fever dream

based on what I went through when I took ill during my last trip to India (December 2009)

Voices tumbled over one another exhorting him to mix the contents of different overlapping strata of space and time in order to survive the precarious walk on the tightrope between real space and dream space. It was all this and much more. As he struggled to make sense of the directives, the thought blanket switched face with another series of interleaved ripples and the voices now screamed another message. It was still convoluted and self-aware in its lack of clarity, but he was hypnotised by its power. He felt like a plane slicing the bodies of clouds holding hands of vapour in the cold sky as the sun glared all around. He could not feel the cold droplets of water as he glided from one cirrus contour to another cumulus trough. Yet, he knew where he was. The sense of confusion and deracination at once felt very wrong and completely appropriate. Another conceptual shift revealed a new configuration in the clouds and voices. Now the sense of being in some metaphysical ravioli was pronounced. He could feel the water boiling but did not feel wet or hot himself. There were no beads of sweat to comfort him. Everything he felt was incomplete and somatically wrong. The voices continued their fervent chanting, still not making sense and still very persuasive. He knew he was dreaming; he knew all he had to do to break this fervid marathon of nonsense was wake up, but he was afraid he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep again and sleep was he needed most to let his body fight the virus. He had to be patient and let the fever break when it was time. Until then, he was stuck in limbo between real space and dream space. He couldn't take it anymore. His stomach had started churning in response to the drama in his brain and he was too weak to restore order. He forced his burning eyes open and swallowed a few times. He then rose painfully to his feet and lumbered to the jug to get himself a glass of water.