Speaking of the Now

When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken
Do not clutch it
Let the wound lie open

Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound with salt
And let it sting.

Let a stray dog lick it
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell
And let it ring.

Enlightenment has become almost a dirty word with me. I have strived for it, studied for it, let go of it, clung to it, danced with it and tranced with it. I have gone the extra mile for it, flashed the smile for it, hoping that someday, somehow it would be given to me as an act of grace.

I should know better. I studied with a master teacher, Vernon Howard. There was no question about his enlightenment. Every word he said was true and came from the depths of the inner heights. His energy was phenomenal, pure and transcendant. I wanted a piece of it.

He died of cancer, his secretary befriended me and she died of cancer. Now my husband has incurable cancer. Somewhere along the line I have become less excited about my own particular nirvana.

During the worst days, my husband was so ill he did not know where he was. I knew all too well where I was--in hell. One day when he was in the hospital I came home and sat down at the computer. All of a sudden my bowels released and I messed in the computer chair. I cleaned myself up. The dog had thrown up on my side of the bed near my pillow. I stepped in dog doody and walked it all over the hospital corridors. And strangely enough I knew that I was getting a message of love...of the Mother Theresa variety. I was the unclean person.

I also knew during this strange time of trial that every time I asked for something I would be given an inner message that things would go better if I let things come to me unasked. I was in a no man's land. Who cared about enlightenment when there were unmentionable sufferings occurring in my life? Who cared?

My husband's ribs had been broken by the undiagnosed cancer and he looked like a skeleton. Since our daughter had died of the disease as a child, I knew what death looked like. I didn't want it to happen to him. When he got home from the hospital I slept with a skeleton for months.

Now he is in remission but I have much more self-esteem than I did when I was seeking enlightenment. Enlightenment is cellular, unearned and undiscerned. It is ephemeral, visceral and gut-wrenching.

People tell me that I have an aura of peace about me. I know what they mean, for when I look inside I experience it. The sad thing is that my ego with the name and form must undergo panic attacks and frequent sorrow because she can never be enlightened.

I am tired of reading all the endless names of people who teach enlightenment. They have books and tapes and seminars and retreats and introductory trial offers. I know the same things that they do...more's the pity.

If you would like to consult with me about gut-wrenching loneliness contained within a peaceful energy field, be my guest. I just don't do seminars.

This piece was first posted on a message board shortly after I wrote it. What follows are a few responses.

When I read your post (and I read it three times), my reaction was to want to hug you and enfold you in a cocoon of goodness... And then
to honor the warrior that you obviously are, who probably has no use for any cocoon I could summon up...

Your words about the enlightment teachers and their seminars caught my eye. I suspect that you have equal offerings (or even more) than
they... And is there not something innocent and uncorrupted about one who can share that who does not have 'anything to sell?' Because
that's what some/many of them are about - they have something to sell or market... And even when one starts out pure...something can corrupt when the buying and selling business comes into play.

One post in 100,000 will take us softly by the hand......
bravely lead us through the hell of humanity............... stand with us in
our loneliness......shelter us in our pain and then offer comfort for our
hopelessness.

There is very little about the human body or the dying process that
bothers me............

For a human being to endure a barrage of the most unbearable
circumstances and still maintain a sense of personal
dignity.......and
then ............to extend a hand to fellow
travelers..............well...............you made me a fan :-)

I too have dealt with panic attacks........They are gone
now...............They have a gift for you.

Life Is A Ballet

Life is a ballet and although it looks and feels beautiful at times, our toes are bleeding and we wake in the night with muscle cramps. All of this strenuous effort creates beauty and it is well worth the effort.

I have never danced as hard as when my small daughter was fighting cancer. She, herself, took ballet at the age of five although she had a large muscle missing from her right leg. It contained the muscle tumor that had to be removed. I had to stand on the sidelines and grimace as she tried to do what the healthy little girls were doing. She was thin as a rail and white as a sheet, but she persevered because what little girl doesn't love ballet?

