Tag: meditation

THE CONCEPT OF ME

by Maasaisis

Aren’t so many of us in search of meaning in our lives? Isn’t that quest ultimately driven by the age-old question, Who am I?

When we’re born, most of us don’t yet know who we are. As we move through life, we begin to fill that blank space with ideas shaped by our experiences and the people around us. We form an image of who we should be—one that reflects inherited beliefs about what makes us worthy, safe, and special. Over time, we find ourselves striving toward that image or resisting anything that threatens it.

Our sense of good and bad is shaped entirely by experience. Some of us are even taught to mold ourselves into someone else’s version of “good,” or to believe that what another person calls “bad” is actually right.

Being born can feel like beginning a painting on a blank canvas. At first, each brushstroke is our own, but as life unfolds, other hands begin touching the canvas—through influence, circumstance, and expectation. Eventually the shapes and colors morph into something foreign, something other than me.

So we keep painting, layering new strokes in search of meaning, hoping to finally create something magnificent. Yet the more we add, the more we forget what was there before the first stroke—the untouched space that quietly recognizes itself completely.

Perhaps our longing comes from that remembrance. In this way, the world becomes the practice ground—to learn to unlearn the belief that we must become something in order to find peace. We gently undo every version of ourselves we thought we needed, each one an avatar created for a different chapter of the dream. But who is the one dreaming the life lived through them?

It can feel mind-bending, especially when our senses insist that only matter is real. Yet suffering always arises at the borders of the self-concepts that make up the collective—the places where we divide and separate. When the little “i” of separation becomes the center of perception, we can’t fathom the all-inclusive reality of Love—a Love so abundant it breaks the laws of this world, where one’s gain must come at another’s loss. In the realm of the shared Self, what is given is also received, because the giving and receiving happen within the same One.

When I scrutinize what version of myself would finally make me happy, I see that I can never be truly satisfied, no matter what I overcome, do, or achieve. Fulfillment based on what my body does—or fails to do—is always temporary. I find myself asking: What are these values for? What version of myself am I protecting, and why am I so afraid of losing it? Perhaps it’s because I made it and it feels so precious.

The healthy self, the creative self, the strong self, the generous self—all exist beside their opposites, each quietly in conflict with the other. Life becomes a dance between these selves, each grasping at fleeting ideas of happiness and safety.

My state fluctuates with my mind. My vitality can be snatched away in an instant when old fears catch up with me in a single thought. Even when nothing around me has changed, the thought I don’t want this to change can take my healthy self hostage, seized by the one facing the formidable unknown.

These moments remind me, viscerally, that no version of my constructed self can protect me from impermanence. Peace can only be found through trust in divine law—the truth that we are already perfect, whole, and eternally safe as we were created, of the same essence, beyond any concept of ourselves we could imagine.

I can only begin to envision that everlasting beauty, and so I practice believing—trusting that what is real has never changed.

When I contemplate my true identity as a perfect creation untouched by what I think or do, I feel immense relief. Whatever I believe I am—or should be—has nothing to do with what I truly am. Beneath all layers of self-concept lies the original, unalterable holy Self, exactly as Love created me. This same unchanging Self lives in everyone, quietly waiting to be remembered. And because our minds are ultimately joined, remembering it in myself and choosing to recognize it in others helps reveal it in all. This is no easy feat, especially in the face of pain or injustice, nor does it turn me into a passive bystander to be tossed about. It does, however, give me the sense that I’m standing for something meaningful—something that points toward a freedom resting on stable ground.

Duality—the yin and yang of life—reflects the tension of opposites that governs this finite world. But what if duality was a choice we made with the first stroke on our canvas? What if we set in motion a painting meant to contain everything we thought we wanted, only to discover that no canvas could ever hold what we truly are?

And yet, beneath every shifting stroke, something changeless remains. The shared Self is untouched by striving, fear, or judgment. The world continues to teach and challenge us, but we can look beyond its rules for solutions—to step back, breathe, and question what is determining our state.

When the insanity and heartbreak of this world bring me to my knees, my practice is to return home—to divine reality—where our shared essence holds us, and peace is all there is.

