Cosmic Integrity Along the Trail

One of the greatest gifts in Recovery Land is the gift of more time: a chance to keep learning, to encounter ideas and experiences that open us up to totally new realms of possibility, both in real time and spiritually.  And wow, what a difference that can make!

Fortunately, there are people who are breaking trail and leaving some excellent maps along the way.

One such is philosopher Ken Wilber, who is developing a fluid overview of the evolution of human consciousness, stretching out beyond anything I’ve ever even considered.  It’s like climbing up to the top of Mt. Hood and looking over the entire Cascade Range and beyond.  Glorious! And then the freedom to soar, untethered. He is, I believe, a trustworthy guide.

For example, he teaches that if the relative, meaning what we call real life, and the Absolute or God, are indeed one, as both Buddhists and Christians teach, then if the relative evolves (think Darwin) then by using logic, that means the Absolute itself evolves.  God is not static but is alive and fluid beyond measure. A Catholic priest Father Theihard de Chardin agreed, decades ago.  And human consciousness, for Wilber, includes heart and passion, also beyond measure; opening into vistas I’ve never dreamed of.

During my times of making friends with death, preparing to cross the great divide, my mission became “to die in harmony with the universe”.  That sounded right to me then.  Except that I didn’t really know what that actually meant.  Hence a long trip into exploring music, harmony, and especially the physics of sound, and indirectly into vibrational medicine.

Because, hey, music and the joy I found there saved my life, at least so far.  God bless the Tibetans’ medicine of joy, and musicians, near and far!

Now, thanks to Ken Wilber’s explorations into the outer realms of life itself, including tantra, I have a new mission, as I contemplate death, my old friend.

I want to die directly into the heart of passionate, eternal love and joy.  Why not? Same mission, probably, but I like this upgrade much better.  Nothing to calibrate or measure, just an internal surrender, an opening, a joining. I can do this!

Not so fast, Sisu! A type of homework emerges on this trail, however.  For that level of trust and opening, I now want to encounter every fear and doubt, every obstacle that resides in the deepest reaches of my soul and spirit. An energy stream exists in humans, sometimes called kundalini, which flows from the base of our bodies all the way up through our central channel, through our hearts and some say it exits through the top of our heads.  It seems I need to consciously clear out that entire channel.  O dear…. The path of purification.  Yikes! Did I really sign up for this?! Radical mindfulness needed.

When my lover David died in his bed in January 1980, I traced his life force with my fingers as it made that exact trail through his body, only sensing a slight pulse at the top of his head his final night. The last thing he whispered was “I can see the light all around me”, and he was radiant!  Then he slept, and died early the next morning.

I experienced Kundalini energy for the first time for myself in 1981 at Stehikan, a tiny enclave in the wilderness 50 miles up from Chelan, Washington, by ferry.  God bless ferry boats!  Just standing alone on that holy ground, I thought at first there was an earthquake, but when my trembling subsided, I knew what it was.  Glad I was alone, I was slightly embarrassed…

So now, decades later, I’ve been consciously clearing the path of kundalini in my own old, frail body, encountering all sorts of interesting things.  At the moment, I’m delving into the third chakra, often called the power chakra, just below my lungs.  Read “ego”; a truly daunting and humbling endeavor.  So much to learn here, now and from my past. It’s not easy; I get cranky. Hopefully the heart chakra will be easier, assuming that’s next. What I’ve been learning is that this whole enterprise is out of control and full of surprises.  That’s how I know it’s real.

Ken Wilber teaches about growing up, spiritually waking up, cleaning up, and opening up.  As an integral developmental theory, he includes them all as essential pieces that interact every moment, not necessarily in order. He talks about cosmic integrity as the gift of his integral meta-theory.  It’s complicated but makes sense. This is easier for me than a strictly rational scientific worldview, even though he includes that too.  I am just not willing to let go of passionate non-attachment.  And yes, there is such a thing.  In over 25 books, over 4 decades, published worldwide, he delves into the heart of the evolution of human consciousness, in what we call reality and through into the astral plane as well, incorporating mystical experiences and practices across the globe.

Note to self: in my cross country backpack, add cleaning supplies and tissues!  And book marks, lots of book marks.

Considering my newly upgraded mission, Wilber’s maps are very helpful.  God knows I have work to do, because when I die I want to be as ready as possible, even while I live in joy! Who knows what lies beyond?  We are all incubating, germinating, but what are we birthing?  What is the seed that we are even now nourishing in our own being?  That is the pivotal question, for me anyhow.

I’m taking this one breath at a time.  Meanwhile, I am learning how to sing the song Ripple. Or croak, as the case may be!

Warning: Proceed with Caution

Many types of liminal spaces or thresholds, exist:  retiring from a lifetime of work, the death of a beloved spouse or friend, even starting first grade, for that matter.  Each one leads us through the twists and turns of new and uncertain ground, each one unique.

However, when we’ve lived intimately with our own impending death for some time, years, gazing across the Great Divide and preparing ourselves for that journey, then making the shift to recovery land can be extra perilous at times. We need to proceed with caution. Living with death strips us bare, beyond the bones to the very soul itself.  Every breath is golden, and we know it.  I eventually became open to and vulnerable even to the unspoken thoughts of others, moving in invisible realms.   Moving into recovery land requires reinstating some new protective methods, just to meet life again.  And that takes practice and experience.  Which means time.  I’m new to this.

Going cross country metaphorically speaking, some of my recent experiences talk of uncertain ground.  Have you ever hiked along a high country trail, maybe a little rocky, taking in the view, feeling your heart soaring with the joy of wilderness, and suddenly you look up behind you.  And realize you are in fact traversing a scree field from some previous landslide? You are too far across to turn around, and the ground begins to shed rocks and pebbles, rattling below you. In real time, this can represent a betrayal, or unseen violence touching you even from a distance, or your own reckless and overly enthusiastic nature.  Even the power of unexpected love and kindness, the excitement of seeing life and not death, can rattle our balance.

For example, I recently stayed at my sister’s house in Ashland. She has a bathtub!  I haven’t had a bath in over 4 ½ years.  Finally, the temptation was too great, and in I slid, under blissful hot water.  But then I couldn’t get out!  I tried 6 times, for well over ½ hour, and fell 4 times, sweating and breathing hard from the exertion and fear, grab bars not helping.    My legs were simply too weak to hold me up.  I was alone.  Swearing helped…  I finally figured out a way to do it, my body battered and my confidence shaken. Uncertain ground.

A dear friend chided me:  “You don’t need to test your limits!  Be careful!” So that is, in a nutshell, a vital lesson I share with you.  Probably not a good idea now to grab life with both hands!  Let it come to you in its own sweet and natural way.  Practice patience.  Or not.  Your call, of course.

Taking tentative steps into recovery land, here is another lesson I’ve learned recently:  If something feels off, remotely threatening in ways that don’t make cognitive sense, back off and wait.  Because we are still half in the land of the dying, extra sensitive to the max, we are not practiced or protected yet in what could be called normal life.  So songs of violence, torture, and murder, for example, might not be safe. I ran into an intense moment of PTSD with no warning, just Bam!  Danger in uncertain ground can be physical, psychic or spiritual in nature, and can happen in a flash.  True for everyone, but death is still hovering over my left shoulder.  Just makes it a little harder, is all.  I called a friend here in Open Mic land, whom I guessed might know the musician and his early music.  He did, threw me a climbing rope and hauled me back to stable ground, just listening and offering his take on it, providing cognitive safety. Whew!  Thanks, Tom!

Note to self:  add a climbing rope to my back pack of tools for this pathless path.

I wish someone had warned me of all this.  So now I’m warning you.  If you are friends or family of such tender, tentative souls, be aware and proceed with loving caution.  That’s tricky because we also crave being seen as, well, recovering!

A friend who successfully traversed this specific liminal ground ten years ago laughed when I asked her what’s next after recovery. “Recovered!” What a concept.  It’s nearly impossible to see from here, but I believe her.  I seem to be on my way.  Maybe.

Onward.

 

 

 

What’s in a Name?

True confession time:  When I was younger, I used to judge people who changed their names, not through marriage but seemingly just because.  I judged that to be unnecessary, annoying, and odd, very odd.  Why isn’t your given name good enough?  Why do that? Perhaps it was a hippie thing back then.  One I didn’t understand.  At all.

Fast forward to today.  Emerging slowly into Recovery Land after 10 years or so in Cancer Land, twice eligible for Hospice, whoa!  I’m now looking into and craving Life and Joy, grabbing on with both hands, fuck equanimity!  I got pretty good at preparing to die, grateful for the time to do so, but living is just so qualitatively different!  I’m happier and more open to joy, step by step regaining skills this time for living.  I do grab on to some friends, however, because it’s still a precarious place. If I’ve grabbed on to you, I hope you know that it’s not a permanent dynamic.   It just means that I trust you, a rare state for me.  “You’re supposed to take a slow ferryboat to the Far Shore, not an unstable kayak you’ve never learned to paddle”, says a character in a recent novel I read.  So yup, if I grab on to you from time to time, it’s the damned unstable kayak thing.  I’m learning.

How did this living thing happen, when I was supposed to be dying?  Joy and music:  Cat Stevens, Eva Cassidy, Richard Thompson, Joel Zifkin and his soaring violin, Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Levon Helm, even Nick Cave, listening for hundreds of hours of musical vibrational medicine, touching whole new realms of experience that continue to blow my mind.

And suddenly I see! Found myself a few months ago asking the universe to bring me a new name for my newly evolving soul.  Who am I now?  I need a new name to honor this transition, to celebrate and mark a moment in time. To inspire me to persevere, to hold not a wish, that’s too fluttery, but to hold instead an aspiration of whom I might actually become, if I get enough time now.

And lo and behold, a new name did in fact come to me.  I had to wait months for it, for the Shimmering Grace thing to emerge.  But I saw a few letters, S I S U, once on Facebook a few months ago, and thought that looked right but it disappeared.  Weeks later, it reappeared and I grabbed on to it, to take a closer look. Sisu.  Yes, that’s it!  It even feels good in my mouth as I say it.  It belongs there.  Sisu is a thing, by the way.  You can google it.

Sisu is a Finnish word and tradition, with a mystical, even magical meaning: an enigmatic power that enables people to push through significant hardship. It’s the ability to sustain courage.  To not seeing a silver lining in the clouds and yet jumping into the storm any ways.

Strength of will, determination, perseverance, dignity, acting rationally in the face of adversity:  This word goes back 500 years or so for the Finns, and includes hardiness, bravery and guts.  Not exactly my strong suits lately.  Well, maybe bravery.  A little. Rationality can be a little elusive, because I am a mystic at heart, an empath.

But here’s the thing.  We all have the potential of sisu, to defy the odds and hold on to hope when there at first seems to be none.  We can all stretch beyond our observed capacities, and begin where grit and perseverance end, akin to an extra gear of psychological strength.

According to the sisu ethos, we all have this, somewhere, inside ourselves: a second wind of mental stamina.

One aspect of sisu I especially like considering is the ability to transform barriers into frontiers, to transform or transcend the limits of our present knowledge.  Sisu is also a  verb, and is grounded in compassion and vulnerability.   And can take us into new realms.  Like Life itself!

And Greta from Sweden would approve of this: it’s grounded in open, objective observation of our environment.  The Finns know this place.

Let’s be very clear here.  I do not embody Sisu.  Not now, and maybe not ever.  But I do aspire to it.   By announcing this new nickname, I’m not bragging about sisu, but rather hope to be gifted by those who choose to call me that, with a reminder of how I’d like to be in the world, to have it function like a spiritual name.  It’s a way to reinforce that energy in me, and maybe you, too.  It’s a nickname, not a new legal name.

From the perspective of traveling cross country over the liminal space between Dying and Living, it’s a direction to pursue, a realm to believe is even possible: a point on the inner compass our hearts depend upon.  You know this place.

So to everyone here who ever changed your name, way to go!  I’m starting to understand.

And to everyone: sisu is not something you discover, its bedrock that is already there.  Above all, Sisu is a collective choice.  We are stronger together.  I wish that for all of us here and around the world.

Onward.

Crossing the Liminal Space

I seem to be entering a liminal space, between Cancerland and Recoveryland.  My recent CT scan shows that my tumors are slowly, slowly growing smaller, moving  from a Stage IV terminal cancer to now probably a Stage II.  All the music and joy and love seem to be working! Yippee!

Louise Penny has a great line in her novel Nature of the Beast that holds this.  Describing one of her characters, she writes:  “She was still surprised and elated that there was a ‘now’.  But ‘now’ had bled into ‘next’. ”  Yeah, me too.

Liminal is a great word, that kind of covers that quote.  It means relating to a threshold, a transitional or initial stage of a process. It means occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.  There is a quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs, it is an unsettled place.  I am here to attest to that!  There are times when I feel like I’m losing my mind, and find myself acting in reckless ways.  Last time I felt like this was in the 1960s, or early 70s.  I seem to be having little temper tantrums, even.  Not easy for friends who bear the brunt of some of this. So far, everyone is holding on, some barely.

Thinking about this liminal space as a transitional process, I’ve realized that I am going cross-country through it.  It’s uncertain ground, confusing, but I used to solo hike cross-country up in the Cascade wilderness, so I thought I’d apply what I learned to this new territory, as a type of metaphor.  See if it helps.  You see, going from a terminal prognosis to recovery does not mean that I get to go backwards to “normal” again.  There is no such thing.  It’s all new and ‘next’.  And I don’t know what’s next.

Hiking cross country safely requires a few tools.  I need an overall map, however tattered it might be.  I need a compass, knowledge of the watersheds and the terrain, a sense of available paths and where they might take me, a backpack with the resources I might need, and my tribe to walk with me from time to time.  And, of course, laughter, music and love, along with gratitude. Yup.

A compass points in all directions, but what I need is due North.  For me, that is living in harmony with the universe as best I can.  That will get me where I want to go, once I orient myself in this new territory.  My tattered map comes from living for 75 years, and hearing stories from others who have made this trip more or less successfully.  Each such story helps, even though we are all unique. Cat Stevens sings “There will never be another you!”  However, it does appear that I will have another spring.

Watersheds bring us what’s refreshing, life-giving.  Waterfalls, creeks, tides: My life-force itself has been dammed up for about 10 to 12 years, by these tumors, and as they are slowly breaking up, everything is beginning to flood my system, like happens when we remove a dam from a river.  Eventually, it will all even out, but meanwhile, it’s dangerous to be standing nearby.  At least it feels like that to me.  So, metaphorically, I turn to music and joy and love as my life-giving sources.  And try to stand out of the way of the tumult.  Which is also pretty fun, like body surfing in a fast moving river.

Terrain is vital, as that shows me what’s up and what’s down.  Quite literally, but I take it to mean obstacles and blockages, and who or what might be the cause.  And then I will study what it takes to get around them, just like we do with a landslide blocking our way up on the mountains:  an essential piece of information.  I once hiked down the side of Mt. Hood in a white out, with a few others. Up and down was pretty much all we had and even then, it wasn’t always clear.  Scary shit.

There are, of course, many paths available to those of us in this place, mainly religious systems that have, over eons, paved paths and roads and signs and provides for lots of people: whole lifetimes of study. For me, this has never worked very well.  I’ve studied almost all of them, but for me, it’s mostly the indigenous ways that work the best, seeing all of life as my relations, a vital network.  Which puts me pretty squarely back on the cross-country ways.

In my backpack, I tuck in Shimmering Grace, what I’ve learned in Cancerland.  I tuck in soul collage work, and lectio divina, where I search for direction in words and songs and nature.  Self care and continuing cancer care will be essential. I don’t want to go back there!  And music, always music now.

My tribe includes people who can point out next steps, keep me company in multiple realms, and keep good boundaries themselves for when I lose my way, or my mind.  And laugh with me as we sort through some of that, and hold on to me when I want to quit after fucking up for the seemingly nth time.

“Uncertain ground”, a phrase from a song by a friend of mine, really doesn’t cover this place.  I assume that once on the other side of this transitional state, things will even out.  Then all I will have to deal with is maybe finishing a book I’m writing, climate change, the possible loss of our country and democracy, polar bears starving to death, and people getting shot every day.  O joy! And then Now will be bleeding into Next.

One step at a time.

 

Turning the Tide of Cancer

So, go way back with me to September 2015, 6 months after I was told I was going to die, soon.  We used to live a block or so from the Willamette River, so I loved walking down there with my dogs, to see the slack tide event:  that’s when the tide comes upriver from the Columbia and the ocean, and meets the waters rushing down off the Cascades.  There is a moment when the waters stop, the river look like a silent mirror.  Then the waters turn, the magical master ebb and flow, twice a day.

On that day, I asked a pivotal question:  is it possible to reset my body back to a balance, to turn the tide of cancer back to a healthy natural ebb and flow.  I wanted something with no medical intervention, using a non-violent approach that I could watch mindfully.  For 30 plus years, I worked professionally as a body/mind therapist, and knew that the mind and body affect each other intimately, profoundly and non-stop.

Fast forward to today.  I recall feeling in 2015 that my life force was dripping out of my body, one cell at a time.  I recall going in there with my mind, finding the drain and plugging it up, metaphorically. And now I ask another pivotal question. I have kidney cancer.  In classical Chinese Medicine, all 12 major channels of energy in humans have their own type of chi or energy, and all but the kidney channel can be rebalanced and replenished.  Kidney energy, or Jing, is different.  We have just so much of Jing when we are born, and when it is gone, we die.  Period. Jing is related to life and death, reproduction, and certain types of fear.

However, Western practitioners of Chinese Medicine are questioning if Jing can be replenished. I have friends in that field. No one really knows, or at least I don’t really know.  I ask that question now, as it is literally life or death for me.

Hang in here with me.  Meanwhile, remember vibrational medicine and my love affair with Cat Stevens, and music? Where I went from Stage IV to Stage II cancer? Recently I have begun to notice a low, stirring buzzing type of hum throughout my whole body.  It’s come on slowly, and is exquisite.  It ebbs and flows.  It’s like all that music lives inside me now, humming.  Hundreds of hours of music, seeping into me gently, filling me back up slowly.  What it feels like to me is Jing, kidney energy, slowly ebbing back into my very being, speaking of health, joy, love and delight, life and hope and its just plain yummy stuff.

Sublime, to quote a dear friend.  But here’s my last tidal question re cancer:  Is this delicious life and love affirming tide a replenishing cellular tide, or is this my last gulp of Jing and then I slip away, to use Richard Thompson’s words.  No one knows, least of all me.  I just have to live into this.  In August, I have my next CT scan, so we’ll have a clue.  Maybe.

I think Willie Nelson has it right when he sings “Love is the greatest healer to be found.”  I thought it was joy, but I now think that Love envelops all joys. Seems obvious now, but sometimes I’m a little slow.

The vibrational tide of Love itself has me feeling, on my very rare good days, like I’m riding a huge, colorful, steaming dragon forward into deep fog, holding on for dear life, quite literally.  And laughing the whole way.

 

 

When Music Shimmers

So, in my 4^thyear of living with Stage IV kidney cancer, on the advice of my Tibetan doctor, I decided a year ago to follow the traces of joy that come through my life, letting my heart guide my choices sometimes hour by hour.  Cat Stevens’ music arrived a few months later on my ipad, and I listened to his clear voice and joyful music for hours on end. My last CT scan reflected the wisdom of this path:  my cancer is now Stage II!  It worked! At least in my mind, anyway.

Things got deeply mysterious then. I’ll tell you the story.  Months later, I watched a video of Cat/Yusuf singing “I was born in Babylon”, with another guitarist who was, I discovered, named Richard Thompson.  Yusuf declares with vibrant awe “He is a star!”  So I checked him out.  He’s also from London, has written his own music for over 50 years and comes from a Scottish heritage.  Wow, can he play!  Resonating with him, I discovered a kick ass side to my nature that’s been mostly tucked away for 40 years or so.  Yippee! Began to listen to him for weeks, rocking out in my old lady way, figuring out his words.   He came to Portland in early February of this year, and my friend Jane took me to his concert at Revolution Hall.  What a musician!  For me, he’s funny, fantastic, brilliant, and a little scary.  A star, indeed! The Queen of England agrees.

Soon I noticed a new sound, a violin accompanying Richard that soars and soothes and touches my heart, all the way in.  By that time, I was part of a Facebook fan club for Richard. Odd, but true.  One day, someone there mentioned the violin player by name: Joel Zifkin.  I commented, “ O good, now I know his name.  He’s great!”  Within seconds, Joel responded to me, “Thank you!”

Electric shock!  “O my,” I think I stammered online, “You’re here!” And to myself, Holy Shit!  We are becoming friends, sharing music and stories. He turned me on to the McGarrigle Sisters from Montreal.  Joyous sound! He has played with them for decades – Canadian folk, but more than that:  a unique sound that I crave.  They are all friends: Joel, The McGarrigles, Richard Thompson and his family, weaving a tapestry of joy, love (over and over!) and great music pouring out everywhere. Joel’s violin blends them all together for me, surrounding me, tucking me in.

Joel started sharing his own music with me, an intimate thoughtful sound that is real, toe tapping at times, and somewhat mystical.  I take sips and savor his sound  before sleep. His words echo in my mind at times.

Levon Helm from the Band showed up with his infectious grin and his Southern style of joy.  He sings my current anthem, a song called Wide River to Cross.  “I’m only half way home, I’ve got to journey on.  I’ve come a long, long road but still I’ve got some miles to go, I’ve got a wide, wide river to cross.”  I know this place intimately.

We all resonate differently to music: such a personal, cellular thing.  What’s next, now that it seems I might have some time left?  Joel has a musician friend named J. Reissner who is intriguing.  On Youtube, he has a song called the End of my Line.  “I’m fading away, a little bit at a time, here at the end of my line.” Joel’s violin soars towards the end, and I realize I’d love to hear him playing at the end of my line, too.  Nice way to slip away.  But things change in a heartbeat, so I don’t know.

Here are my reflections on all this.  First, how the hell did any of this happen!  I wasn’t looking, just following my heart, looking for joy.  It’s the shimmering thing.

Secondly, I have self identified as Scottish all my life, with my maiden name of Kerr, complete with a red and green tartan and an attitude.  Richard Thompson is of Scottish heritage, too.  But I’m also French Canadian on my mother’s side, LaLonde, with a genealogical link back to the founder of Montreal, L’Archanbault. Her family was dark, Old Catholic and racist.  I denied them.  Now I have a link, albeit tenuous, with Montreal via Joel, to their land, and in an odd way, to my own heritage.

I have a French Canadian soul, a Scottish attitude, and it feels to me as though I’m coming full circle somehow.  Joel’s violin brings me home in a mysterious way, a completion that’s entirely captivating.

Back in cancer land, I decided to have my next CT scan in August, to see what impact, if any, these musical adventures might have.  Vibrational medicine exists; it’s a thing.  I will report back on that.  Prayers are always welcome.

Are there takeaways here? Sure.  Follow your heart.  Ask for what you want and need and mystery might step in.  Coming full circle can be a gift of being old and paying attention to what shimmers.  Never underestimate friendships forged on the internet, however brief or long.  Be very cautious, of course, but trust your heart. Connecting with others is good for your health and wellbeing, even on the computer.

And wouldn’t it be a trip if Joel came and played with us at Open Mic! The thing is, we have some really fine musicians here in Oak Grove, right here, right now.  Let’s give them all a hand!

 

Navigation Lessons

Sometimes, lately, I fly through space, after my nightly medical marijuana.  At least it feels like that, while I lay in bed waiting for sleep.  In my little world, behind my eyes, there is no up, no down, no right or left, no way to navigate and I’m moving very fast, have to make micro adjustments in seconds and I’m not even sure where I’m going.

A few years ago, facing death intimately from Stage IV Kidney Cancer, I wrote that I felt my connection to life itself was a thread, like a tether.  To die, all I needed to do was to let go.  Easy, just slip away.

Cat Stevens has a song about this, in a way.  In “I was born in Babylon”, he sings about people who “let go the rope of God, for a handful of gold.”  Hmm… I perk up with the idea of “the rope of god”.  Never heard that one before, it shimmers.  Richard Thompson, Cat’s friend and fantastic musician, has a song called “My Rock, My Rope”.  More hmmm…  He sings “In my loss and in my sorrow, is my rock, my rope.  In my cloud of illusion, give some way I can steer through the shoals and the shipwrecks, till I see my way is clear”.  Steering is on my mind now.

How do I navigate what I suspect is very like the territory we enter after death?  Is prayer or faith all we need?  But faith in what?  I like the idea of the rope of God, crossing that abyss, holding on for dear life, or dear death.  But what is my destination?  In Buddhism, there are so many, primarily the Blissful Realm where ordinary folks like me can go. Even saying the name, I read, “It’s like a rope that we can hold on to while we are climbing a mountain, that pulls us up when we are in danger of falling; it save us.”  Christianity teaches about heaven or hell, with some variations. Nature has other ideas.   Do we choose?  Earn?  Stumble into?  Who or what decides?  Does any of this even fucking matter?

William Stafford and poet laureate some years ago wrote his poem The Way It Is.  “There’s a thread you follow.  You have to explain about the thread.  But it is hard for others to see.  While you hold it you can’t get lost…”  Robert Bly, another poet, suggests that there is a little spark of light given off by the end of that thread.  Might help.  Still they were in the realm of Life, not death.  I seem to be in-between at times, practicing maybe.

When David, my beloved companion, died in 1980 at 27, he left his body through the top of his head, the crown chakra.  He was radiant, and said that he could see the light all around him.  What if, instead, we leave through our heart channel?  Does that impact our destination?  And if so, how?

So many questions on a practical level, and no way to know. A friend says all you need to do is to surrender.  Sure, I’m good with that.  But surrender into what?  Well, trust.  I don’t trust easily, and my question remains:  trust what?

What I want is to merge into the Heart of God, in harmony with the universe.  I think I’m falling far short, but I can ask! I will give Rumi a word here:  “Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love.”

I do trust the portal through which pours Love, with a capitol L.  I have already been blessed by that.  I named this blog after that: Shimmering Grace.  Oh!  Maybe I can simply ride that current back to the Source, holding on to the rope I already know.

Whew!  My whole body beams Yes!  Finally.  So simple, usually a sign of truth.

Meanwhile, I’m flying at night and it’s slowly getting to be fun.

 

Troy, the Silver Tribute

I could not live without a dog.  I need animal wisdom, animal communication, animal humor, and the companionship they bring to every moment.  So, to make a long story short, I put out the word that we were ready to rescue another dog.  Hopefully a chow.

That was not to be.  No chows around here, only north about 11 hours or so.  I can’t do that anymore.  So, a friend suggested a Norwegian Elkhound.  Never heard of them.  Had to look it up.  They look a little like a small wolf, or a tiny Malamute, with a tightly curled tail.  Thick coats.  Black ears that tend to ride down alongside their face, or upright like a German Shepherd, when they are wondering.  About life, probably.

So, along came 9 year old Troy, from the Magnolia Ridge kennel in Mississippi.  To here.  We live on Magnolia Ridge, in Rose Villa, so that works.  He came striding in our front door, crawled into our laps, and announced that he was here to stay, and that he is the champ, and not to forget that part.  Ever.  We don’t.  He reminds us in hundreds of ways.  He loves the automatic doors into the main building, and just strolls in waiting for the reception to his champ self.  He loves everyone he meets, and charms them all.  Egads.  A show dog.

And he’s freaky smart.  We’ve had 4 other dogs, but never one like this.  We are buying puzzles for him to keep him occupied, Ph.D. dog level puzzles.  He aces them all, and then stands there, what’s next?  He wants to crawl into my lap all the time, to give full body hugs which are sweet and not always comfortable and take my energy.  So I bribe him to leave me alone, at times.  These dogs are food motivated, so he eats all the time.  Literally.  We have to measure food, so he doesn’t get obese.  He is, in effect, a challenge, but a delightful one.  Mostly.

Elkhounds, like chows, are not necessarily obedient.  They are self directed, in order to hunt down moose in Norway.  They are smart, and also clever.  It’s not that he isn’t trustworthy, it’s just that he has his own ideas about how things should go, and if they don’t, then he goes around the other way….  with one eye on me or Eric.  We are working this out, one day at a time.  One blessing – he lets me sleep in the morning, when Eric isn’t here.  And I can sleep as long as I need to.  Thank God!

In terms of cancer, its a fact that people with pets, in our case dogs, tend to live longer.  So, he is now a part of my health care team.  All 60 pounds, a long black nose, and busy paws.  And that scary smart little brain of his.

Onward.

 

My Health Care Team Lost a Vital Member

Eric and I are deeply grieving the loss of our dog, Tara Asa, a Chow Golden mix rescue we’ve shared our lives with for the past 13 years.  She kept a close watch on me, let me know when any alien invaders might be close by, including leaves and squirrels, and slept on our bed with us.

In the middle of the night, she would crawl up to my face, say hello, and then slowly drape her head down and over my heart, for a chow love feast.  Then she was up and on guard again, almost immediately.  That’s a Chow thing.

But she kept me happy and going to bed on time and so much more. She was a valued member of my health care team.  Just seeing her greet me at the door gave me joy.

And now she has gone on.  Bone cancer took her down into way too much pain, so we decided to end her life, never an easy choice.  She died on September 17.  The At Home Veterinary Service folks shined their love into our lives and hers, a blessing.

We are devastated.  Ripped apart.  And slowly healing.

 

 

 

Which Realm am I in Now?

So, one foot in the land of the living, and one foot in the land of the dying.  That’s where I’ve been for quite awhile now, learning to lean into this place in balance, without too much one way or another.  Too much dying, well…  and even too much living brought on several very close calls with the death thing.  So I learned to walk the tightrope.

Now, it seems, I am in the realm of Recovery. I think.  Which, while I am profoundly grateful for this, has it’s own teaching and learning curve.

When I first found out I might live awhile longer, I called my friend who went through a pretty terrible cancer, ten years ago, and has been cancer free for quite awhile.  “What do you call this new place?”  I asked her.  “Recovery”, she answered.  Hmmm….  So, I’ve been trying that on for size.

My first concern is that people will think that I am now well, and can go back to my old life, the one I had about six years ago.  Nope, that isn’t going to happen.  I still feel like shit and have very little energy in life.  Essentially, I am still very ill.  So I deal with other people’s expectations.  And my own.  Trying to find a new balance and new meaning, due north.  Please do not expect that I can now do the things that I used to do.  I cannot.  And the pressure to meet these spoken or unspoken expectations isn’t good for me, either.  I understand this, however.  We are all pretty sick of death and dying these days, including the planet.  I get it.

Every day I seek the parameters of this new realm.  Can I attend a meeting, and take a shower and make supper in the same day?  Maybe, maybe not.  No way to know, I just have to continue taking this one day at a time.

When people are near death, all sorts of things get put on hold, perhaps forever.  For example, I didn’t get dental care I needed, because…why?  I was going to die soon.  I didn’t get my second cataract surgery done for well over a year, because, well, I was going to die soon, so why go through that?  Need new underwear?  Why?  If I’m going to die soon (can you begin to hear that refrain?) I don’t need any new clothes, I don’t need I don’t need I don’t need I don’t need….

And now I do, because it appears that I will be living for awhile longer now.  So, teeth, eyes, underwear… I’m catching up slowly.  Clean up my lap top, deal with the 6,000 emails on my computer, and so on.  Cleaning house slowly.  Thinking about our garden.

One thing I’ve done which gives me a great deal of pleasure is to buy a Planner.  It’s called Rituals for Living, Dreambook and Planner.  (www.dreambook.vision) Think a Planner for hippies, if you can imagine.  Very well done.  Made here in Portland by a local couple.  One day I realized that I can probably, maybe, hopefully, actually begin to have a plan for my days and months ahead, instead of, well, not.

By the way, have you ever heard Eva Cassidy sing?  Zowee, what a voice.  She’s been dead  since 1996, but is topping the charts all over the place, as people hear her voice.  She and Cat, what a pair.  They keep me joyful.  Check out her singing “It’s a Wonderful World.”

My theme for 2019 is, surprise, Recovery!