When I come back from a trip Kamalashila is home. I am surprised. How can you be here, I ask him. I thought you were dead. He just smiles. We go for a walk. His head only comes up to my shoulder now. I remark upon this loss of height. He shrugs. We meet a yoga teacher who seems to be a doctor. We meet a group of people who demonstrate how to cheat and change karma. We are home again, spend time, and talk about what has gone wrong with the treatment. He seems indignant. I say, hang on, you cannot be alive. I signed your death certificate. He looks at me and smiles, with big shiny eyes. This is when I wake up. I wonder. I think. I give myself a headache through trying to remember all the details of the dream.
I have been missing KS. A few times yesterday I walked into his room and it is so evident he is not there. Though his ashes are there still. It is painful. But it is good I am missing him now. I have been dwelling a lot on the difficult few weeks before his death. Mulling over what happened then. Perhaps that can be let go of now. I feel by now my body has mostly gone back to normal. Perhaps the built-up stress hormones have been cleared away. No more worry about him being in pain, deteriorating, needing medical help. No more fear about what would happen. Because it has happened. So now I feel I can miss him. And that feels bittersweet.