Holding this paradox—the life we experience and the perfection of our true identity—is where I seek freedom. As we release the layers of self-concept that shift with every experience, we find steadier ground within. Each moment of awareness becomes an opportunity to return to that quiet, unchanging Self—the part of us that has never been lost. Even for an instant. And that instant can lengthen into the next, and the next.

Life is not about finishing the painting or capturing every detail perfectly. It is about remembering that the masterpiece already exists within us—the quiet assurance that nothing we do or fail to do can alter what is already complete.

ACIM LESSON199: I AM NOT A BODY I AM FREE

This blog was inspired by my reflections on my weekly ACIM Essentials class, “A Case of Mistaken Identity,” taught by Robert and Emily Perry at the Circle of Atonement. They have a vast selection of podcasts exploring A Course In Miracles here https://circleofa.org/podcast/

GOD’S GUARANTEE

by Maasaisis

I was searching for God in my dream last night. Where are You? I need to know that You are there. I need to know that I’ve invested in what is real. I need to know that Your promise is the truth. I need to experience it in a tangible way — through my felt senses, here and now.

And then, in an instant, He answered my call.

From the room of my dreamscape, I was lifted and suspended in the open space of my mind — my back to what I’d left behind, my heart open to the light that filled the sky. A surge of ecstatic love rippled through every cell of my being until I became it. God’s love filled all the cracks of fear and doubt within me. The joy I felt broke the lineage of time and folded into itself to always. The jubilation of receiving proof that I had placed my trust in Truth was the only answer I ever wanted.

I can still feel the realness of that dream — how my prayer was answered in a way so certain and strong that it carried into waking life. Its presence now is a guiding light through the trials we are to navigate. Our collective ailment of fear is like a house of mirrors, reflecting our individual plights in distorted ways — each of us wrestling with different shapes of the same illusion. Fear convinces us we are alone, fending for ourselves, while love reminds us that we belong to a unified force far greater than anything we face on our own.

What makes us feel so alone? It can only come from believing we are separate from each other. A Course in Miracles teaches that we were born from perfect love, created with limitless potential. Yet somewhere along the way, the idea of a separate self arose — what was One seemed to become many — a choice made through our own free will.

Making the choice to separate from the love that held us all is where our initial sense of guilt took root. Fear then becomes the fuel that keeps the illusion of separation alive. The Course helps me see that an all-loving God didn’t create suffering — we did, through the limitations we place upon ourselves, and by guarding the idea of the self we made.

It’s that time of year again — when autumn’s changing colors remind me that we’re moving into the season where darkness begins to dominate the day. It’s shedding time. The trees make it look effortless to let go and dare to be bare, but it’s not so easy for me to stand naked amid the landscape of my scurrying thoughts.

As the light gives way to darkness, so do my thoughts. My mind keeps hooking into where I was this time last year. Old stories have a way of repeating, creating more of the same — especially when a trigger appears. Yesterday gets dragged into tomorrow, skipping the beauty of today. The body follows wherever the mind gets caught. Fear travels that line and embeds itself in the tissues, plucking a string like a note on a guitar — echoing the story I thought I’d left behind. I feel the familiar tightening in my chest wall, and my breath hitches.

Unconsciously, my hand traces the smooth contour of what remains of my right breast — a stark contrast to the rough terrain of bound-up scar tissue beside it. The small leftover lumps that appeared on the PET scan lie beneath the part I got to keep. To feel them, I used to have to press my fingertips deep, but that has changed as of late. They are moving toward the surface, pronounced and making their presence known. My fingers anxiously feel them, a habit from before, which is taking root in the fertile soil of my mind. How easy it is to falter beneath the snowball effect of fear, to get lost in “what ifs” and “what to do?”

Nothing in my present state even comes close to where my mind tries to take me. Physically, I feel vital — stronger than I have in years. Yet fear, born in the past, has the power to erase all proof of truth in the now. The anxiety of having my current blessings robbed by what this could mean is a ball and chain that can easily take me down.

I anchor to God’s guarantee that I felt in my dream — that my true Self is not my body or the things that happen to it in the passing of time. I carry a small treasury of A Course in Miracles lessons within me — teachings that help me unhook fear’s grip and return to refuge. I steady my runaway thoughts with a remedy found in a lesson: I can be hurt by nothing but my thoughts. I breathe it in, examine my thoughts, and ask gently: What thought am I believing in?

At the root of them all is the fear that God would abandon me.

I have to admit — my faith is not yet whole. Somewhere in the shadows lurks a quiet terror: what if I’m wrong?

So I begin again — the slow, steady work of untying the knots in my thoughts. Finding freedom in reaffirming what I’ve learned and experienced. The evidence of receiving guidance and finding my way is held in God’s love, extended through His Sons and Daughters no matter what I am up against.

I want to affirm that my body’s sole purpose is to extend love — that life’s work is to forgive the false concepts we’ve made of ourselves and others, the ones that make us forget what we are really made of. Even when fear trickles in when I keep God at arm’s length, somehow His grace always invites me back Home, to where love lives and where I am forever safe.

NOW WHAT?

by Maasaisis

The acute phase of survival has since passed, and in its place, a gap has opened—space that wants to be filled. I feel the aftershock in residual tremors, my footing seeks traction in the space ahead. Now, life back to somewhat normal pulls me into the trap of restlessness—as if I need to make up for what I’ve been through by becoming someone of more value.

It’s ridiculous, but even after all this, it still comes to get me. I’m still getting duped by the habit of assigning value to what I do, instead of resting in the quiet grace of all that’s been given to me. Even as my intellect understands that I’m already at home base, the self I’ve constructed keeps me running—from the perfection of how I was created.

I feel the pressure to do something significant in return for the extension of my life. I thought I was done with the rhetoric of that harsh inner voice—the one that drives me to do more, to be better. But ego is loud, convincing, and insistent—sending me out in search, while I forget that I’ve already been claimed by an inherent happiness that asks for nothing in return.

Cancer takes up so much space—not just as an all-encompassing distraction, but as something that gave meaning through the effort to survive. The biological malfunction that became my greatest challenge also cracked me open, allowing light to come in. Now that I have a relationship with that light, I’m on alert for what blocks its shine.

I feel the tension of knowing that my scramble for purpose is rooted in fear—the fear that if I don’t fill the gap with what I make of myself, the disease might return and do it for me. So the focus shifts to the next problem—whether it’s the volatile state of the world, the financial pressure we’re all facing, or the endless causes I feel helpless to do anything about. It’s all an outward projection of the same thing: I’m still trying to fix it from the outside, instead of settling back in.

As I sit here after my quiet morning contemplation, I’m reminded that ego will have me seek but will make sure I never find. It distracts me with a sense of urgency to do something, anything for an illusion of a fix of what can’t be fixed from the same level where the problem was created.

I’m finally free of that horrendous pain that once felt like it would never end. But the gift of coming out of it is so easily forgotten as I latched onto the next mountain to climb.

The unsettling sense that I needed to do something should have been my cue to pause and examine the root of that urgency. Instead, I convinced myself that I could be of value by helping my husband, a developer, and jumped into a path entirely outside my norm—just as I was beginning to come up for air. The idea felt so far removed from my usual operating system that I mistook it for clear guidance. So I enrolled in a university-level course to become a licensed realtor, with the intention of selling the units he built.

It only took ten days of misery—battling my brain to retain information I had no desire to keep—before I could admit I’d made a mistake. The choice came from fear of the open space that was actually meant for my happiness. I’m still on the mend, still receiving ongoing treatment, and still hold my breath when I click open my blood test results every three weeks. My gratitude for my health had been misplaced in what I could do with it instead of simply basking in it.

I’m of value because I’m still here, doing my best to live and share what I’m learning. Even though I don’t fully understand how, I trust I’m doing my part for the healing of the collective. This is what I return to when I find myself spinning out of orbit. To come back home to happiness and shine out.

LESSON: MIND IS STILL ENOUGH TO RECEIVE THE ANSWER THAT IS NOT ENTAILED IN THE QUESTION. -A Course In Miracles

It’s important to mention that much of what I write is inspired by my ongoing study of A Course in Miracles. That said, studying it doesn’t mean I fully understand it. It continues to meet me exactly where I am, gently guiding me to live to love.

Above painting by maasa.ca

THE FALLEN NIPPLE

by Maasaisis

I’m examining a part of myself that has been with me all my life, now detached and between the tips of my tweezers. It’s surreal that this blackened, shrivelled raisin of a thing once served as my daughter’s comfort and source of nourishment, nurturing her growth for over two years.

“Should we say something?” my husband asks. My stomach churns in a strange brew of fascination, disbelief, and horror. My nipple has fallen off and it is no longer a part of me.

There have been so many levels of letting go. A year ago, I was finally ready for a mastectomy only to learn I wasn’t eligible. For the last six months, my body has been breaking down this fist-sized ball of unruly cells in a painful, gruesome process—my body’s own way of giving me a mastectomy.

The fleshy crevice is nearly closed, and the sheer force of tissue pulling together brings the most intense pain, surpassing even the avulsion fracture in my left humerus from my recent fall. After my third staph infection due to this open wound and low immunity, I’ve accepted antibiotics as part of my treatment plan. Once my foe, antibiotics are now my ally—a testament to the softening of my once-rigid way of thinking.

The right side of my torso and arm feels like it’s rusting—heavy, creaky, and persistently achy. It’s a diversion from the new lump growing in my other breast. This unwelcome newcomer has a genetic twist, playing by a different set of rules from the other side. I’m not sure if experience has lessened the shock of another cancer or if I’ve simply become immune to adversity. Either way, there’s nowhere to go but toward acceptance, mustering the fortitude to keep going.

“Thank you for being a part of me. Go in peace,” I say. I package up my nipple to be buried with our son, whom I miscarried years ago. What I’m sharing may seem like tragedy and hardship, but I’m seeing it differently. I’m recognizing how much I’ve let go of, which has helped me grow in ways I may not have otherwise. I’m finding confirmation of this in how I navigate these experiences.

There are only two ways of being. In this cocoon of metamorphosis, I can be trapped in darkness or held in light, depending on how I perceive my experience. I’ve started simplifying my approach to life: whatever is not of peace must be examined, and it’s my work to practice finding my way back to peace if it’s absent.

Some days, I crumble under the weight of it all. In the catharsis of unyielding pain and exhaustion, I cry out for mercy. There are thoughts I dare not voice—because if I say them aloud, they might become real. My mind swings like a pendulum between what I have gained and what I have lost. Tonight, I mourned the loss of what was once my perky pink nipple. Tomorrow, I hope to gain something that will illuminate my way forward.

I’m managing my pain while readying myself for the next stage of treatment. There are many moving parts, and they can only be organized from an eagle-eye perspective. Looking back over the last five years, I see that my milestones of growth have come through loosening my grip on what I think I know, acceptance, and my willingness to see things differently—to choose a perspective that doesn’t trap me with nowhere to go.

Now I’m waiting to have my sternum biopsied. We need to determine if the metastasis there is related to the hormone-driven cancer or the new one. If it’s connected to the original cancer and the other is contained without spread, surgery may be recommended. If there is spread, I’ll need to consider systemic treatment for both. The thought of surgery no longer terrifies me. My attachment to appearance no longer enslaves me. Accepting help no longer feels like defeat.

I’ve decided to be proactive and use the remaining funds that this incredible community raised for me towards genetic testing. If I’m to have faith in conventional treatment, knowing that guesswork is minimized would be helpful. FoundationOne, an FDA-approved lab, uses biopsied tissue to identify mutations, amplifications, and other alterations to match targeted treatments. Though it’s unfortunately not covered by our healthcare system and comes at a high cost, this step feels essential for my peace of mind and the best way forward.

I didn’t want to fight to get my oncologist’s sign-off on this or to help me apply for the grant. Her support is essential in moving forward and incorporating this information into my treatment plan. After a four-hour drive and praying for a smooth meeting, I was met with warmth and her full support.

I’m not the same person who once held strong judgments and rigid beliefs. Reflecting on who I was, I see how much I’ve softened the boundaries of what I thought I knew. On a good day, I as Spirit feel more real than I as body. In surrendering my attachments—to appearances, outcomes, and certainty—I’ve discovered that guidance often arrive in the most unexpected and affirming ways. I yearn for connection, to bridge the gap of differences, and to find refuge in the love that unites us all. In this way, I feel closer to God and all of creation, and in this connection, I find my peace.

LESSON: I AM WILLING TO SEE THIS DIFFERENTLY- I CHOOSE PEACE INSTEAD.

-Teaching from ACIM

PEACE BE WITHIN ME

by Maasaisis

Waiting with bated breath is what truly needs healing. But waiting for what? To live my life after this disease? No. The sooner I accept that cancer exists at the periphery of my life, the less I’ll be tossed around by it. I recognized the terror that surged from my gut to my throat when the doctor shared his concern. The chill that spreads and touches every part of me is all too familiar. It’s the dread of not knowing—and not wanting to know—that settles in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone, landing with a thud.

Denial is an incredibly adaptive force, conjuring escape routes around what I do not want to accept or face. I recognize my defence mechanisms from past experiences, even when they are disguised as something else. Although they strive for reassurance, they do not change what I ultimately have to confront. My mind has been stretched in analysis, trying to explain the escalating pain I’ve been feeling lately. I chalked it up to the deep, open wound on the side of my breast, convincing myself that “pain is part of healing.”

This journey has taught me that darkness requires acknowledgment to bring it to light. Everything kept in the shadows will eventually find a way to recruit every aspect of my being and pull me in. Pretending it’s not there doesn’t heal it. I am terrified of screenings and the possibility of discovering what I don’t want to see. Accepting this fear as real—one that needs to be reframed—I did everything in my power to hold on to my peace while undergoing multiple screenings and awaiting results. My body feels like a battleground, but my spirit beckons me to stay in a place where it can’t be touched.

The flesh straddling the dark, ulcerated crater is trying to bridge the gap with formidable force. There’s an intense gravitational pull attempting to seal the opening, like the tide responding to the moon in the natural order of things. It’s like a rolling wave building as it moves toward the shore, dragging and tumbling the ocean floor with it. My right side feels torqued, stretched, and pulled in unnatural ways—like wearing a tight corset with little give. The wing of my shoulder feels clipped, but I’m reminded that I can create space in my mind where flight is always possible.

As I reflect on my experiences, my understanding of resilience is evolving. I’m beginning to embody the idea that resilience is about claiming peace, regardless of what’s happening outside. It’s about finding the still center of the cyclone while remaining within it. This place is always available—just one thought away. It can’t be reached through force; it’s found by letting go and trusting that I’m held.

It’s a choice to hold fast to faith, knowing that no matter what, I’m being guided to experience what I came here to learn. I am discovering what cannot ever be threatened and what endures. I’m learning about healing that goes beyond just healing myself.

What a huge relief it is to finally acknowledge that I don’t know anything. My suffering stems from the belief that I must know—doing whatever it takes to gain a sense of control over situations that are inherently uncontrollable. Each time, I come up with a version of what I’ve used in the past—a formula for being okay. Yet every solution has its holes, allowing familiar fears and doubts to creep back in, prompting the same defenses, which are bound to fail.

No matter what response I conjure in the face of fear, it’s always made from the same fabric of past coping mechanisms. So, I find myself questioning this entire approach to situations beyond my control. Admitting that I have no control—and no permanent fixes—leaves me with only one option: to hand it all over to a higher order.

This reckoning—the act of taking the terror of not knowing, putting it into a bag, and handing it to a higher power—feels like the only place where true refuge exists. I hand it over and say, “Here, take it all. I don’t know anything. Please, know for me.” It’s a release from the constant circling of old patterns, which only ever lead to that same desperate place, shaking and quaking, where the mind’s analysis inevitably leads to darker holes.

I tether myself to prayer, mooring my mind in peace to be guided through whatever my human experience brings. I anchor myself in the love that sustains me, believing in what can’t be changed and is everlasting. I pray that my situation does not hurt those I love. It is this love that inspires me to choose—again and again—to seek and find peace in uncharted territory.

My screening results showed regression of the disease in my liver and lungs, countered by the progression of a new lump in my other breast and possible growth in my sternum and pectoral area. It’s a mixed bag of information, but I was able to accept it without curling up into a ball. Though it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, I recognized strength in my own voice as I navigated the new information and considered what it might mean.

I am utterly done with letting this disease run the show—keeping me teetering on the edge of creating my own hell, held hostage by the wait for test results and the worst-case scenarios my mind imagines. I refuse to remain a victim of helplessness. What I do know is that resisting what needs to be accepted leads nowhere; panicking or making decisions from a place of fear only perpetuates suffering. I may have to pivot, change my treatment plan, or do things I don’t want to do. There is a place in my mind where turbulence can’t reach me. It is there that I will find my way.

