Tag: healing

SILVER LINING

by Maasaisis

I woke up feeling as if I’d been dragged behind a running horse. I had to keep my breath shallow so my ribs wouldn’t expand against the hot pain wrapping beneath my breast and around my back. I immediately sensed that something was terribly wrong. The reflection in the mirror confirmed my dread—a wide, bright, red welt wrapped around me on the outside of where I felt the pain inside. This significant change occurred rapidly during a disturbed sleep after a mind-fucker of a day. Perhaps my discombobulated state that day was a foreshadowing of what was to come.

Something was undoubtedly wrong, but it was Sunday. I’d been visiting the local oncology department regularly lately; the last thing I wanted was another hospital visit. In the blue welcome packet I received from the oncology nurse was a special neon pink skip-the-line slip. Having this slip was supposed to expedite any emergency visit for a cancer patient. Guess I might as well play my cancer card, I thought. I slung my arm around my husband, and he dragged my limp body into the ER like a big sack of potatoes.

There should be no contest to suffering; everyone in that room was suffering profusely. Slumped in the waiting room, overwhelmed with pain, fever, and nausea, I sobbed like a child, completely helpless. Even in that state of despair, the common thread of suffering in the ER connected me to a greater force. What bound me was compassion and the indivisible nature of suffering.

Hours had gone by with me in and out of consciousness by the time I was assessed and diagnosed. It turned out I had a staph bacterial infection that had spread from my tumour. Out of the bloodwork and cultures taken, one sample showed that it was in my blood. I was immediately put on IV antibiotics in hopes that I wouldn’t go into sepsis.

The doctor on duty did not have the best bedside manner. I could tell he was annoyed, dealing with a tedious patient and a case file he needed to comprehend thoroughly. ‘You’re in rough shape, and you’ve got a lot going on you should be concerned about,’ he said matter-of-factly. I didn’t have the energy to stand up for myself, a concern in itself. I just nodded and let him be who he was. He suggested trying to needle aspirate the pulsing red protrusion of my tumour in hopes of drawing out some infection. The last thing I wanted was this man sticking a giant syringe into my breast, but that is what happened, and unfortunately, there was no pus, only a bloody mess to show for it. Thankfully, that was the last I saw of him as I drifted in and out of delirium.

I slept in between bouts of nausea that would wake me up and bring me back to my predicament. Eventually, I was given the option to continue to stay in the ER or go home, as there was nothing more that could be done except continue IV antibiotics every 24 hours. I was torn between staying under the care of physicians and wanting to be in my own space with my family. I didn’t trust what my body was doing and was afraid of how compromised I felt. It was a terrifying feeling that I couldn’t shake even in the comforts of my home.

For the following 5 days, I continued to receive treatment in and out of the ER. The oncology nurse suggested I take a break from the targeted therapy drug I was taking in conjunction with the hormonal therapy medication. She told me that it’s an immunosuppressant and would hinder my healing from the staph infection. I suddenly understood what had most likely happened. I’d been on my cancer treatment plan for just over 2 weeks, during which time I was more immunocompromised than usual.

I’d been battling skin rashes and inflammation around my tumour for months. Fevers would come and go, but never did it cross my mind that the cause could be an infection. The oncologist waved it off as a cancer symptom, and I accepted the pain that came with it. I believe I’ve had this infection going on for a long time, and my immune system would fight it off every time it reared its ugly head. With the new medication that suppressed my immune system, it finally broke free into its full expression as a nasty staph infection.

I’m one to always look for the silver lining even amidst dire situations. Every day my body improved with antibiotics pumping through my veins. As the raspberry-red giant welt began to recede, I also noticed that the evidence of rashes that plagued me for months started to disappear. The pain in my breast slightly alleviated, which also has to do with the infection leaving my body. So even though this was a horrid experience building up for months, I’m grateful that it happened so that it could be addressed.

My way of being continues to morph through my experience with this disease. Time has stretched out like taffy, soft and malleable, unlike how I used to feel pressed up against it, always trying to stay ahead. I’m learning that I create my own suffering by planning how to fill the space of time. Life is happening to me in ways that I cannot control or predict. It’s asking me to be gentle and present with whatever is happening, and it requires a whole lot of compassion. To hold myself in high regard, to be worthy even when I’m responding to life from my couch.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS NOT WEAKNESS- Detective Katagiri from Tokyo Vice

THE PATIENT PATIENT

by Maasaisis

I’m battling the Saboteur, determined to resist its attempts to tarnish the glow following a delightful stroll in the sunlit forest. It lures me into exchanging it for a darker version of my circumstance. During the walk, I was impressed by my ability to maintain a brisk pace without compromising my stamina. Even on the uphill climb, I sensed newfound strength compared to my previous treks.

