"Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity." - Hippocrates
My breakfast just arrived at my table, a large goblet of unnaturally pink yogurt pooled around layers of banana and granola. I long for real yogurt so intensely that I close my eyes and picture it in the aisle from the health food store. Those large white cylinders, words promising well-being glinting under the reflected fluorescent lights. My vision blends with a memory from sleep, draws from my brain a fraction of last night's dream.
I am running through an enormous, gleaming health food store, wildly pulling things from the shelf and tossing them ecstatically into the grocery cart. Sauerkraut! Yogurt! Chia! Kombucha, kombucha, kombucha!
Why can't I be where I am? Why can't I enjoy the present moment? I have arrived at my destination, the pilgrimage nearly complete. I am eating the aforementioned pink yogurt on a breezy veranda overlooking the rushing river at the base of Semuc Champey, that most glorious mecca for which I have longed. So I suck it up, take a deep breath, see out instead of seek within and head out to finally see the falls.
The glorious falls. The cliffs to jump from. The friends I make, climbing an hour deep into a cave with nothing but stubby candles in one hand, held above the water while we swim through black, icy depths with the other. The splif we smoke on a rocky outcrop as the fog descends on us with the dusk, and we try to do nothing but laugh for five minutes.
And I begin to remember what it feels like to enjoy traveling. But I also know that it requires a strength and well-being that I lost with that fever. The dreams of health food aren't something to be ashamed of, they are the call of my subconscious telling me to stop acting like an explorer and start acting like a patient.
I move the date of my flight back to The States up by two weeks.