The chemotherapy didn’t work the way we had hoped it would. I could easily fall into despair. I could rant, shake my fists at the sky, and scream, “Why?” I could focus on what it cost me — my hair, my time, my hope. But I didn’t feel that way while I was receiving treatment. I actually made use of the time, writing, praying, connecting, which kept my vibes high. This result does not change that. Only my interpretation of it, looking back, can trap me. So I accept what I don’t want to hear and pray for a higher interpretation of my situation so I can keep my peace. I need help fortifying my trust so I can navigate what I can’t know.
I had a meltdown the day before I found out. I couldn’t ignore the feeling of foreboding. I just knew I was headed for bad news. My heart thumped rapidly in my throat. I felt cold and nauseous — terrified of the future my mind was already conjuring, one that seemed to lead to suffering and death. The immense power of these dark thoughts had me reeling on the inside, even on a beautiful sunny day while quietly walking my dog on the outside. I’m barely keeping myself upright. It’s all too much, so I plead, “God, help me, please.”
Her little dog came up to me first, then a woman I recognized from a distance approached with a beautiful smile. She is someone I’m getting to know, but I haven’t interacted with her beyond surface pleasantries. We said hello, and I could have kept going, but I couldn’t. When she asked me how I was, in that split second of hesitation as I decided how to answer her, she somehow knew — as if she had peered into the turmoil in my mind.
“You look like you are carrying something heavy,” she said.
That was all I needed to break down and fall into her arms, already open to catch me. God works through all of us, and an angel came and held me in the rawness of my mortal being for just as long as I needed, so I could keep walking along my path a little lighter.
After all these years, my turnaround time — from a knockdown to standing back up, eye level with what I’m given to face — is remarkably fast. This is how I know I’m healing and waking up to my true mission in earth school. My mortal predicament didn’t last long, despite the immensity of what I knew was coming. That bout with terror prepared me for the next day, when I received the PET scan result without going into complete panic.
Clear-headed and stable, I braced myself and took the hit without stumbling backwards — even as the weight of the word progression pressed into me.
I am still here — still facing the unknown of what comes next, but I am wiser.
When I have the wits to assess myself, I can see that I have fallen for the same old trick of the ego, trying to convince me that all that I am is wrapped up in this body, vulnerable to all the things that are out of my control. It’s out to get me and will keep at me until I see that it has no power over me. The part of me that is waking up knows better. It has footing in what is solid, with years of practice in and out of the battlefield of my mind. I just need to keep returning, over and over again, above the battlefield, where I can rest and remember what is real.
My learning is now being asked to be lived in real time. Living is requiring me to be present, and it is no longer an idea. It is the only place I can find refuge — the only place I can change my mind. It is the way in which help can get to me, where I am not merely surviving but open to another way.
I don’t know what the next treatment will be. I don’t know what else will come up. I don’t know what my body will or will not do. I don’t know so much.
But I know this: nothing can be taken from me that is truly mine to keep.
I’m still learning to fully place my trust in that. Seven years ago, I began a journey of learning to trust what I can’t fully understand, trusting that life is happening for my highest good even when it’s incredibly hard. That trust has been built through grace, given to me over and over again, even finding me at the depths of my despair.
Perhaps this is my only purpose now: to keep casting out doubt, calling out my fears, and fortify my trust. Not by knowing what comes next, but by being present for the step I’m taking. It happens here, where I can be receptive to the guidance that is showing me the way.
Fear always wants to take me somewhere that is not here. It makes me anticipate, brace, prepare, and scramble for certainty in what does not last.
So I remind myself of this: I am safe right now.
My way forward is how I meet each moment in relationship with Truth. That is the power I possess: to live for life now rather than live fearing death.
Right now, it is a beautiful day. The sun is wrapping me up and shining light to illuminate my mind. There is no rush to be anywhere. The trees gently sway. The air feels so good to breathe. The creek rushes beside me. I am held in this place, where I can be in peace or choose to become lost in thoughts that offer me no refuge, only more questions that cannot be answered while missing the beauty around me.
I am among what I am in the shared peace… here. There is joy to be found in this moment, and it is real.
Here I will stay, to live and let life come to me.
I have healed by undoing the rigidity of control.
Just like my creative process, which is often scary and uncomfortable, with many episodes of frustration and uncertainty, I trust the process. I don’t always know where a painting is going. I just show up, and eventually something shifts. An idea comes through to break the spell. I keep going.
The canvas is never finished in uncertainty. The path is never revealed in its entirety. But suddenly, it is complete, and I am absolutely in awe-filled love.
Perhaps this is what I am learning about life itself.
I don’t need to know what comes next.
I only need to meet what is here — and recognize the Love that is already here.
LESSON: ALWAYS NOW