Returning home, exhaustion engulfed me, my focus latched onto the energy being syphoned out of me. The electric pain travelling through my body brings my attention to a new, suspicious discolouration under my breast. Now, the Saboteur transforms into the Victim, and a sense of helplessness drags me into shutdown mode. The mind, once uplifted in the forest, now succumbs to weightier thoughts-dragging me into numbing sleep.

Negative thoughts possess a density capable of overshadowing the light without a moment’s notice. They filter out the wisdom I’ve gathered into a blank void. The Victim induces temporary memory loss of all that I have to be grateful for. It’s evident that I’m not a patient patient, and I’m frustrated with life revolving around the central axis of my health. I’m frustrated with being frustrated when I know the only way through this is to allow it to be whatever it is. I’m looking for ways to escape but this will follow me wherever I go.

A sickly-looking woman is gazing back at me in the mirror. She has a shaved head with patches missing and dark spots decorating her skin. Who is this person looking back at me? What is her purpose?

The judgement values that have served as a measure of my self worth is suffocating me. I can no longer rise to the gold standard to satisfy the insatiable need to achieve more. These unreasonable expectations, even at the best of times, demand ‘you should be’ orders, kicking me while I’m down. Curled up with my hands pressed on my ears, guilt washes over me.

A chasm exists between the part of myself witnessing this self-abuse and the one perpetuating it. The witness sees the dominating pattern that has been running the show all my life. She shakes her head with her hand on her heart while the abuser is barking orders, pushing me to do and be more. The irony lies in the fact that the relentless drive to achieve more has been a fundamental building block shaping who I am today. Now, I’m being forced to find a new way to satiate the need to do more to feel of value.

It feels like the stripping away of what used to give me a sense of purpose is bringing me closer to my real purpose. I still don’t know what that is, but I sense that I’m immersed in it without fully recognizing its value. This is where the healing needs to happen. Instead of feeling weak and aimless, how about translating it as a sign of healing? How about taking this exhaustion and the need for rest as a sign of my body recalibrating? How about viewing my unstable emotional state as a reflection of the beauty of my vulnerability, rather than something to dismiss with a smile? How about the grace of love to be enough as I am now?

Perhaps a deeper alchemy is unfolding beneath the biological changes induced by these medications, maybe budding beneath the layers of depression and exhaustion. This slow, sticky, stagnated state could serve as the perfect incubation ground for whatever needs to be realized and embodied in preparation for my next phase. At some level, I’m still in denial about what is happening inside me, clinging to the idea that life should continue just as it did before. Amidst the complexity, there are numerous layers—some more readily peeled away, while others need to be left as they are, forming the foundational base of what is to come.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE

BELIEF AND BIAS

by Maasaisis

Is Rumi referring to the quantum field when he said, “What you are seeking is also seeking you”? If the universe consistently responds to the vibrations we emit, could all experiences be inherently personal, rendering the concept of an absolute truth obsolete?

The very framework of my identity is now undergoing construction. Growth demands space for expansion, and the residence I’ve inhabited is no longer conducive to my evolution. The challenge lies in recognizing what no longer serves my development. I must rearrange some structural elements that supported me, even if it’s scary to build in a place where safety isn’t guaranteed. This new design must be created as I go, and I have no idea what I’m building.

The last few months have been a kick in the gut for my ego. Clumps of hair fall out in fistfuls, and gray hairs populate what’s left. At the peak of my angry tumor, there’s a loonie-sized scab with a mind of its own. My ears are taking turns blocking out this reality, and it feels like I’m underwater. For the first time, I feel like I know absolutely nothing. Electrical pain communicates from my breast to my sternum and into my ribs. Breathing feels like someone sitting on my chest. Rashes come and go, confirming my inability to rein in the rapid changes my body is undergoing. I’ve been in denial about the metastasis of this cancer, but I can no longer ignore what my body is telling me.

This lump resembles the ego. Cells that have separated from the whole, adopting a dominating existence, attempt to convince other cells of their singularity and importance. It’s a mutiny against homeostasis, recruiting cells at a rapid rate. They all seem to have forgotten their origin, and it’s up to me to help them remember their harmonious nature. A significant inner renovation is taking place, and new methods will be utilized for this next version of me.

The contradictions I encounter daily are becoming amusingly apparent. The only certainty is that there is no Plan A or B, no right or wrong—only the entirety of existence. What I’m uncovering is that every idea is steeped in bias, supported by evidence that is subsequently contradicted by opposing biases. For instance, a deep dive into a study by a doctor claiming cancer feeds on glutamine and sugar, portraying cancer as a metabolic disease, is countered by another study refuting the entire notion. Whom do I believe? Whom do I trust for my cure?

