My lungs are sick. I am not used to this feeling anymore. I observe the mystery of disease with wonder. What are these coughs that I keep regurgitating? What are these lungs? Why do they behave in this way? I realize I know very little about my body.
I cough and I write at the same time. A comical way of connecting to my creation. As if my lungs are sending me messages to write about.
Some part of me rumbles in anger and shouts "Why am I not feeling better yet?!". Two weeks with the flu seems like an eternity. But I've done all the textbook work to feel better and recover! I've slept 10 hours every night. I've done the breath-work. I've eaten healthy food. I've meditated every day. So why is it still here? I'm angry.
Maybe there is something of value to learn from this cough. After all, 99% of the time I don't have to worry about these questions.
I guess you get used to being healthy. You forget how it feels to be sick. You fail to appreciate how your body is supporting you every day. Our lungs play a big role in keeping us alive. Without their help, we would soon become a lump of bones and flesh.
Being sick is also a painful reminder of my own mortality. It helps me reflect on death and realize that I cannot escape the process of decaying. Every cough acts like a "Memento Mori" sign beeping in my mind. A constant indication that I too shall pass.
In the end, I am grateful for every breath. I am grateful for new beginnings. I am grateful to my lungs for keeping me alive one more day. And I am grateful to this virus for teaching me about the preciousness of life.