Vibrational Medicine with Cat

It’s a thing, vibrational medicine.  You can look it up.  I know two dear friends who went that route, one with a ghastly cancer who used Tibetan bowls to help her heal.  10 years now, cancer free.  Another friend used her own sounds, singing to heal from an almost complete collapse many years ago.  I tried Tibetan bowls too, but once every 6 months doesn’t cut it.

Fast forward to my new love affair with Cat Stevens, Yusuf.  Its been over a month now.  I listen to his music anywhere from 1 hour to 4-5 hours a day, from his music as a hugely gifted boy to the Cat Stevens we remember, and now to the mature old man Yusuf, 4 years younger than me, all through YouTube.  Every day I discover something new, an old song, a concert I didn’t know about, interviews, and new songs, too.  Just found a new Yusuf song yesterday that I especially love, something about the editing room floor.  We all do edit ourselves, our lives.  Without the editing, there he is, stripped bare, almost unbearably intimately present.  What courage he has.  His talent is mind boggling.

But here is what I want you all to know.  It’s making a huge difference in my life.  I have way more energy, overall, than I have had in 5-6 years.  It’s the joy in his heart, the sound of his voice, his music, and the words, pouring into me, filling me up!  For me, it’s the perfect match.  Not for everyone, no doubt.  Some might respond to Bach, or Willie Nelson, Richie Havens, or whatever touches your soul.  For me, it’s the Cat.  I simply cannot get enough.

I listen daily to O Caritas, a song in latin that is haunting, a climate change song he wrote in the 70s, prophetic.  I listen to Miles from Nowhere, about death itself.  “My body has been a good friend, but I won’t need it when I reach the end!”  I listen to a new song, Thinking ‘Bout You, which is a love song on many levels.  I listen to a rocking version of Tuesday’s Dead, about changing the world “one more time”.  I watch him sing Peace Train as a young, gorgeous man barely able to contain all the energy within his soul, and then listen and watch as he sings it now, almost 70 years old, mellow and looking out over a rich and fulfilled life. He is still touring, can you imagine!  So many great songs.  And all this is just pouring into me, reversing the deadly drain that is kidney cancer.  You might laugh, those who know me well, to see me swinging and singing and dancing with him, in pure joy and love.  Sick as I am, I am rocking out with Cat/Yusuf!  Well, a very sick old lady’s version of rocking out, anyway.  It’s mine.

It will be most interesting to see how my CT scan is in August.  My CAT scan….  I do have hopes, so much more I’d like to do in this life.  But even if there is no change, or things get worse, it will be just fine.  Worth every minute.

And who knows, maybe vibrational medicine has much to teach us all.  I’ll keep you posted.  Meanwhile, check out his music, you might love it, too!

 

 

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Pockets of rage and the love of Cat

Recently, I’ve discovered that I have little pockets of rage here and there, and I stumble upon them unexpectedly from time to time.  Generally, I am a pretty peaceful soul, non-violent and practicing awareness.  But then I suddenly find myself raising my voice, and the level of emotion is shocking to me, and probably to others.  I’m enraged!

Gentrification is one trigger.  I hate to see the homeless, the income disparity, and suffering that is coming with all of this, even though as a white middle class woman, gentrification does not affect me directly.  But indirectly, I see it everywhere, looking so innocent.  O look, a nice new park.  O look, a lovely new set of apartments.  O look, a whole section of Portland that used to be poor is now a vibrant section with all sorts of amenities, stores, places for food and concerts and art.  Isn’t this great?

And people who lived there for generations can no longer afford to live there.  Where do they go?  Often, onto the streets.  Or further away from the services and community that they need and depend upon. That they cannot afford.  So yeah, gentrification sucks, big time, in my mind.  And my rage just rears up and explodes.  I see gentrification as a symptom of our economic cruelty, slipping into place with very little push back.  An invisible attack that looks so nice, so good.

Because I am ill, I have very little energy available.  Rage takes a large chunk.  So I am trying to identify the triggers to these pockets and bring the power of mindfulness to bear, for self protection.    Trump of course is one, but I have stepped back from all that.  All the destruction of our country, the treason, the betrayals, drowning democracy itself…  all the killings… of course I feel it all.  We all do.  How could you not?  I refuse to let him kill me, however.

What I have found, recently, is to counteract that rage with the power of love.  I know, I know, that sounds useless, considering the situation we are all in now.  But it works.  I think love is up to the task.  Maybe just one person at a time, one village, one town.

Remember Cat Stevens, the pop star?  From the 70s?  He walked away from his music about 30 years ago, quite literally.  Just walked off stage one day.  Sold his instruments.  He is back now, singing his heart out as a 70 year old man with 5 kids, a whole passel of grandchildren, living in Dubai, his heart still overflowing with love itself.  I have immersed myself in his music via YouTube, and for the past 5 days I have not felt any of the godawful fatigue that I live with.  I feel happy, enlivened, joyful.  Replenished.  He is not naive, he sees the horrors, and he still opens his heart wide and lets the light shine through him.  I want to do that, too.  He builds schools around the world, provides relief services, steps up.  He is living in harmony with the universe, doing his best.

I believe that his soul, his music, might actually be healing me.  It’s the joy.  And the love.

Sort of odd to find myself falling in love again.  Yeah, he is a muslim, but I don’t care about that.  I am responding to the love light.  Thank you, Yusuf Islam Cat Stevens.   God bless and keep you.

And thank God for those little ear buds, so I can crank up the sound!

Previews of Coming Attractions

One of my biggest fears, psychologically speaking, is to be accused of being the little boy who cried wolf.  In other words, becoming so focused on this dying business that I holler for help or a warning to my loved ones, when it isn’t really necessary.  It’s just so darned hard to know now, and I don’t want people who love me to be taken by surprise if possible.

This rash is an example.  Turns out it is both/and.  Another koan, of sorts.  My skin is dry because I am old, because it is winter, and because, when one is dying of kidney cancer, one’s skin is exceptionally dry and bingo, a rash.  Not a sign, this time, of imminent demise, but the cancer has a role in it.

I learned some new details about what this death might look like.  Of course, we might all go up in a radioactive blast, if the news has any validity at all.  But I mean, if I end up dying from this cancer.  For those who are squeamish, stop reading.  But here it is:  my feet and ankles will swell up so badly that I won’t be able to put my shoes on.  I will be nauseous and throw up, a lot.  (Already do this, several times a week.  Not a good sign.) I will become so confused that I will not know that I am confused.  (This happened in September of 2017; I thought I had a small stroke. Lately, my mind is cloudy and uncertain.) I will be covered with another obnoxious rash.  So, I get to itch to death?  That makes me laugh.  Sort of.

The things that I already know about include lots of pain, blood in my urine, swollen kidneys, people asking me to do kidney dialysis.  None of that sounds like much fun.  However, this is what it might look like.

What I do know, myself, is that nothing so far has gone like my oncologist predicted.  Because, in my experience, doctors do not factor in spiritual practice, intentions, missions, and the impact of love itself.  One’s community.  And the presence of all the angels and saints and spiritual guides and ancestors watching over us from who knows where.  Prayers, both received and sent.  Blessings, both received and sent.  And always joy, the immense healing power of joy.  And nature, which holds it all, for me.

So this is what I pledge to you:  I will not sound the alarm unless I am freaked out and need help.  I will continue my spiritual practices and continue to hold on to not knowing, and stay open to help from all sides, this one and the one up ahead.  I will work to help others dealing with dying and grief, and I will make sure that my book on transforming the fear of death gets finished and published, one way or another.

Bless you, each and every one.  And, as my old friend Annie used to say, so far, so good!

 

 

Wilderness, or Being Wilder

The Shimmering Grace thing popped up again a few days ago, and as always, has left me totally amazed.  It’s a little story.

In our library here at Rose Villa where I now live, I “just happened” to see a book entitled The Wisdom of Wilderness: Experiencing the Healing Power of Nature  by Gerald May.  Except I only saw the title, picked up the book, and brought it back to our cottage.  Because, drum roll, I am planning to go to Sitka, Alaska next week for 6 days, together with a group of friends who also live here.  We are all attending Sitka’s Summer Arts and Science Festival.  I jumped in because One, I promised myself that I would see Alaska before I die, a promise I made several decades ago.  And Two, I am longing for wilderness, for old growth and water and rivers and wildlife and silence.  For the healing power of nature.  Yup.  I crave it and need it, and can no longer get there by myself.  This seems doable to me.  Mostly.  Aside from my terror.

Here’s May’s first paragraph.  “I am sick now.  The prospect of my death is continually before me.  My body is frail, my energy always at the edge of exhaustion.  At the same time, I am wilder than I’ve ever been before.  My soul basks in wilderness, and I am grateful.”  O my.  He is speaking my language.

He goes on.  “Wilderness is not just a place; it is also a state of being.  If happiness means being happy and sadness means being sad, then wilderness means being wilder.”  Well, okay then!  “This inner wilderness is the untamed truth of who you really are.”

And here’s the shimmering story.  I suddenly figured out who the author is.  OMG, as the kids say now on Twitter.  Gerald May was one of my greatest teachers.  He wrote a number of books, two of which are classics now: “Will and Spirit”, and “Simply Sane”.  Gerald May is now dead, but was a psychiatrist and a spiritual director, one of the very best.  Eloquent, creative and willing to see through all the jargon into the soul of our work.  And share. He was my guide and my companion for years in my own practice.

I had no idea that he had written another book, before he died.  And a book about wilderness at that.  What a gift.  Thanks, Shimmering One.

About the terror.  You see, it’s a group of 11 people, all elders mostly able, and one sweet young staff person who will herd us where we need to go.  The trip on Friday will be 8 hours, including 3 airports, countless people, and lots of noise.  I am so frail now and so sensitive to all inputs that just the idea of this is overwhelming.  Solutions are unfolding, much like climbing Mt. Hood.  Instead of crampons and ice axe,  I will be using a Bose noise canceling headset, and also an old iPod that I can plug in to my brain.  I’ll bring my own food.  And so on.  I have a long list.  Nothing is really simple anymore.

Once at Sitka, there are other nightmare logistics.  Breakfast is from 7 to 8 AM.  That just makes me laugh.  I don’t do anything at all much before 9 AM, and generally don’t plan to get anywhere before 11.  I can’t.  So I’m bringing my own breakfast and teas and pray for a kind kitchen person.  My writing/poetry workshop is from 8:30 to noonish or so.  Again, not going to happen.  I hate to disrupt groups and teachers, really hate that.  So I may have to forgo the workshop completely.  We’ll see how it goes.  I’d be happy, actually, to be on my own the entire time.  Lots of forests, trails, totem poles, river walks, the ocean, boats, a little village with shops.  I could happily just be there and hope people leave me alone.  Talking exhausts me now.  And then I collapse, and the idea of collapsing there, without Eric, is beyond terrifying.  You have no idea.  I’d rather face a grizzly bear.

Every waking moment now I am battling the voices that tell me to stay home, and forget about this venture, with long lists of all the shit that could go down.  Voices that are both wise and also crippling, which makes it hard to discern.  What keeps me going is just the felt sense of being there, in nature, and letting the healing happen.  I need it.  It’s calling me, like the mountains used to do, a visceral pull.

Please pray for me.  I am so frightened.

 

Coming Clean

Writing this particular post for months.  It’s a tough one, for me and probably for anyone brave enough or bored enough to read it, too.  It’s about meditation and confession and humility and becoming friends with ourselves and vulnerability, just for starters.    I’m willing to bet that there is a common thread, however, for those of us who are on borrowed time, and know that down to our bones.  Here goes.

Almost every cancer patient is given or finds a list of things we can do for ourselves as we make our way through cancer land.  Meditation is often not only on the list but if not at the top, nearly there, for pain control primarily and as a way to deal with anxiety and depression.  Buddhists teach meditation and mindfulness as a way to “make friends with ourselves” and to develop skillful means as a spiritual path.  Quakers know that when we are silent and listen deeply, we can hear the “still, small voice of God” within.  Sounds great, doesn’t it!  Yup.  It is.  Mostly.  Except when it isn’t. Great, that is.  It can be excruciatingly difficult, also.

This starts with a little story.  When I was working full time, providing therapy for others on multiple levels decades ago,  I used to take a silent retreat every 3 months, for at least one week, with a group of Zen Buddhists who were also Catholics.  We sat in complete silence for 8-9 hours a day, not making eye contact, not reading, not speaking, just sitting in meditation with walking meditation every half hour, all day for about 7 to 10 days, with mass in the morning and a zen talk every evening by our roshi who was also a priest.

One day, I was noticing my own mind – because what else was there to do, really?  No TV, just my own mind unrolling movies in front of my awareness, my witness.  I noticed that  day that I was impatient, irritable, judgmental and stubborn.  I could see this as I played out little movies of memory or thoughts, in my mind, and began to name what I saw.   Great.  Next half hour, I noticed I was scheming, anxious, smug and opinionated.  Yup.  The list got a little long, so I went upstairs to my room, and started writing these darling traits down so I could remember, in between our sitting sessions.  It went on that day: domineering, victimized, possessive, suspicious, snide!

Truly, I was horrified!  Shocked.  I’d run upstairs and add more to my growing list, hoping no one would ever know.  Next day, same shit:  self-righteous, angry, pushy, manipulative, aloof, greedy, evasive.  After more of this: insolent, bitter, arrogant, conniving, seductive, snotty… I started to laugh!  It just got so funny!  Maybe you had to “be there”, but it was hilarious!   Still makes me laugh.  Sort of.  Fussy, fearful, murderous impulses (way down, hidden from sight, but I saw it like a flutter of something scary in the dark forest) grandiose, snobbish, rash, self-absorbed… on and on.  To this day, I am still adding more charming aspects of my own being, my own history, when I catch them;  being prejudiced about one thing or another are especially hard to see, elusive.

Some might say, “Hey wait, Susan!  You are much more than all that, what about all your positive traits, too?!”  Wanting to somehow dilute these insights, perhaps, or to make me feel better about myself, to take away the sting.  Maybe this makes some uncomfortable.   I have a page of positive traits, too, not to worry.  But this part of the meditation process doesn’t exactly get a lot of press, as far as I can tell.  Wonder if the doctors really know what they are recommending.  Want to bet? Because this is what eventually happens if you actually meditate.  A lot.  Probably different lists…

But here’s the thing.  I have finally made friends with myself (Did I say sullen, severe, scattered, punitive?)  and in the doing of that, joined the human species, warts and all.   Does all this lower my blood pressure any?  Not so as anyone would notice.  I wonder about AA and their thing about “taking a fearless inventory”.  Perhaps this is what they are referring to.  Certainly this has aspects of the great sacrament in the Catholic church, confession.  If done with mercy and humility, there is wisdom there.

So, if this is such great medicine for cancer patients, how do I transform the internal horror of such a freaky show into something inspiring and useful?  In other words, why in the world would anyone want to become so vulnerable? Why fucking do this!!! (Using bad language, undisciplined, cutting, intolerant) (Rebellious)

That question, dear ones, is why it’s taken so long to write this post.  (lethargic, procrastinating, making excuses) (Judgmental) Here are some answers that have emerged in the past 3-4 months.

William Stafford has a great line in one of his poems:  “If you don’t know the kind of person I am, and I don’t know the kind of person you are, a pattern that others made may prevail in the world.”  Right now, we have others prevailing in the world who are basically insane, so it’s becoming more and more urgent that we not only know who others are, we also know who we are, at the deepest level.  I believe this to be so urgent, I’m willing to share this story.  It is from the very bottom that we are able to create and describe our own internal moral compass.  Handy when there are no maps. Or when our so-called leaders have no morals at all.  Or when our own teachers are no longer around or it just gets too hard to cobble stuff together anymore.  And there is death, lurking.  Time is running out for all sorts of things, not only for me and perhaps for you, but for the planet and all beings.  Developing the capacity for wisdom and compassion is needed.