I myself was going through beautiful motions of love for her, trying to give her a 'normal' life until she died. It was well worth it. Our Swan Lake was the real thing and when all of the curtain calls had been taken, she never returned.

Many years have gone by since her death and I am still writing about it. I have let go of her but the lessons learned are still bearing fruit. I have learned to trust beauty, whether it is of the heart, body or soul. It is truth in motion and it requires immense effort to create what looks like effortless beauty.

I have no doubt but that the ballet of life has a master choreographer. Someone who knows who is wearing the new tutus and pink slippers; someone who trusts that the music will be sweet and that the slippers are well-resined before the performance.

I never see Swan Lake without being moved. The real can never be taken from us, but the illusion is poignant indeed. Every year there are new dancers in the cast and in the beginning it seems that nothing will come together at the right time.

Certainly as I danced through my daughter's cancer over a period of three years, I often sat on the floor and wept, but I always got back up and played my part. I followed the doctor's instructions to give her a normal life. That included her dancing, wincing and triumphing. Her teacher, of course, fell in love with her, as did all who came to know her brave spirit. Love knows the steps that it must take in the ballet of life.

I sat on my daughter's hospital bed and held her as she died. She could no longer see me, but I rocked her in my arms. God. How do we do it? And keep on living. And keep on wishing for an open heart. We don't. A part of us dies.

A part of us is living with the angels. It is this part that is holy and that keeps us sane.

Dr. Bernie Siegel uses the expression, "Ride the horse of fear," when he is talking to cancer patients. This is a man who has revolutionized the way that we look at cancer. He has given patients the urge and the methods to turn their challenges into changes--for the better.

We all keep horses of fear in our subconscious stables. We feed them and shelter them so of course they breed. What if we did as Dr. Bernie says and rode our horses of fear consciously. After all, they are there in our unconscious minds. We are giving them shelter; we might as well ride them.

To give you an example from my own life, I have always had a fear of being a strong personality. My father was a troubled man, prone to angry outbursts and fits of pique. As I a child, I learned to be compliant and overly accomodating--first to my father and later to the entire world. Quite a job--and I did it well. When I began having panic attacks and agorophobia when I was in my early teens, I squelched the terror and never spoke of it. I was riding the horse of fear unconsciously and mechanically.

As an adult, I still have an unrealistic fear of social condemnation. That is probably why I wrote oneliners for standup comedians for many years. I could put my words in their mouths. I could get a modest check and vent my spleen at the same time! But this didn't help my fear of what other people thought of me.

Then I began walking the spiritual path and it is largely about overcoming fear and all of the other negative emotions. I had so many horses in the barn that I didn't know which horse I would be riding on any given day. Fear, shame, guilt....they were all in the stables of my soul.

When my husband was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, the horse of fear that the disease created was so huge that I thought I would never have the courage to even get upon its back. Its nostrils flared....its mane was a deep dark black. I paled at the prospect.

Days in the hospital turned into weeks and every day I had to get up on that horse and ride to the hospital. Tears blinded my eyes as I rode but the horse would not veer from carrying me into the pain and the sorrow that someone feels when their loved one is diagnosed with cancer.

On the day that he was diagnosed, I walked down the corridors of the hospital and into my husband's room. He had been taken down for x-rays and there was only a nurse named Gertie in there. I wept. "Gertie, close the door," I said. "You have to help me. I have got to get myself together."

Gertie was a very spiritual person; I had sensed that immediately when she was first assigned to care for my husband. She had, in fact, administered his first chemotherapy. She was a warrior soul.

Gertie and I prayed together. I have no idea what words were said. I remember telling her that I would make it through this somehow...that God would guide me. It was by telling Gertie what I believed that I first began riding the horse of fear consciously. Before, I had let the horse take me down the path with no clear awareness. I was resisting its direction.

Now it hit me like a thunderbolt. I would no longer resist riding the horse of fear. I would be in charge. God would not let me fail. Gertie and I gathered so much good energy that we could have lifted the roof off of that hospital room. My sorrow had taken a new direction.