This perplexing disease reportedly afflicts 40% of the Western population. Despite substantial investments in research and resources, the understanding and treatment of cancer remain elusive in the long run. The presence of conflicting information prompts a crucial question: How can we discover effective and curative treatments without a clear understanding of the truth about the disease? Why do some people heal while others don’t? Does it have to do with our own beliefs and biases, or is there something at the soul level that decides?

I’m starting to discern a connection between belief, bias, and the seemingly supportive evidence—a sort of quantum revelation. Like physicists studying subatomic particles, there was a debate about their nature. Some believed they behaved like matter, while others argued for an energy-like behavior. The revelation was that the behavior of these particles, essential for everything living and even non-living, shifts depending on the observer and their predisposed beliefs.

As the structure of my metaphorical house undergoes reconstruction, I question the trajectory that brought me to this juncture. Would I be facing this health crisis if I had followed the initial recommendations of doctors? Was it a mistake to exclusively embrace German New Medicine to understand this disease? Despite the numerous case studies supporting GNM with 100% accuracy, did my cancer resurface only when doubt and fear crept in? Am I a victim of this disease, did I unconsciously create it, was it part of my soul contract, or none of it and all of it? Will I ever know why? These questions will have to be laid to rest beneath the earth of what will be built.

In the midst of treatment, there will be no gradual ceremony marking my transition from mother to crone. The crone archetype embodies wisdom from a lifetime of experiences. I strive to enter a slower, empowered, and all-encompassing phase of life. This choice is available in every moment, even if momentarily forgotten when things get really messy. I embrace the conscious leap across the threshold into medically induced menopause, honouring the fertile grounds that gave rise to my daughter.

I must strive to find stillness at the center of the cyclone. My purpose is to come back to myself when external forces try to pull me out of orbit. In my center, there’s peace and recognition that everything that came before is a vital piece of the giant puzzle. This place beckons me to be gentle, to love myself, to have faith, be grateful, and bless this treatment so it will work. I’ll have to bend like a willow tree, flexible and resilient, embracing the winds of change.

LESSON: HEAVEN IS A STATE OF MIND.

THE SPACE IN-BETWEEN

by Maasaisis


It’s terrifying to face the realization that options are running out, and what remains is what I’ve desperately avoided. The expansive realm of possibilities suddenly funnels into an ominous direction-pushing me towards where I thought I would never go.

The integrative private clinics that I’ve researched hold great promise, offering targeted treatment plans that I can at least align with my understanding. They all claim a gentler and more assured approach with an emphasis on extensive testing before formulating a treatment plan. I spent 20 minutes on the phone today nodding my head and feeling my optimism blossom until she smashed that possibility with a $200,000 US estimate for my “personalized plan” and wished me luck before she hung up.

Every potential avenue for assistance, particularly those I see as a middle ground, seems out of reach unless finances are not a concern. It’s disheartening but unsurprising that the realm of cancer treatment operates as a lucrative industry. Access to effective treatments with minimal harm to the body appears to be a privilege reserved for those with significant financial resources.

The long-awaited callback for my initial appointment with an oncologist finally arrived, scheduled in a few weeks. Anticipating this moment filled me with dread, as it signifies confronting what I’ve fiercely resisted for years. While friends and family impatiently awaited this call, seeing it as a positive step, I secretly viewed it as a window for a last-ditch effort to execute alternative cures.

My kitchen now doubles as my apothecary, where I diligently consume an array of concoctions every hour. At night I take it the other way and shove a suppository of potent cannabis in hopes of taming my lump. I’m pummelling my body with anti cancer agents that are accessible to me, resulting in a pristinely alkaline body and less twenty pounds of weight. Living with cancer for over four years has gifted me with a reservoir of knowledge empowering me to assist my body during this “space in between”.

I’ve acquired the wisdom to attend to every aspect of my being, not just my physical but recognizing the crucial role of nurturing my mental and spiritual well-being. The irony lies in the current situation, where day by day I’m moving into alien territory. I know I must confront my fears and make space for what is beginning to feel like the inevitable which is a system where I will have to poison and burn my body to cure it. How can I make sense of it and accept it? That is the work that I must do now.

Remarkably in the mean time my body has shown significant changes with my homemade protocol. Just a month ago, my condition was dire—my breast inflamed, angry, purplish-red, and only opioids provided relief at the cost of depression and endless sleep. Drugging myself was an easy escape and one that could have taken hold of me. Climbing stairs left me breathless, and my skin was covered in ugly, itchy rashes.

I’ve always gauged my health by how I feel, my optimism, inspiration, and physical abilities. Since committing to my extensive healing protocol, I’ve ceased pain meds, reduced napping, and managed to calm my angry breast which has allowed me to reclaim my precious energy. If I can keep going with patience and perseverance will it eventually heal me? Do I have the time to keep going?

