reBirth.day.

On this day last year in Viana Spain, I took what I thought to be my last breath.
Still not easy to speak of, but my heart wants to share a most precious Camino miracle.

Three days before, I awoke to bug bites. Inconclusive as to what kind. I believe spider.
Many large oozing, extremely itchy welts covered my body. My limbs and neck swollen to triple in size.
I managed to get creams at a pharmacy and an injection from a doctor. Both pharmacist and physician did not speak English, nor I Spanish. So I do not know what was administered.
On this day, two days after treatment, the itch was unbearable and I became extremely cold. I put on all the clothes I had in my backpack and walked into the village to find warmth. Remembering a church ruins from first arriving, I laid down on a crumbling altar. The warm enfolding of Spain’s sun streamed through the sacred roofless structure.
Within moments I began to loose consciousness. I knew I was dying.
First panic and fear. Realizing there was not time for that, a gentle deep peace washed over and through me. I prepared. Waited. Drifting in and out. Between here and there.
I’m not quite sure how long it was before hearing a voice tell me to get food. Feeling too weak I ignored the first call. It came again stronger.
Something gave me the strength to obey.
Just around the corner I could read a sign Vegetariano and Quinoa. The day before thoughts that it would be wise to start eating clean again. Here in the US I must avoid eating gluten but heard it may be possible in Europe. My stomach was not in pain but I was most likely inflamed. Not good with the infected bites.
After the first taste of quinoa a man came up to look at the menu that was near me.
Not speaking in days, I said “The quinoa is very good”
As I spoke, I remember thinking how odd it was that I was talking to this man.
He asked if I was alright?
Surprised he spoke English, I paused. He asked again. I showed him my hands and legs and said I thought I was dying.
He told me he was a medic in Ireland. Then immediately gave me antibiotics and steroids that he had brought on his journey with him.

I am sad that I was too ill to get name of the man who saved my life. But I think in the not knowing, no future contact. Just the miracle memory. There is Grace.

Much has happen between these two October fifths.
It is early morning as I write this from a tiny little Goddess temple in a closet at Ananda Ashram in NY
Giving thanks with deep deep gratitude for all that is and all that was.

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On my way to find sun. One of the most treasured sights I will ever see, feel.
A man whistling Somewhere Over The Rainbow. Holding and swinging his father’s hand.

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