The hot season has arrived. It is only interspersed by the occasional monsoon, which begins with a flash of lightening and is followed by a crack of thunder so loud it rocks you on your feet. Then the rain pours down in torrents, sometimes all night, and the air turns blessedly cool for a day or so. But mostly, it’s just hot.
A week ago, I woke up in the middle of the night in the monastery. I was lying on top of the bed, buck naked, without even a sheet. The fan was blowing straight on my body, and I had it turned on high. I sat up with a gasp, coming out of steamy dreams where I was drinking endlessly from a flowing river, but never quenching my thirst. I reached down to the side of the bed, and grabbed my water bottle. The water that I poured down my throat was warm, almost hot. It was two in the morning.
I staggered out of bed, and made my way blindly to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and stepped under the cold water. It was a shock to my body, and it took my breath for a moment, but I continued to turn under it, soaking my limbs, my stomach, my hair. Then I stumbled back out into the darkened bedroom, dropped on top of the bed, and let the fan blow over my wet body. I had a few minutes relief, and then fell back into troubled, red dreams.