Tag: spirit

MEDICINE OF GRIEF

by Maasaisis

I am here, and she is not. She crossed the threshold two years ago to a place where the living can’t go. I sat with her and watched her close her eyes for the last time. I tenderly washed her porcelain body that shared a similar affliction as mine. In that extraordinary experience of witnessing true surrender, I both shattered and found healing in my heart. Sitting with death in such an intimate way brought to the surface what I hid inside. Beneath the surface of my blessed life lives the terror of leaving all that I cherish behind.

Every death caused by cancer unleashes a torrent of fear and grief. No matter how I try to reframe it with the belief that we are not our bodies, finality is a wound that heals and reopens with every loss. My beloved sister’s passing affected me deeply, and I wasn’t sure if I could show up. There was a constant tug of war between my love for her and the trauma of losing her.

How can I honour those who have passed without casting the dark shadow of death upon myself? How can I allow grief to meet grace? How can I nurture the resistance to push it away? How do I balance my capacity to honour what is mine to heal and showing up for those that I love? These were my prayers as the days drew closer to celebrating my dear friend who chose death for her liberation.

Ultimately, love wins. It was the rallying force of all those who loved her that called me back to join the circle of her radiance.The beautiful thing about grief is that it breaks us open and connects us in the most primordial way. It strips away the layers that keep us apart, exposing the glue that binds us together as One. Grieving for one thing is the same as grieving for all things. It doesn’t need to be named or categorized. It’s all the same, and there lies the medicine for us all.

Legendary stories were spun in the circle of friends who gathered for our beloved Scarlet. I was in awe that even after two years, she had the ability to bring us together again in such a profound way. In showing up, we consciously chose to harness her medicine for collective healing.

When I spoke in the circle, I couldn’t voice the truth of my grief. Instead, I found myself hovering in a safer place, sharing inappropriate stories and recalling her gift to make others shine. For those who knew her well, it was perfectly appropriate to celebrate her in this way.

I couldn’t speak out what was really there. I couldn’t say that I felt abandoned by her choice to leave or that I wanted her to fight harder because that is the voice of my own fear, and it’s mine to transmute.

I was a year into life with cancer by the time she was diagnosed. My coping mechanism stemmed from my incessant need to understand the origin of my disease. I empowered myself with discipline and sought knowledge—I refused to be a victim to the disease. She, however, was terrified. There were times when we could be together, and other times when her fear was too much of a trigger for me. I just couldn’t show up for her without completely unraveling myself.

I believed my role was to be strong, to assure her everything would be okay because ultimately I needed to believe it myself. When I couldn’t fulfill that, I thought it best to hide, to stay away, convincing myself we both needed to walk our own paths. Perhaps there could have been healing for both of us in falling apart together. Maybe I should have invited her into the domain of my own vulnerability, but at the time, I clung to the safety structure I’d built for my own survival, unable to let go. What I know now is that regret often accompanies grief, and the only path for healing is through forgiveness.

My beloved friend understood that I was shaking below the surface of my brave demeanor. She knew I couldn’t allow myself to fracture while facing my own mortality. Perhaps she thought I would try to change her mind? Maybe that’s why she didn’t tell me she was leaving, and why it took the power of the Holy Spirit to bring me to her side to witness her departure, to cast aside my terror and be there when it counted.

If it weren’t for the sequence of universal nudges that alerted me to what was happening, I would have missed the greatest gift Scarlet had to offer me. It wasn’t the gift of her healing from the disease; it was the gift of showing me that grace can accompany the greatest act of letting go. She cut the cord to life and allowed us to bear witness, showing us that we can come together and find closeness in what we all must face.

She continues to help me fill in the deep groove of fear from the other side. She encourages me to fall apart because no matter how many pieces are spread out all over the place, the glue is always tacky for love to put us together again. Her mighty spirit lives on in all of us.

I oscillate between lessons on the dichotomy of mortal and immortal teachings. The teachings from Spirit reinforce that our innate nature cannot be augmented, diminished, or extinguished, while the lessons from life remind us of our finite humanity. Through these teachings, we are brought together in the human experience, guiding us to embrace the unknowable. Together, we bridge the gap through our shared grief, vulnerabilities, regrets, and imperfections, forging a path towards what cannot be broken.