Pope Francis has a new book out, titled “The Name of God is Mercy“.  Pope Francis is the real deal.  He has this to say:  “Justice on its own is not enough.   With mercy and forgiveness, God goes beyond justice, God subsumes it and exceeds it in a higher event in which we experience love, which is at the root of true justice.”  If we are longing for true justice (not vengeance) and if we cannot accept ourselves with mercy and forgiveness, how can we offer that to anyone else? Or even to conceive of what justice might be?  Or care?

For Francis, the teaching is that we must be involved, we must be moved, we must feel compassion.  “This kind of compassion is needed today to conquer the globalization of indifference. ”  And meditation is a great tool to develop that compassion.  Which leads to wisdom, and developing a moral compass that is trustworthy and sane, a profound equanimity.

I am just learning how to embody this.  Mostly I fuck up and stumble around.  But the thread is strong.  Kidney cancer is riveting and debilitating, but its also a great teacher, keeping me focused and aware.

After decades of meditation and other practices, and getting to know death pretty darn well, at times there is a moment, an opening, and I see through all of this, the whole thing, and see and feel the shimmering grace that’s always there, the supreme joy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mystery

Coming home the other day, I discovered what looked to me like a pile of sticks on our cottage front door, about eye level, not moving.  Hmmm…  I walked closer, quietly, and discovered to my deep and abiding surprise a praying mantis!  I know that nature talks to us just like the Shimmering in the written word, so after supper, I pulled open my animal discernment books.  What is the message?

The power of stillness.  Meditation. Chi Kung, using life force energy to strengthen and heal, directing it through the body’s organs and systems, empowering.  

One new friend here at Rose Villa heard about this, and sent me a link for more divination:

Praying Mantis animal spirit will often appear when calmness and contemplation are needed, not to sit still, but to reach a conclusion to a situation so decisive action may proceed. Even though Mantis is the symbol of meditation and contemplation she is also the symbol of action and decision-making.”

Praying Mantis animal spirit is often seen when major internal and external life changes are taking place.

Meaning of praying mantis on front door: “Praying Mantis at the front door of your home is a strong spiritual message, asking you to look within and approach your inner feelings for contemplation. Soon you will be asked to do something you are not comfortable with. Bringing about the need to change in this area, to give yourself a better life, by doing so you will expand and grow your higher consciousness.”

So, that’s quite a set of messages, all of which are pertinent and relevant.  Amazing.  Mouth open type amazing.

A few weeks ago I learned some new things about my cancer:

  1. “Nothing has changed since your diagnosis in February of 2015. No CT scan followup needed for a year, instead of 6 months.”  From my oncologist. Who reminded me, as always, that kidney cancer is slow growing, not to expect much.
  2. I am no longer eligible for hospice, whether I want them or not.  No one will state that I only have 6 months to live.  This shifted just a month ago.
  3. Two of the five lesions in my lungs have disappeared.  To me, that’s change, but hey, I am not an MD.  (Thank you Dr. Tenzin, I attribute this HUGE change to you and your magic Tibetan bowls on my chest! Hope to do some more.)
  4. No one is worried about my fatigue, as it’s not considered life threatening.  I do.  Hence the praying mantis, as my question has been: Now what?  Can I live like this much longer? How?
  5. I am no longer thinking of myself as living with a terminal diagnosis, but rather living with a chronic illness, at least until or if it shifts back.  No pain, just prone to sudden collapse  with extreme weakness, so I can’t plan, and need to rely on other people for nearly everything now.  A new realm, but it feels the same.
  6. I need help learning how to live with this, long term.  Help!

And then, an old friend of mine contacted me a few days ago, out of Facebook land.  She is an  acupuncturist, teaches medical chi gung, is a practicing Buddhist, and was a hospice nurse at one time.  Much to my everlasting astonishment and gratitude, she is coming next week and we’ll figure out a chi gung practice for me to blend in with the practices that I am already doing.  I am open to whatever she might want to share.

Another dear friend is excited to provide soul collage here at Rose Villa; all I have to do is set it up.  That is a wonderful discernment process and has helped me for years and years.

Eric and I are planning a short vacation up on Mt. Hood towards the end of the month; a time away with great sweetness.  I need to be in wilderness where I can think clearly.

Help is on the way!  (Wasn’t that John Kerry’s campaign slogan?  How did he get in here? Egads. )

May all of you find a way into your own next breath, your own path to joy. We stand with each other, we do.

 

 

 

Burn the maps

No maps for the realm I live in now.  I no longer know if I am living or dying, there is literally no way to tell.  I feel better in the past few days, and even went swimming a day or so ago with a new friend who is fearless, and also has a Stage IV cancer.  We celebrated our day of feeling well!  Two old gals having a great time!

But I remember all too well my recent “episode” as my primary doctor called my collapse a month ago. And the sense of my death there, waiting.  One new possibility to explain it: maybe I had a TIA, or small stroke.  No way to know, but it does kind of fit.  Bizarrely, this actually sounds like good news.  Maybe it’s not the cancer, coming back with a vengeance.  But I really don’t know.

This evening I walked over to the Rose Villa prayer group and while there, not my intention in going, I asked for help in discerning how to proceed in my life.  Showered with prayers!  I’ve never been a good praying out loud type person.  We didn’t pray in my childhood, no one I knew did that.  As an adult, I have all sorts of practices that I use in a skillful and reverent way, but praying out loud isn’t one of them.  It’s a great comfort to hear, and my heart is full of gratitude. An easing up of the feeling that I’m in this all by myself.

Here’s the thing:  how do I proceed in a sustainable way?  Without too much efforting, but with enough that I do get stronger over time.  Without being so careful that I no longer know my actual boundaries, but without stepping into another episode, either.

There are no maps here, no one to look to for advice, no tried and true resource.  No one knows.  What’s interesting is the shimmering, the shimmering grace I named this blog for.  That shimmering is saying “you need to turn inwards and seek your own deepest wisdom.”  That keeps coming up over and over again, in a wide variety of ways.

In Buddhism, guru yoga is a practice I’ve tried off and on for decades.  In it, you imagine the Buddha, or Green Tara, or Jesus or Mary, or whatever form of the Holy that inspires you – in front of you.  From their head a white light flows into your head, filling it with white light.  A ruby red light flows from their throat to your throat, filling your words with their wisdom.  Lapis Lazuli blue flows from their heart to fill your heart with their compassion and loving kindness.  And then you rest in this direct connection.  Not as easy as it sounds, but powerful.

Now I have been introduced to a variation of this practice by Christiana, my Tibetan healer here in Portland.  For this variation, I visualize Green Tara (for me, because I have a devotion to her) inside my heart, inside my own body.  Her white light fills my head, her ruby red throat energy fills my throat, and so on.  It’s a little more complex than this, but you get the idea.  Filled with her green light in my heart, I rest with that and at some point, I will ask for guidance and direction, from within my own soul.  It’s promising. And not easy to do.

One easy answer is to simply live in the Now, without any map into the future at all.  Yes, but that really doesn’t answer my dilemma of how to get stronger in a sustainable way.  One of the loudest voices from my family is to override all pain and all obstacles with a force of will.  Just do it.  That mantra.  I did that, and went from a IV to a III.  It worked, I was successful against all odds. However, I also discovered that in so doing, I was draining the energy pool underneath my whole being, the Jing energy, faster than I was replenishing it, if that is even possible at this point.  Some practitioners of Chinese medicine say that Kidney chi cannot be replaced.  When you run out, you die.  Others say that it can be replenished slowly and with great care.  That is what I want to do, or try to do, now.  But who the fuck really knows if it’s possible.   No one really knows.

So, more alternative docs on the horizon as I check out a few, slowly.  I shall see Dr. Nida who is a master Tibetan doctor coming to Portland in a few weeks.  Restorative yoga seems right to me now.  Laying outside on the grass in the sun, check.  Practicing a little chi gung, check.  Eating with mindfulness, a nourishing diet, check.  Walking around the Rose Villa campus when I can, yes.  Meditation, check.  Adrenal support capsules, okay.

A fragment of a new map is forming, one little piece at a time.  I can do this!

Thank you and blessings to all of you who offer me support in such a tapestry of ways, weaving a blanket of love to catch me when I fall.  May you know a deep and abiding wellness, the joy that lies beyond all suffering,  throughout your days.