I continue to consistently be saved by my unyielding spirit, tirelessly determined to keep shining. No matter how many times I end up in a puddle of despair somehow I am given the opportunity for a different perspective that forces me to yield what I can not control. It an ongoing dance between acceptance and resistance. I know this yet I still continue to get trapped until I have the wits to know that I hold the key for my release.

Time is ticking, and there’s a discrepancy between my actual feelings and what the doctors are conveying about the state of my health. I am being informed of something that contradicts my own experience. Am I now to distrust my own experience and trade it in for what’s seen on a piece of paper and relayed over a phone call? It’s like walking up to a stranger and asking “hello, please tell me how am I feeling?”

Ultimately, the fact remains that this lump must be addressed one way or another. Additionally, there is a concern about potential metastasis amid conflicting scan results that requires confirmation. I have exhausted my resources and continue steadfastly in my commitment to do all that I can to support my body. I have approximately three weeks until my meeting with the oncologist, where an entirely different treatment plan will be recommended to me. I pray every day to be shown the way, to not hinder my progress, to avoid making assumptions, and to discern the difference between valid guidance and fear-driven beliefs.

LESSON: “If we can’t change our fate, at least we can accept it, adapt, and possibly undergo inner growth even in the midst of of troubles” – From Daniel Goleman’s introduction of Viktor Frankl’s book “Yes To Life”.

Returning home over and over again.

by Maasaisis

As my nervous system gradually returns to regulation, I’m reminded that healing is an ongoing journey, a continuous return home to oneself. The last few months have been like a bad acid trip shaped by the opinions of medical specialists that have transformed my life into a state of emergency. It’s incredible how radical a change can take place when value is given to meaning.

The foundation that supported my vibrant life with cancer began to crumble swiftly, and I was horrified at the rapid rate at which my health declined in response to my state. For over four years, I managed without the physical ripples of what society teaches us about cancer. My mind was steadfastly convinced of my body’s healing, until doubt set in.

My psyche was triggered, prompting my body to signal that surgery was the inevitable next step for my healing. This meant re-entering the medical system I had resolutely avoided for the last few years. Once I stepped in, a PET scan was required before meeting the surgeon to discuss my surgery. Previous scans indicated localized cancer in my breast, affirming my long-held belief that cancer does not “spread” but is born of separate traumas that accumulate along the way, often in dealing with the initial diagnosis and the fear it triggers.

Given my understanding of German New Medicine, it has become a double-edged sword, particularly in navigating the medical terrain filled with personal triggers from my past. Despite my reluctance, I underwent the PET scan to honor the commitment I made towards my healing, believing it meant the removal of my breast.

The shock was palpable when the results placed me in the category of systemic treatment before a mastectomy. Other areas showed higher sugar uptakes, hinting at potential cancer activity elsewhere.

In fight or flight mode, every ounce of knowledge abandons you when you need it the most, leaving you paralyzed in a state of fear. What made it worse was knowing I was only compounding the situation by staying in that state. Despite my spiritual training, I couldn’t break free except through drug-induced sleep. So, I resorted to opiates to escape my mind and pain, turning off my switch and hoping that in another realm where I existed, I would find my way through this.

I thought mastectomy was my ultimate offering, a fair trade for my freedom. Never did I fathom hormone treatment, radiation, or, God forbid, chemo! Was this some cosmic joke, the gods mocking me with, “You haven’t surrendered it all, honey!”

My entire system went berserk—angry rashes, swollen eyes, a clenched jaw, and an inflamed breast causing a constant fever. I’ve shed too much weight in too short a time. Terror shadowed me, and the woman in the mirror seemed unrecognizable. Worst of all, my faith wavered, and I sought refuge in opiates to evade confronting it, weakly promising myself that a good sleep would provide the strength to deal with it all when I woke up.

The opiates plunged me into depression, disempowered me, worsened my symptoms, and transformed me into a groveling victim. I knew that I needed to gather myself up and face this mother fucker of a situation- that meant a break from numbing myself. Around that time, my attuned parents responded to my SOS and decided resolutely to be by my side. Within a few days, my Da was giving me acupuncture treatments in my living room while my mom cooked beautiful macrobiotic foods and insisted on a strict schedule of copious supplements.

My DNA donors mirror my essence, blending my Japanese mom’s practicality with my Da’s stoic faith. They, along with my incredible husband, don’t have the answers, but together, we’re navigating the path. I sense myself returning home to the sanctuary within, anchored in love.

I must not fear the journey ahead but trust that clues will guide my way, as they always have. Recognizing the significance of remaining utterly open, I continue to trust in the guidance that will unfold. My task is to stay open until I know and to decipher what is not serving me, a process that can be a quagmire of stubborn belief systems.

