Musings on the bench

Lately, I've taken to sitting on the bench next to the labyrinth. This bench sits just under a large tree with wide branches that extend out about 2-3 meters long. It's a very bushy tree as well, if only it were ten times smaller, it would be like the shrubs in my backyard at home. It's chilly and windy but the afternoon sunlight feels wonderful. I feel calm today, especially with my illness. It's been about 5 days since I've had a virus and there are no signs of improvement - in fact greater and greater signs of deterioration are present instead. Especially today, my nasal passageways are burning, my throat pains after each breath, and my nose began to run. Sneezing is quite painful as well. Which is why I am unable to spend more than a half hour at my site this time before I retire to the library. However, this illness has also slightly impaired my speech - especially in the early morning (when I don't have a voice whatsoever) and thereby reducing me to a quiet solitude most of the day. And as a result, I found I only speak when necessary, and I am calmer. I am quieter. And I listen more than I speak. Time is slowing down for me today. And I feel wiser. An illness that makes one wiser. How interesting. Perhaps I am wiser but it certainly hasn't helped my productivity with resect to assignments (its difficult to maintain the energy and focus to work for periods of over 20 minutes). Introspecting on this while sitting on the bench, I feel at peace with this illness. Neither do I feel frustrations towards it nor am I belated that I have it. But I understand that we all get ill sometime and its inevitable, but it makes the sweetness of good health that much richer, and that much more reason to be thankful for it. Although this illness has impaired my sleep, my socialization with others (I am careful to keep a respectful distance and not allow anyone in my room), and my ability to sustain intense and long days, it is forcing me, however, to rest. To breathe deeply. To be quiet. And to enjoy the solitude. Sitting on this bench beside the labyrinth has amplified this notion, many times over.

On a side note: I had an idea today, I wonder what it would be like to experience this site as we had discussed in class on Wednesday (being guided around campus with senses other than sight)- without being able to physically see anything. And this is different than just closing my eyes. When I close my eyes, I can open them again instantly at a whim. However, if I am blindfolded, I would have to physically remove my blindfold - there is a greater separation between sight and no sight. I would be physically handicapped (even if for a few minutes) which can be frightening enough to scare me out of my wits - especially if I encounter a circumstance which a quick reaction time is absolutely necessary (i.e. tripping or falling). But besides falling, I am curious as to where my attention would shift. How would my experience of the labyrinth change? This is going on my next experiment to be conducted list.