So, as I mentioned in the previous blog, I spent the whole day wandering around Hanoi sick trying to resolve the computer problems. At some point I no longer cared that I had to walk in traffic just to get around. I remember thinking that it didn’t matter if I got hit by a bus. If I die, then I won’t have to deal with feeling so sick anymore. Maybe that would be ok. Don’t freak out, that’s just how you feel when you are sick and exhausted. It did make it easier to get around and life seemed to go around me with no problem.
I know it’s more than just being sick, tired and dirty. Something big is happening. By the time I got back to the hotel I decided I was done with life. I know this isn’t a truth the way you see it, but a process that needs to be kicked, cried and worked out physically. I tried to sleep, but processed a lot about how exhausted I am in life. I’m tired of fighting life. Then fear of death came up. It was a back and forth of just wanting to die and fear. It felt very obvious that my identification of who I am no longer works. It has been disintegrating for months now. It’s not that I want to die, but that life as that identification is no longer worth fighting for, it’s too painful and too exhausting. But I don’t know how to let go and fear or “I don’t want to” comes up. I felt so sick that I wasn’t really sure if I was dying. So, I cried and prayed for death. Either way felt fine – death of the ego or the body, it didn’t matter as long as someone would die. I know it’s not something I can “do”, but I don’t know how to not “do”. I had huge dread. I felt like I hated Hanoi and Vietnam and I couldn’t possibly finish my vacation here. I felt like there is no way I can go back to work as a teacher in May. I won’t survive it. I want to go home, but I have no home to go to. I could go somewhere else, but where and how? Why am I here? This isn’t what I want. But what I want doesn’t exist. Then I thought of my mom in Wisconsin who is 86 and trying to take care of a sick husband. Should I be in Wisconsin? I’m still not clear if this part of the process was some sort of direction that I should be moving to Wisconsin or if it’s a trick of the ego to try to hold onto “the mom” or am I processing some of what she is experiencing right now? That night nothing resolved and I finally fell asleep. Even though it sounds dire, I get it that it that this is all process and is part of that false identification trying to disintegrate. I don’t take it literally, and I’m just explaining how it feels so if anyone else ever experiences this or something similar, maybe you can have room for the thought that it is just an experience, not a reality. It feels like the letting go of identification with story and body is at a point of critical mass where I can’t stop it if I tried. It’s going to happen even if it makes me sick to get me to slow down. This is what I came here for.
(c) All rights reserved Kimberly Fiore












































































































































