God certainly works in mysterious ways and I am reminded that is through the extension of God’s Creations. I have to believe that help is on the way coming in ways that I can’t predict. Most importantly, I must not forget the boundless place within me where peace always abides, leaving my mind behind. I must continue to return there over and over again, whatever it takes.

LESSON: HEALING IS A JOURNEY CONTINUALLY COMING HOME TO YOURSELF.

Mind Matrix

by Maasaisis

It’s not unusual to have multiple biological programs coexist at the same time. One trauma can piggyback on another, usually from the fear of our symptoms or from what we are forced to face. Currently, I find myself in the midst of an activated phase of the periosteum program. The telltale sign of this activation is the excruciating sharp, stabbing pains reminding me of intense labour contractions but in my breast.

The periosteum program arises from an extreme separation trauma, and it’s no surprise that it results in intense nerve pain. The neural network covering the bones’ surface swells and pinches the nerves during this active phase. I’m certain this program was initiated when I faced the agonizing decision to undergo a mastectomy, the ultimate separation from my breast, or perhaps it’s the fear of ultimate separation from life itself.

After days of being debilitated on the couch , every sharp pulse reaffirms the intimate connection between body and mind. I recognize that the manifestation of disease symptoms is a primal survival response to the thought files of my mind. Despite this understanding, I am having a hard time convincing my mind that it is safe when it is busy responding to the pain, perpetuating a seemingly inescapable and vicious cycle. The struggle is real, the awareness is clear, yet finding the exit from this intricate labyrinth remains elusive.

Even at the precipice of my limit, I hold fast to the faith that I’m exactly where I need to be. It took me four years to reach the peak of my ultimate surrender. I finally understand that surrender doesn’t mean giving up or defeat; instead, it’s about widening the breadth of understanding while letting go of attachments to any kind of outcome. For me, the letting go is happening in increments—like releasing one finger at a time, each one tightly gripping the matrix of mind that wove my safety net.

Awaiting the results of recent scans to detect metastasis left me stranded in a terrain of terror. What has become clear to me is that the terror I felt was tied to the possibility of being proven wrong in my understanding of the disease process. If cancer had “spread,” it would mean I misunderstood, potentially jeopardizing my life for a belief that once made me feel safe. The stakes are high; if cancer does spread through the lymph and blood, my prognosis wouldn’t be good. However, if what I learned through German New Medicine is correct, and if a new significant trauma was not triggered, the results would show that the cancer remains localized in my breast.

The realization of the significance of being right in the way I invested in my healing journey, rather than being physically okay, was something I need to examine closely. Was it my steadfast and unshakable belief that actually kept my body free from metastasis, as the results ultimately proved, or did I find truth in German New Medicine?

Trauma is unavoidable, but armed with the understanding from my own experience, it’s about finding ways to mitigate fear and our survival response by doing whatever it takes. Recognizing this, I am taking every measure to avoid responding in high alert to my frantic mind. Even if it means relying on the assistance of opiates to seek refuge, allowing me to come up for air and gain a new vantage point for perspective.

I am convinced that continuing to endure the intensity of my current physical experience is a sign of a healing phase, where my tumour will eventually decompose or encapsulate. The intense pressure I feel on the surface, the heat, the swelling and the pain suggests that it is moving in that direction. However, I am realistic enough with myself to acknowledge that an open, rotting, oozing mess on my breast would likely trigger other trauma programs in my body and I am unable to risk more.

Understanding the potential trauma of losing a breast torments me. I recognize that opting for reconstructive surgery with implants may alleviate the trauma of that loss, but the thought of replacing my tumor-swollen breast with a foreign object repels me. As I witness the circling of my mind, I can feel my skin respond and I know I just need to stop.

I am reciting the Lord’s Prayer, placing emphasis on “Thy will be done,” visualizing myself opening my hands and letting go. God answered my prayer by narrowing down my options. The surgeon suggested chemo and hormone therapy to shrink the mass over possibly six months, but there isn’t even an iota of space in my capabilities to accept that option, no matter how much I try to surrender. This means that I will require a skin graft to span the space of what will be removed since I won’t have enough skin to cover my wound. Reconstruction is not an available option at this point. Strangely, I find myself able to accept this alternative.

Our minds excel at creating safety, but my fortress is crumbling, revealing a terrified child curled up inside. It’s taken this long to see that she’s always been there, yearning for that special way that only I can comfort her. As I yield to more tests and await the opinions of specialists, I wonder if they will be able to bridge the gap between how much I can let go of and how far they are willing to go, so that I can live with whatever will be done. It’s a delicate balance between what I know and what they know, and my only hope is that we can meet in the middle where I may be finally liberated.

LESSON: SURRENDER DOES NOT MEAN GIVING UP OR DEFEAT; INSTEAD, IT’S ABOUT WIDENING THE BREADTH OF UNDERSTANDING WHILE LETTING GO OF ATTACHMENTS TO ANY KIND OF OUTCOME.