LESSON: “I do not know what anything, including this, means. And so I do not know how to respond to it. And I will not use my own past learning as a light to guide me now.” – A Course In Miracles

SPECIALNESS

by Maasaisis

Sometimes, clarity shines through like a beam of sunlight breaking through a dense forest—direct, bright, and penetrating. As I walk, spinning my prayer beads between my fingers, I realize that cancer is giving me an opportunity to see either through the eyes of fear or through the inner eye that reveals how I mold my reality to appease the demands of an unquenchable ego.

Beneath the many facets of fear that seek to control and wreak havoc lies a deep desire to be seen. As I learn the tactics of the ego, I am humbled by what my prayers reveal. Ego will weaponize fear to prevent me from stepping into the expansiveness of God’s perfect Creation. Attacks of belittling fertilize the ground for self-punishment and outward projection, attempting to fill the self-imposed cracks.

The need to feel important can only be rooted in the belief that we are separate from one another. Otherwise, why would we need to feel special? If we acknowledge that we are all of the Same, then we wouldn’t need to constantly be assured that we matter. When our perception of who we think we are—or who we should be—is challenged, we often respond by attacking and distorting our reality to assert how we want to be seen in the world. Is my twisted ego making me feel special because of cancer? The thought stopped me in my tracks.

Cocooned in the safety of the forest, I dared myself to be perfectly honest. Is my illness a manifestation of seeking love and acceptance? Am I coveting care and validation from others through this disease? Have I allowed myself to be defined by sickness? And the biggest question of all…did I create cancer? If so, can right mindedness reverse what was miscreated?

The discomfort and resistance of pondering these questions made it clear that even in the throes of struggle, egoic pretenses exist. The justifications that immediately followed only confirmed my realization. There are deeper layers of healing beckoning my awareness beneath the superficial symptoms. The lovelessness stemming from projections of myself, rooted in self-preservation disguised as safety, is not who I truly am. I can only pray for guidance as I align my will to bring to light what truly needs healing.

The willingness to uncover the matrix of my operating system can only come through forgiveness. It’s the pathway to avoid falling into the perpetual cycle of attacks—the default program of the human condition. In my study group for A Course In Miracles, I’ve learned to ask ‘says who?’ whenever I feel uneasy. The true Self always seeks to break through with love, inclusivity, and acknowledges the sameness in us. Letting go of needing any kind of validation from others is like a long exhale into ease.

Discomfort serves as a cue to inquire about who is truly in control. If I have the awareness to catch myself in fear, which fuel cycles of attack, competition, justification, grief, righteousness, guilt, denial, disempowerment, and inner arguments of othering, then I need to take a good look at who is running the show.

The challenge with waking up is that it’s easy to konk out and slip back into autopilot. Perhaps this is why we find ourselves here, with our humanness being our teacher or our foe. Aren’t we all running variations of the same program? One that evades fear, seeks love, yearns for uniqueness and correctness, and strives to achieve these in complex ways that often leave us feeling more isolated? Isn’t suffering rooted in our sense of feeling alone and doing whatever it takes to feel less afraid and disconnected?

What if our true nature is the opposite of all that? What if it’s just buried beneath layers of our projections, always prompting us to uncover what is already there? What if healing springs from remembering that what we truly seek is inherent within us, and everything else is perpetuated by the miscreations of our own will? What if we could just grasp the expanse of our true magnificence?

LESSON: ALL THE LAMPS OF GOD WERE LIT WITH THE SAME SPARK.

-A COURSE IN MIRACLES

Banner painting: “REVELATION”- Acrylic on canvas by Maasa

LIFE IN PRESENT TENSE

by Maasaisis

I regretted asking the moment the doctor responded. Until today, I had never inquired about my official diagnosis. Did it not matter to me because I’m focused on the work to get better, or did I simply not want to know? ‘It’s stage four,’ she said. She didn’t have to finish with an extended explanation and we both knew it. My stomach dropped as her words instantly filled the hollow in my gut. Though I knew this to be true, it had been tucked away in a no-access zone, hidden out of sight and out of mind.

My coping mechanism oscillates between faith and denial, with only a thin veil separating the two. I’m learning that adversity is an invitation to awaken to my response to life. Struggles only arise when I compare myself to my past self or when I’m overwhelmed by what might happen to me in the future. Both tendencies make me miss what’s possible now.

I was fine until I asked. I even impressed myself with my ability to detect the early stage of another staph infection, which was the reason I was sitting in the doctor’s office in the first place. Instead of being upset about another recurrence only a couple of weeks after the last, I chose to be grateful that I caught it early this time instead of landing in the ER again. Instead of resisting another round of antibiotics, I accepted what needed to be done given the circumstance. I showed her my breast, and she noted how much better it looked, confirming how I felt. But everything changed when I was put into a category.

The power of two words spoken aloud by someone else instantly created a different reality. It contradicted the feedback from my body, which suggested that despite the expected side effects, the treatment is working. I recognized my visceral reaction, which prompted a sudden shift in my state. The chill that ran through me seemed to extend into the future, yet it felt like just one of many potential versions, too elusive to keep me in a state of panic. My wise friend reminded me that a diagnosis is not a prognosis. With this reassurance, I return to the baseline of what I know to be true in this moment, focusing on all that is well within me rather than fearing what could go wrong.

I continue to meet myself as life unfolds before me. Today, I was granted the grace to observe my reaction and respond in a manner that felt more authentic than succumbing to the abyss of ‘what ifs.’ I became aware that I attributed meaning to those words based on conditioning that was not mine and not based on where I’m at now. There is no future, only now and now and now.

With the residue of Doc’s words still echoing in my mind, I drove home, recognizing the weight inside me. I allowed myself the catharsis of tears to release it. Seeking solace in the forest, I clung onto a sturdy tree. Shinrin-Yoku, the Japanese practice of forest bathing, has continually brought me home to myself. Amidst the trees, I felt the cleansing stillness wash away what was not serving me. Anchored in the solid embrace of a cedar, I calibrated to its unwavering presence. My senses opened to the palpable calm around me as I slowly exhaled.

I asked myself: ‘What is true in this very moment?’ The answer came with ease: ‘I’m safe, I’m okay, I am not in imminent danger.’ Such certainty is only available in present tense.

I’m aware that my grievances stem from reaching towards life without cancer, from being free from interruptions of symptoms, and from having limitations. Yet, my quest for purpose is unfolding in the present. This is my purpose—to find a way to meet myself as I am and find ease in the midst. There is always a choice to accept or resist. The gift lies in having a choice, even when it may not feel readily available. It’s okay to shake and shudder until the moment leads to something else. It always does.

Each moment serves as a meeting place for the full gradation of possibilities of how I can engage with my life. It’s a beautiful life, filled with the diverse shades of the human experience. To be asleep to it, lost in denial, is to miss the essence of my purpose. This, perhaps, is the most profound lesson showing me the way to liberation in any given moment. .

TUG OF WAR

by Maasaisis

I thought that if I played by this new set of rules, I would be able to maintain at least some semblance of my old life. If I took a long enough nap late in the day, I should be able to gather enough energy to be in fine form for the flamenco show. That’s what I thought. What was supposed to be a short nap turned into over an hour. I peeled my eyes open, groggy and heavy. The voice inside said, ‘Get up, shake it off!’ so I put on my flamenco shoes and dragged myself into position to practice our set.

I noticed right away that the music was coming in muffled through my right ear, the one that’s been plugged periodically for the last couple of months. Nausea set in after my first spin, and every stamp of my nailed shoes reverberated through my bones. This distraction threw me offbeat, and suddenly, I had no idea what the next move was. I panicked and tried again, but my body lagged behind. I just couldn’t keep up.

The doctor said these medications would make me feel old, physically and mentally. The thought of getting ready for the show overwhelmed me. There are many voices arguing in my head: ‘Do it again, practice!’; ‘Just lay down, you’ll be okay’; ‘Forget it, who are you kidding?’; ‘Tough it out! Stop being dramatic!’ I fall into bed, sobbing uncontrollably because I know it’s not going to happen.

There is a tug of war between the part of me that is fighting for what I feel should be mine and having to let it go because I have to. The new set of rules is that it changes moment by moment. The lesson? There is no wisdom to be found in the midst of a messy meltdown. I only have this blank page to spew out my discontent because I need to let it out so I won’t implode. I’m angry that what I was looking forward to was snatched away from me. I’m grieving the fact that I can’t plan to look forward to something. I’m grieving the days lost in sleep.

