
I'm sure my cousin was not referring to human immunity when she said that. I think what she meant is that she wishes to wage justice by being very vocal, obstreperous even or maybe she believes as many do that getting out in the streets and causing trouble will help. Does it? You tell me.
I don't believe peace has anything to do with what she said, but it sounds nice, doesn't it?
Today my body is cleaning up in the aftermath of the battle, hence nose blowing and coughing, but just to move stuff around. The battle is over. The fever is gone and the illness is vanquished. Thank god for my immune system. Following the internal war-mongering, I'm feeling very peaceful. I'm waging productivity right now, washing clothes and used teacups, picking up the empty kleenex boxes and such. The war is over. Yay!
Peace is good. I like peace. Shalom.
|Detail from one of Thomas Cole's paintings of the Voyage of Life.|