During these months of traveling, I’ve had a chance to go over some of my life—I’ve had the time to think about what’s happened—and it’s really been fascinating. I don’t think I’ve ever done it before. I’ve been too busy running around and keeping up with the latest.
I’m gonna read you this whole section since it’s kind of funny, I guess. I wrote it on December 8th, on a Sunday, in Tripoli, Lebanon.
“My stomach is a bit queasy, but I’m OK. Must be the pickled cabbage. The bright electric-pink dye of those pickles undoubtedly is used to conceal some pretty ghastly vegetables. Ali brings over his chessboard and then Hussein arrives and invites us to lunch. Hussein’s mother has prepared a delicious rice and meat dish with walnuts. I’m careful not to eat too much. Evening: I go with Muhammad to his sister’s place. His brother thinks I should be made a sheikh so I could go and promote Islam in America. I explain that what I want is personal knowledge, and only when I’ve reached the levels I feel are true will I be willing to teach anything. I need to learn, not teach.
Then there is falafel for food—I got sick last time I ate it, but I want to try. I don’t want to offend anyone, but soon after returning home I am hit with a terrific attack of diarrhea, cramps and pain. Man, it is bad going! The squat-pot toilet is plugged and stinks but I am so sick I don’t much care!
Monday—next day: in bed all day; only up to visit “the John”. Yuck! Nobody comes by and that’s good. All I want to be is to be left alone so I can enjoy my suffering! I can groan and swear and nobody hears!
At sunset I fix some chicken soup from powder on my portable gas stove. It’s good. Abdullah comes over and commiserates with me and brings a lemon and oranges for my upset stomach. I sleep better.
Tuesday: not well, but better. I heat water and wash my face, beard and hair. That usually makes me feel better.
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