The Roller Coaster Ride

by Maasaisis

I’m at the point where I am beginning to realize what I actually signed up for. It reminds me of that feeling on a roller coaster ride, steadily ascending to its highest peak and dreading every second of it. At the top, in the brief pause, I am forced to face the terrifying reality that there is absolutely nothing I can do to change what is about to happen. There’s no turning back, no changing my mind, and no amount of fight will alter the course of the next few minutes. The only thing left to do is to surrender.

My right breast is taut from pressure on the inside. It’s a likeness of a perfect grapefruit—swollen, round, and oddly perky. Under different circumstances, it might have fuelled my vanity, but it’s due to the palm-sized tumour underneath. Now visibly larger than its twin, it throbs and sends sharp, electric messages to surrounding areas.

I’ve had to adapt to this new reality. I’ve become a left-hearted hugger, a back sleeper, and I keep my right elbow at the ready to shield my throbbing breast from any kind of impact. I am adjusting to new ways to support my healing and sleeping as much as I need.

This mass resembles a slowly shifting continent, inching its way toward my armpit. Its relentless pull restricts the mobility of my shoulder and diminishes the strength in my arm. Everything I hold dear about myself finds expression through my hands. It’s not what I say but the authenticity of my hands that allows me to connect with people on the deepest level. As both an artist and masseuse, my hands serve as the language through which I communicate.

Though I should be celebrating the promising signs of healing that I’ve come to understand, it’s innate human nature to react to pain with fear and resistance. I am uncertain if the mass will eventually erupt to the surface or if it will become dormant after raising a ruckus. I remain to be my own test subject.

In recent weeks, the pain has intensified significantly. Every time I pressed my fingers to catch a hook in the tissue of the person I was massaging, I would feel a painful echo reverberating in my breast. It became a disruptive distraction to what is otherwise a practice of serenity and prayer.

This week, I finally arrived at the point where I had to release my massage practice. The decision left me grappling with the aftermath—my self-worth plummeted and landed on questions like : “Who am I if I can’t massage anymore? What if I can’t paint anymore? Who am I if I can’t use my hands?”

When the heart falls out of harmony, it recruits the mind to conjure up the worst-case scenarios. We do this in an attempt to prepare ourselves, even though most of these scenarios never materialize. It’s a convoluted way of trying to find comfort in situations beyond our control. While we’re entangled in these thoughts, life continues to move forward, often slipping by unnoticed. We miss the gifts of what each moment can bring us even though it may be uncomfortable.

The irony is that I’ve been praying for this to happen. I’ve been asking for my “biological program” to reach its completion. I’ve learned from German New Medicine that cells heal best in a warm, liquid environment. Healing brings swelling, heat, and yes, pain. It’s the body’s way of signalling us to rest, to refrain from using that part so it can mend itself. This is why we often reach the peak of discomfort, also known as a healing crisis, before the body can return to homeostasis.

Against my better judgment, my well-being is compromised by toggling between my worst fears and my faith in what I’ve learned in the last four years of this healing journey. Nevertheless, I continue to remind myself to extend forgiveness to the part of me that still falls prey to these “what-ifs.” The only way is through it. I always have the choice to embrace pain and the unknown with surrender and faith, trusting in my body’s innate ability to heal. There is always the right time to remember when I forget.

I’m grateful to be reminded of the opportunities within every obstacle. Now that I’m not massaging, I have more time for my creative projects that had been shelved. This newfound time allows me to nurture and listen to what my body needs. I’m embracing this journey, wherever it may lead me, much like taking a deep breath at the peak of a rollercoaster ride—relaxing and surrendering to the wild ride ahead.

LESSON: RELAX AND SURRENDER.

Becoming Who I Already Am

by Maasaisis

Two days ago I began my 46th cycle around the sun. Being well into the second half of my life I am more interested in how I want to be rather than what I want to be. I’m constantly calling myself out these days. The result of it is that I really can’t take myself too seriously. My pride is such an ego-driven maniac that all I can do is laugh at the absurdity of its righteousness and forgive myself for it. The ego always speaks loudly first in its projectile nature.

I imagine what the world would look like when the invisible line that separates every one of us finally dissipates. What would happen if we all woke up one morning and unzipped our bodies to reveal the sameness in us? Perhaps you’d think that’s boring…but what if we finally found what we were looking for?

This incessant need to fill up life with things and achievements means nothing when we are gone. We only take with us what we’ve always been. The competitiveness, the comparisons, the good and the bad drive us mad. We create our own hell from our own projections and choose to stay there. We do-do-do on the outside when what we really want is peacefully waiting for us to turn in.