LESSON: I AM NOT A BODY. I AM FREE- LESSON 199 IN A COURSE IN MIRACLES



In Memory of Scarlet Mary Rose “Mother Of All”- By Maasa

THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE

by Maasaisis

The efforts I fought for months ago have had a ripple effect with a double-edged sword. One edge inflicts deep wounds, while the other cuts out a small opening, a peephole through which I can glimpse a shimmer of gold amid the ashes. Six months ago, the PET scan results hurled me into the ‘metastatic’ category as my liver illuminated with suspicious activity. The impact of this news swiftly plunged me into denial. I sought to reinforce it with my own rationale, other than metastasis, for why there might be areas of increased sugar uptake in the fastest-regenerating organ of my body.

Since cells involved in healing processes also consume more glucose and thus appear brighter in a PET scan, I converted my shock into a more digestible explanation. To gain further insight into my liver’s condition, I requested an MRI, known for its detailed imaging of soft tissue. However, my requests were repeatedly denied on the grounds that the evidence of metastasis in the PET scan was deemed sufficient.

At the time, I wasn’t prepared to accept a treatment plan based on mere assumptions. I fought tooth and nail until my local MD relented under my plea for an MRI. I’m immensely grateful that my care providers have flexible boundaries that stretches open when I advocate strongly for myself. Finally, after all these months, I underwent the MRI a couple of weeks ago.

When the results appeared in my inbox, I leaned on the pillar of strength from my morning prayers. Despite the adversities and hardships that comes with the walk that I am walking, I’m most grateful for the enduring strength of Spirit that holds me up when I’m shaking. I was hoping that whatever was there in my liver would be gone after three months of being on treatment. The new hair growth, return of my appetite, and increased stamina seemed promising signs of healing. Nevertheless, the results revealed at least four nodules in my liver, and this time, I didn’t push it aside into denial or search for alternative explanations. I allowed the truth of what is slam right into me.

I surrendered to the cathartic waves of emotions that surged violently within me, crashing with relentless force. I felt it all without trying to cling, and in that surrender, their progression seemed to hasten. As the initial intensity of this reality settled, I willed my mind to soar high above and gain a broader, panoramic perspective of the situation. This isn’t new information; it’s confirmation of previous findings indicating mutant activity in my liver. It’s clarity that must be accepted—a crucial baseline for the path ahead.

Resisting acceptance will only erect roadblocks on the path I must walk. My journey demands unwavering faith and patience—a continuous dance of fluidity and adaptability. I must navigate my current reality while remaining anchored to what cannot be touched by this disease. I must keep the light of my spirit burning, even when the room goes dark around me. It’s in this choice, available to me, that I can discover gifts in the most unpredictable places.

The gift I received came in the form of a timely call from a different oncologist than the one I usually see. Just hours after I had read the results on my computer screen, he reached out to share his interpretation of the findings—a perspective far less terrifying than my own. He explained that in cancer treatment, success isn’t solely measured by achieving remission but also by stabilization. According to him, the MRI results didn’t necessarily indicate anything new; rather, they provided additional insight into what we already suspected. He offered me a different vantage point to consider.

Perhaps these nodules are smaller than before. Maybe they’ve stabilized, given that they’re all still relatively small. It’s possible that between November and February, when I began treatment, the nodules grew significantly, and what we’re seeing now is evidence that the treatment is indeed effective. Like light passing through a prism, every situation can reveal a different picture depending on the angle from which you view it.

The persistence in pursuing an MRI screening brought yet another gift. With a clearer baseline established, I now have the opportunity for regular MRI tests in the coming months to monitor my liver. Unlike x-rays, CT scans, and PET scans, MRI imaging doesn’t emit radiation and is non-invasive—a fact worth celebrating. When it comes to monitoring treatment, it’s crucial to compare apples to apples, so to speak, as each screening modality offers unique information.

After three months on treatment, the true gauge of its effectiveness lies in comparing PET scan results. Last week, I embarked on a solo journey, driving hours to undergo another PET scan. As I await the results in the coming week, I remain buoyant on my raft of certainties. I’m grateful for the vitality that was absent just a couple of months ago, for the nurturing love of my friends and family, and for the immeasurable power of Spirit that continues to light my way. Everything else is not evident in now.

LESSON: Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll