Came to Believe

Came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to sanity.  Sane, soul , soulful, sound mind and body, spirit, immortal – words sprawled on a page, but to what end?  Is it not the meaning we attach to a word that gives it power?  For instance, catastrophe. I often hear this word in reference to the events of the past year. Whether they be political or personal, labeling any event as catastrophic pretty much seals the deal.  Once so labeled, there is little or no room for possibility.  Take the definition of catastrophe, a disaster, a calamitous event, especially one occurring suddenly and causing great loss of life, damage, or hardship and lay it over a life event, any life event like the loss of a loved one, a divorce, a diagnosis, a betrayal, an apparent failure and so on and what is left?  Bereavement, sorrow, irreconcilable resentment and anger, depression, insurmountable grief, and possibly utter and irreparable despair, (the complete loss or absence of hope.)   What is life without hope?  How can there be meaning without trust, without destiny, without the Soul?  I believe that our sole purpose to is discover The Soul our unique blueprint which was to us given at our conception and lies in wait for us to discover it, choose it and live it into eternity.  I find that words like disaster, sanity, catastrophe, and the like impede our Soul’s journey by denying limitless possibilities

I tried for years to adhere to the definition of sanity, (the ability to think and behave in a normal and rational manner; sound mental health), with little success.  I know now that I am not normal (conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected) nor do I wanted to be labeled as such.  I am supernormal, exceptional as are you and you and you.  We each have within us the power to choose our destinies.  This power is the extension of the soul and is not preoccupied with form.  On the contrary its sole purpose is to give us the courage we need to discover our deepest selves.  The soul accompanied by its innate power is not interested in making people comfortable.  “The soul is who you are in God and who God is in you. We do not make or create our souls.  We only awaken them, allow them, and live out of their deepest messages.” (Richard Rohr)

I heard my soul’s voice loud and clear _ “Stop chemo.  It is killing me.”  I did as I was told.  Does this make me sane?  Who cares.  Certainly not me.  I am more concerned with adhering to the urgings of my deepest self than I am to the meanderings of my wayward analytical mind which makes sensible decisions based on available information.  You know like protocol, statistics, studies, percentages, and cold, hard facts.

So to paraphrase, I came to believe that a power greater than myself could restore me to luminosity and depth of seeing, to the “light.”  May I welcome life on life’s terms and not deny “the wonderful underlying mystery that is everywhere, all the time.” (from Breathing Underwater). Every life event is a call to believe in a power greater than ourselves, to believe in the possibility of miracles, to believe that healing is the byproduct of loving self and others unconditionally.

Thus I came to believe that there are no disaters, no catastophes, no failures, only limitless possiblities to heal. By healing, I mean cultivating the capacity to live out of the clear, simple and uncluttered presence for it is in the present that we encounter The Presence, whether we call it God or not, matters little. What does mattter is whether or not we can learn to let life come to us trusting that God in us, our Soul, has called us, and that God, i.e. The Soul is incapable of failure.

 

“Im Still Here” Ram Dass

Putting it into words, words that convey the meaning of a state of being beyond description, a place to which few chose to travel, but where many arrive they know not how.  A wrinkle in time, compressed by pain and stretched by courage.  The overlap of what once was and what would never be again, a salient point – the absolute knowledge that nothing, nothing will ever be as it had been, not good or bad, right or wrong, simply irreversibly different as is, though unnoticed, every moment of every day.  No two seconds are the same.  Even the vain egoic attempt to take the past and pale it over the future with what one believes to be an indelible imprint is sheer folly.   It is absolutely impossible to predict the future let alone control it, cajole it into giving you what you think you want, what you say you must have to survive.  What Tomfoolery.  However there may be the possibility, in fact I am convinced that there is just that, of living the future now, of taking the bucket list of things you say must happen in order for you to be successful, to be happy, to be inspired….take that list and start checking them off one by one.  Do it now.  Live as if all your dreams have already come true.  If that were the case, how would you feel?  Grateful? Gratitude sounds reasonable, does it not?  Gratitude is the ultimate state of receivership.  Could one’s destiny be directly linked to the amount of time spent practicing gratitude.  Destiny is wither a choice or it is fate.  Which will it be?  I  chose the former.  Not fighting to change what is, not forcing something from nothing, but standing erect on the ground of this present moment with an eye to a vibrant, adventurous future. I am now living ispired by the shimmer of what is yet to come.

both sides now

under the bell jar

alcohol, sugar, caffeine

outside looking in

instant graitification

sun up, moon up now

end of addiction – no pain

friendly fire kills

cleanse

five-day raw food cleanse

already miss planning meals

to break up the day

grim reaper

life a race with death

which way am I running to

or away from me

how we live

breathe in oxygen

breathe out carbon dioxide

deposit droppings

sated for the time being

pesto, greens for dinner

sated for the time being.

does hunger ever end?

#invokingdrala #day9 #nurturing #homemadeglutenfreecherrycobbler

the fruits of nature

basking in maple syrup

crisped to perfection

 

 

Still reeling

“You look great.”  That is what everyone says now when they see me.  “No, I mean it.  You really look great.”

My response when they repeat themselves:  “Do you want to see my boob?”  Yes that is exactly what I say followed  by something like, “Yeah, that is the funny thing about cancer.  If you do not have chemotherapy and lose your hair,  you look good, like you are not even sick.  I call it the secret disease.  If you did not know me, you would never know I was sick.”

I do not feel like a sick person.  I felt the best I have in years when they discovered my most recent tumor back in March.  Never better.  Strong, steady, happy. . .  all that.  Then boom, they dropped the C-Bomb.

“Ms. Nichols, I am sorry to tell you but we have found a mass in your right breast.  I think we need to do a biopsy.”

“Today?”

“No you will have to wait about 10 days.  Please see the nurse.  She will set you up with an appointment. ”

My mind is racing.  Ten days.  How can I wait that long to find out whether I have cancer?  You just will.  And I did.  I convinced myself the results would be negative.  Well they were positive.  Surprise.  My second round of cancer and only two years after the first bout.  Two frigging years.

But I did not begin this post to tell you about my cancer.  I am trying my best to write about my experience after cancer, after surgery, and radiation.

“Now the surgery is a fairly simple procedure.  We will remove the mass and the centennial lymph nodes.”  Okay how did I miss the part about injecting dye into my breast to find that “node or nodes?”  Did the surgeon tell me I would be placed on a cold metal table only to have a plate of concrete lowered to just inches above my face?  No he did not, because I would have explained that I could not do that.  “I am extremely claustrophobic.”  Let is suffice to say that I survived this ordeal, but I did have to ask once to be pulled out so that I could close my eyes, recite my mantra and use my breath to stay calm and in the moment.

Did the surgeon tell me how painful the catheter that he placed in my boob after the surgery would be?  No.  Nor did he tell me that the radiation itself my be painful.  No.  In fact, all medical personnel stated unequivocably that the radiation would be painless.  Let me make this perfectly clear.  I am do not consider myself a wimp, but I suffered, yes suffered from extreme discomfort when anyone touch the device which I wore in my right breast for 8 days and 7 nights.  All the gauze padding in the world did not relieve the stabbing sensation in my breast.   When the doctor asked, which he did each time I came in for a treatment (twice a day), “Are you in any pain?”  I said, “Yes, all the time.”

His response, “Take another Percocet.”

“But they give me such terrible stomach cramps and constipation.”

“Get a stool softener.”

“Any suggestions.”  He blurted out a couple of words I never heard of and immediately forgot.

“Okay are you ready for the treatment?”

The radiation did not hurt, but hooking the machine up to my boob was excruciating.

“This should no hurt.”  the nice man administering the treatment said condescendingly.

Crocodile tears are rolling down the sides of my cheeks.  Every time he touches one of the limbs of my device, my body convulses.  Radiation doctor says, “We will have to give you a stronger pain medication.  I am going to write a scrip for long release morphine.  That should do it.”

“Morphine?’

“Yes you will take on every 12 hours and continue to take the percocets an hour before you come to treatment.”

And so it went for 5 days.  At one point, lying on the table, reciting my mantra, I thought, I am going to have post traumatic stress from this.  I did and I am.

My emotions are off the charts.  Giddiness moves quickly into boredom, into anger and resentment, into bitchiness, into fear and foreboding and finally into deep sadness.

When I joke about cancer, people’s expressions reveal disdain and shame.

“Look, if I can’t joke about cancer, who can?”  There is humor in every situation and I plan to look for it.  I only made a crack about all my friends buying me dinner the week of my radiation.  I guess that is one of  the cancer “perks.”

Hardest part about being well now is everyone still looking at me with deep, questioning eyes when they ask, “How are you doing?”  To most who inquire, I say, “Fine.  Really I am good.”  To my closer friends I reply, “Physically I feel great, but mentally I am off the charts.”

“Oh, but I thought you got a good report.  All clear, right?”

“Yes, all clear.  No cancer now.  But will there be more?  No one knows.  No one knows.  Each day is a gift.”