Over two years have gone by since my husband was diagnosed. Even though he is out of remission and beginning more chemo, I am still willing to ride the horse of fear. But instead of the horse coming for me, I often choose to go to the stables and let the horse know that I will be in charge of the ride that day.

Choosing to ride the horse of fear can change your life instantly. You can turn on a dime. God's gift of courage comes to those who want to wake up and handle the challenges of life as He would have us do. It doesn't matter how many times you fall off, either. Sometimes the horse throws me into mud puddles and this is when I doubt if I am doing the right thing. I appear to be losing the battle with fear. I begin to doubt myself.

Fear is a part of the human condition--yours, mine and everyone elseâs. But here is the challenge and the solution rolled into one. Ride the horse of fear consciously. Choose it. Resistance to fear is what perpetuates it. We all know this. It doesn't matter whether your challenge is cancer or not, ride the horse of fear by your own choice.

My husband's cancer has opened up inner depths in me that I did not know that I had. Some were good and others bad; yet they all needed to be looked at. Our humanity is heightened as we honor our fears and go with them in a new direction. Perhaps your horse of fear wants to take you into the dark night of your soul just so you can get it over with. At the end of the journey is a blinding light of belief. You begin to believe in your self.

Fear never goes away entirely because of the fact that we are human. Even Christ suffered when He was tested. I will bet that the horses of fear in your stable are anxious for you to take them for a ride. But do it consciously. Remember the advice of Bernie Siegel and ride the horse of fear. And let me know how it works out for you.

When I choose to love myself, the entire universe supports me. This is having hinds' feet. When you have your conscious mind and your subconscious mind working in agreement, the universe supports you in all that you do, think or feel. This is astounding.

When I sit in my chair, the entire universe is supporting me and since body, mind and spirit are one, I also have mental and physical support. Seeing unity gives unity and then the miracles seem understandable. Jesus was one with Himself and therefore He was a miracle worker, but He said that greater things would we do. The only way that I can do a miracle is to be a miracle and the pattern was put down by our Lord.

When I choose to see myself as lovingkindness, the entire universe sees me in the same way. Therefore, if I want to enjoy a loving, spirit-filled life, all I do is let it begin within and it will manifest in the outer. This is worth meditating on.

In the midst of suffering and serious illness, we are often deluged by the demands that are suddenly thrust upon us. It doesn't matter that friends and family are rallying 'round. We need something that is beyond the human capacity to give. We sense the lack. We utter prayers in utter isolation. Where is hope...where is true help and healing?

I remember a night in the hospital when my husband was still quite ill afer his diagnosis of multiple myeloma. We were wrestling with God about how He could inflict such sorrow on us yet again. Our only daughter had died of a rare childhood cancer when she was seven years old. My husband, son and I had lived with loneliness for many years, for you never get over the death of a child or a sibling.

This night we were devastatingly alone. I had called two agencies putting in a request for a night nurse. When both said they could "staff us," as they put it, I cancelled one of them. But evidently the nurse that they called did not receive the message in time, and she entered the room quietly. She wore a colorful knit hat on her head and the sweetest smile that we had ever seen. She seemed totally intent on what she had come to do, which wasn't to provide a traditional nursing service. Oh, no.

We explained to her that she wasn't needed, as the nurse from the other agency was on the way. But the three of us all knew better. This was far beyond human scheduling.

Bessie, as her name turned out to be, told us her story. She said that she had come all the way across town...she might as well stay and visit for a bit. She is a nurse, but she is also a believer. She said she tried to tell her story to one person a day--her story of a living God. Bob and I held hands as I stood by his bed. His arm was full of gizmos and contraptions. We both wept like children and were comforted by her words. She read from the Bible and loved us in a heartfelt way.

Peace pervaded that room. It was a cloak of comfort that she offered. Sitting down in the old cracked naugehyde chair, she read passages from the Bible and warned us against fear getting a foothold. Three against the flood of fear.....two of us fearing that the waters would overflow us.

Bessie Owens left her business card along with her healing presence when she gathered up her pocketbook and her prayers. She didn't fool me for a minute. When she left I knew that the Great Physician had been making His Rounds.