These two lumps of mine remind me that I have a choice. I can choose fear and live in hell or I can choose to be free of it. Every moment gives me the opportunity to choose. Fear can be crippling. It shapeshifts to denial and regret which amplifies its power to make me forget that I always have a choice.

I’ve been drawn to the philosophy of Stoicism as of late. The attraction lies in the practice of attention and redirection- to focus on letting go of what we can’t control and directing the mind to the things that we can. I can control my perspective, observations, and actions. So I ask myself ” Am I ok right now?”

Since the ego exists in time it’s obsessed with the future. It replies “Yes I’m ok right now but I might not be later”. Then it creates the most elaborate house of terrors and throws me in. If I can catch the spinning of this tale and tell myself the truth, “yes, I feel super healthy. I’m functioning. Everything is working just fine” then I’m free to live another day.

I’ve been doing this for three and a half years. The ego can only exist as the body. It traps and attaches everything to this suit that I’m wearing on the outside. It keeps everything on the surface, wants to be perfect and live forever. The ego always makes judgments to impose itself onto others to prove itself right. It does not and will never recognize the sameness in us that connects us all which is eternal. So I’m on the lookout to catch the clues to know when I’m not of sound mind.

I will not disrespect the fine suit I’m in and be reckless. This suit is what I’ve got -to learn the lessons I need so I can let it go when the time comes. I must love it, care for it, create from it and spring life from it until then.

Earl Nightingale said, “We become what we think about”. I know this to be true because my life reflects my state of mind. There is no good or bad there just IS. I just happen to have some speed bumps on the contour of my breast that is presently not causing me ill health. It’s a constant letting go of how my breast used to be and my dream about that.

I’m working on being more receptive, less projective, and more grateful. It really is tragically funny how fucking difficult that is. That’s why I really need a sense of humor with an unlimited resource of love and forgiveness to wake up to become who I already AM.

CONFIRMATIONS

by Maasaisis

The light recedes towards the darkness as the days get shorter and the air feels colder. There is a familiar melancholy felt in trading the bursting days of summer to the inward coiling of the long winter months ahead. Perhaps that is why I feel so tired, so very tired of the discipline it takes to live my life the way I have chosen to live it.

Faith is a fire that needs regular tending to so it won’t go out. If I let the fire go out I’m not sure I can exist in the dark. For the last 3 months I’ve had relapses of what I experienced early on in my healing journey. My eyes… the physical portal from which I perceive is the door between my mind and the outside world. I’ve had round after round of what I call the Rocky Balboa eyes because when it’s bad it looks like double shiners.

The first time it happened was after my 33 day grape fast three years ago. If you’ve been following my blog, you’d know that I’ve relied 100% on my inner compass to show me the way. Around that time my compass was spinning round and round leading me nowhere. Not knowing what to do next to “fix” what I thought was broken left me very vulnerable to the onslaught of fear.

My biological response to “not being able to see my way forward” was for my eyes to produce more tear fluid to aid my sight to see better. My tear producing glands worked overtime swelling up to the degree of my mental funckery. The tear drainage ducts plug up from too much pressure and there I have Rocky Balboa eyes.

Not knowing what I know now, at the time I thought the cancer metastasized into my eyes which only made my symptons worse. The light of my faith was but a flicker so I signed up for Vipassana and found a way to stoke my fire.

I haven’t had a relapse until I decided to get a MRI diagnostic this summer. Two lumps appeared beneath the scar of my lumpectomy shortly after the shocking death of a beloved sister. We had instantly connected through the same diagnosis and similar approach to healing. She too had been following her inner compass to heal her spirit in order to heal her body. God connected us at a time we needed each other the most. Her sudden death and in which I found out about it was a blow I was totally unprepared for. If she died following her compass what does that mean for me?

After grieving her death for months I noticed small nodules developing under my scar. As a student of German New Medicine I had no doubt that it was in response to my shock. I won’t get into the biological science of what happened as I have written about in the past. It’s one thing to have the knowledge, it’s entirely another beast to actually practice it when we are taught to fear our symptoms. It’s no easy feat to over ride synapses that have been wiring and firing through indoctrination.

I’ve had these lumps now for a year. During that time I’ve lost numerous friends to cancer. The last time someone looked inside was over two years ago when I had my lumpectomy. At the time I was told cancer was in one of my lymph nodes. Rather than doing the recommend testing and treatments I followed my compass again. I am my own test subject. Deciding on getting a MRI was the biggest gamble to see if my faith was placed in the hands of God or in the hands of ignorance and stupidity.

In the month leading up to the MRI my eyes blew up. To have this relentless episode revisit me at that time was the cruelest of confirmations that my body responds to my mind. My life was put on hold. I couldn’t plan anything past what I would potentially find from that screening. I couldn’t “see” my way forward.

