I could write about the journey to India, of the sinus infection and sore throat I picked up on my last day in New York, and how I spent the 30 hours of plane journeying feverish, losing even more weight than what Guatemalan bouts of parasites this year already claimed. But how to explain the way a mysterious joy smiled at it all? How do I relate how it all felt like the perfect way to arrive here, that something deep inside was sure it was all readying for a move closer to the source of my smile?

The last time I flew to Asia, I flew in at the start of what would turn out to be a long and difficult journey with a pain in my neck that would grow worse and worse and lead me through self-break and heartbreak, through love and loss, and onwards to a shiny new sort of life all the hardship was well worth.

So at the airport before my final flight, I utilize a voucher I received from a booking site in exchange for a link-back on this blog. I’d been saving it, you know, for something special—but I use it to book accommodation at a nice hotel—normally be out of my price range, but for the first two nights in Dharamsala, I need good space to recuperate myself. And as soon as I throw down my bags, I sleep for 12 hours until my fever breaks, waking up just after the sun has gone to sleep.

I go to the rooftop restaurant and order vegetable soup. And from inside my still weak condition, it feels like things are dancing and alive. I sip warm soup and watch me care for myself with such love and patience — I feel so lucky to be treated this way, am so glad to be here.

“You made it mate,” I say to myself, “You’re here and everything is going to be okay.” And it feels like I am saying this to everyone, like every person I’ve ever met is being embraced and cherished all at once. And the first morning, I rise before dawn. I am still very weak, but giddy with the joy that I can take as much time as I need.

No one is going to rush me – no appointments – no one within a thousand miles even knows my name. I can start the day slow and gradual, in love with how I can feel my body slowly move to prepare and drink tea and read lovely Rumi poetry and chant gratitude to whatever mystery is behind this beautiful game called life.