I understand the lesson about letting go and living in the moment—an enlightening way to strive to be. I keep receiving this message repeatedly, but when the moment takes me away from what lights me up, I feel utterly defeated. Then, the guilt of admitting defeat drowns me under the wave of self-loathing. The internal conflict rages on – one side mothering the wounded child, the other seething and clinging to all that I used to be. One side yearning for a sense of control and predictability, the other acknowledging the futility of such desires on an unpredictable health journey.

People keep saying how strong, courageous, and beautiful I am. The truth is, that is how I used to see myself. That version of me is fading into something else that I can’t find. I don’t recognize what I’m morphing into, and it’s scary. I’m at that place that happens in every painting process—the place where I have no idea how to move forward, where everything doesn’t look right, and I don’t know how to fix it. I feel vulnerable and exposed in this stuck place. The only thing that keeps me going is trusting the process. If I just keep showing up in front of the canvas, something eventually shifts, and my whole perspective on the painting changes, allowing me to break the spell — to find beauty and meaning where it wasn’t before.

I know I will come up for air with a fresh look around. If not now, it will come. Thank God for my angel of a husband, who envelops me in his love no matter what state I’m in. Even when I want to push him away, he holds me until I eventually melt into him. He cries with me, and in doing so, he helps me open up the floodgates so I can just let it all rip, allowing me to feel everything just as it is.

LESSON: THE RULES CHANGE MOMENT TO MOMENT

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”.

WHO IS THE FALSE SELF?

by Maasaisis

“When a brother perceives himself as sick, he is perceiving himself not as whole.”

– A Course in Miracles

The decision to be the author of my own story means that I must pay attention to who is writing the script. Is it the person who is trying to survive or is it the person choosing to live? For me, the difference is that one is making choices referring to the past and the latter is open to something new.

Close to two years ago I left the conventional medical system for the second time after my lumpectomy. The last bit of information I got was that cancer cells were found in one of my lymph nodes. I’ve solely relied on my inner barometer to gauge my wellbeing since then. I am choosing to live rather than being a survivor. This is no easy feat when my mind projects illusions and entices me to believe in them.

Discomfort is an opportunity for a course correction. Studying A Course In Miracles is teaching me that. My sole intention to share my interpretation of what I am learning is to encode it. Writing about what I’m practicing helps to create new circuits in my brain to reinforce how I want to live.

A Course In Miracles teaches us that we were created to co-create in the “image and likeness” of Source. We were given a mind to extend the love of that which we are made of. Yet we have such difficulties directing it to ourselves and unto others. That is how we became attached to the mind that creates our suffering.

In the boundless freedom to create, we created a mind that identifies only with itself- the false self. The ego mind separated from the unalterable nature of Source to serve its own identity. Its survival depends on us believing in its projections. The projections are based on comparisons because it sees itself apart from everything else. Comparisons lead to judgement, judgement leads to anger, anger leads to pain and the cycle of suffering affirms itself. This is the misperception that the ego miscreated to preserve its role as protector.

Ego refers to the past and chooses the best option for the present. It expands on what has worked for us and tries to protect us from what’s hurt us. This is how it attempts to secure a future but it’s based on the illusion that we need protection. Our ego takes the lead role in the story it writes. Until we recognize who is writing the story we can not change the script.

To heal is to correct the perception that I am broken. To heal is to be certain of who I am. To heal is to redirect my mind to love and reside in our infinite nature.

The greatest obstacle in my life became the greatest opportunity to know myself. To end the conflict with myself, I must recognize when my ego is obscuring my perception to believe in it. I’ve been practicing by paying attention to how I see others. My perception and cues from my feelings tell me if I’m offline or aligned with the divine. It takes a great amount of awareness but that is why it is a practice!

As an artist, I realize why I love to paint. It’s because I love my creations as an extension of Source. My heart informs my hands and my creation informs my mind of my true origin- there I find peace.

PS: My simple understanding of what I am learning in ACM is serving me. I have included Dr. Wapnick’s video to offer a broader view.

LESSON: AWARENESS IS KEY FOR SELF REALIZATION. PAY ATTENTION TO CUES!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWTJ9bhtN18

“Creatrix” painting by Maasa- More info on http://www.maasa.ca