In the tunnel of the rumbling, white machine I prayed with all my might. I was stuck in an in-between place between faith and accepting my fate. What would I do if I was deadly wrong all this time? Maybe my next lesson would be ultimate humility.

The ten days waiting for the results was accompanied by my eyes mirroring my internal struggle. It takes so much discipline to choose faith rather than give up. I think I am hardwired to believe that I’m being supported by a greater power than myself, otherwise I could not live this life. I thank the Creator for creating me this way.

What the MRI revealed was not what I hoped for but it did restore power in my faith. What I wanted to know was if the lumps in my breast are proliferating or benign. This would tell me if my body is still in survival mode or if that “program” has been resolved. I was urged further testing and poking around to know for certain. I’m not going down that road right now.

What I did find out is that there is no cancer anywhere else in my body. If I believed that cancer in the lymph led to the spreading of cancer elsewhere, it would have been all over the place after two years. That confirmation is enough to keep me going even if I don’t know exactly where I’m going. My concern is not that cancer will spread. The body biologically responds to trauma as a survival mechanism. My job is to be aware enough to downgrade it so the symptoms won’t become life threatening.

Since then, my eyes continue to oscillate between swelling and receding. Like a tide going in and out-I ebb in the realm of faith. I have clues to why this is happening but I’m still in the midst of figuring it out. Every-time I look at myself I think I’m triggering the cycle. Body follows mind and mind follows body too. I’m stuck in a feedback loop of all that I’ve gone through and still having to go through. I don’t know why I’m the way that I am. It’s not easy putting all my eggs in a basket that can’t be seen. That’s why it’s called faith.

LESSON: CONFIRMATIONS DON’T ALWAYS COME IN WAYS THAT ARE PLEASANT BUT THEY ARE CONFIRMATIONS NONE THE LESS.

“REMEMBERANCE”- held in faith.

Healing Together

by Maasaisis

Marianne Williamson’s talk was inspiring, liberating and sobering. I’ve been a great fan of her work as her interpretations of A Course In Miracles affirms what I’ve been learning from the book in a way that cements it in. She is witty, passionate and has great analogies to explain what the course is about in layman’s terms.

At 70 yrs old, her energy was powerful and electric. The takeaway for me was that she talked about the 3 days between the crucifixion and the resurrection. We are at a pivotal time where we live in 2 worlds now. One that is dying and one that is being birthed. We are facilitating the shift in consciousness as both death doula and birth doula. We are in between the crucifixion and the resurrection.

The time of the crucifixion as a metaphor, is us being hung up and wounded by our past and living from that place. It’s important to tend to our wounds and be conscious of it and it’s also important to know when it’s time to get off the cross to get resurrected – that can only happen in the NOW. We must choose to release ourselves so that we can heal not just ourselves but the world.

My understanding of the resurrection is waking up to the truth of who we are which is that we are One with all of creation. A Course In Miracles uses the metaphor that we are all rays of the sun not realizing that we all come from the one source. As long as we think we are separate from one another we believe we are separate from what we already are. We can never be separate from what we really are because love made us like itself. It is all encompassing and eternal- always there waiting to be remembered.

We yearn to return to what we already are but maybe it’s not something we just do solo. I’ve done so much deep solo work but it can only get me so far until I can extend it into my relationships. I know this is true for myself.

Marianne Williamson confirmed that ultimately what we do and feel towards others we do unto ourselves. So in every opportunity through our relationships we can fragment or heal through love. It’s important to know that love can also be fierce, powerful, and have boundaries. It’s not just about the fluffy stuff because forgiveness is key to freeing each other and ourselves especially when it feels impossible to do so.

ACM says, “Seek not to change the world but to change your mind about it”. What I’m learning is the miracles the book talks about isn’t about some grand event to make non believers believe. A miracle happens in every moment when we remember who we are. I think that’s enlightenment and it can happen in a fleeting moment of remembrance- when we are free from painful projections of the past which is ultimately fuelled by fear. It happens when we really see ourselves in each other no matter what is being expressed on the outside. At the core we are all of the same.

It’s a practice that’s for sure and maybe that’s why we’re here having this human experience.

Marianne had us think about the hardest event that happened in our lives. I felt my heart clamp down. Then she told us to look at the person to the right, to the left, in front and behind. Then asked us to think of our event again and notice if the feeling changed. For me, the compassion I felt towards others with that instant reflection became not just mine but all of ours and there I found love. Pain is pain, there is no competing that one persons suffers more than another. The tight place where my pain lived softened and I believe we did it all together.

Our Deepest Fear

By Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness

That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves

Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small

Does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking

So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,

As children do.

We were born to make manifest

The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us;

It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.

As we’re liberated from our own fear,

Our presence automatically liberates others.

LESSON: “Seek not to change the world but to change your mind about it”

Healing Together- “Cosmic Family”