Tag: spirituality

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

Hold Fast

by Maasaisis

We are wired to problem-solve, but what happens when the problem affects everyone, yet the solutions feel different for each of us? How do we navigate the collective terror of impending doom—the world vibrating with angst and division?

Fear reigns over what we cannot control, convincing us that we can escape it or defeat it. But how can we “win” if we’re operating from the same mindset that created the problem? Chaos persists because everyone has their own truth to defend. As long as there’s someone or something on the other side of the battlefield, any victory will be short-lived. A Course in Miracles teaches that we must leave the battlefield entirely, beyond the mind that believes in the battle.

So, where do we find our security? At the root of my dis-ease lies scarcity, loss, pain, and death. It’s where I land when the reality I created feels like it’s crumbling into nothing. How can peace be found in what we cannot control? No amount of running, hiding, or fighting against the manifestations of fear will bring lasting assurance. True safety can’t be found through opposition. As long as we fight to protect what we inevitably can’t keep, we lose—like sand slipping through our fingers.

Why do we seek love, happiness, and joy? Because these are the essence of our making, and we long to return to them. Yet, we perceive them as fleeting—things that can be taken or lost.

Often, our gains come at the expense of someone else’s loss. For example, I may celebrate my health by comparing it to someone else’s suffering. This is how ego tries to make me feel safe, but it’s a sham. It convinces me that I’ve escaped a similar fate, while instilling the fear that it could still happen to me. What kind of assurance is that?

But what if the truth is that we already have all we need? What if our inheritance cannot be lost? If the body is what separates us and our identification with it is the source of all our problems, can we look past it? In that understanding, we would no longer be bound by our mortal predicament.

My survival instincts peaked during my own battles with fear. No amount of effort could overcome its formidable force as long as I believed what it was trying to convince me of. What was it trying to tell me? That I am a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, destined to suffer and fade into being forgotten—with that being the end. But what if the thought that believed I was a speck changed?

All problems originate in the human mind, shaped by a survival-based perspective. Even billionaires feel they need more to secure their existence, just as those struggling for their next meal or seeking escape from unbearable circumstances. The form may differ, but the underlying fear remains the same.

I’m learning to anchor myself in what cannot be shaken—in the intangible realm beyond the part of my mind that feels threatened. It exists in a space where no imaginable worst-case scenario can affect it, untouched by forces I could ever conjure. This requires faith.

I keep holding fast to what I can’t fully understand, yet it miraculously keeps my light lit. I’ve learned that everything I long for is just a thought away—if only I can grasp it. If I succumb to the fear of the possibility of cancer coming to get me again, if I believed I was ‘incurable,’ life would just be a ticking time bomb. That’s no life at all.

There is a way out of nightmares if I recognize that I’m in one and choose to open my eyes. The evidence of this in my life inspires me to keep trusting, even without knowing where it’s leading me. All I know is that this is the only way I know how to do this—whatever this is. My only job is to leave the battleground within myself and bridge the divides in my everyday life, however they appear.

Anything I hold against myself or others only brings pain, even if it’s unconscious. Perhaps the helplessness of witnessing the chaos in our world can only be healed by seeing it for what it truly is—a beast born from the errors of our thinking, and therefore, something that can be undone. Each time we catch ourselves in attack mode and respond with loving forgiveness for what we’ve forgotten, we create an opportunity for change—a change that serves us all, starting with each mind choosing peace.

Does this mean I roll over and don’t take a stand? No, but I can take a stand while holding fast to what can’t be changed in a world dominated by change. A radical shift is necessary in these unprecedented times, which amplify our collective fear. Isn’t it time to try something different to break this cycle of division? I trust in a mighty force that works through each and every one of us when we remember what can’t be taken.

If every interaction reflected the larger whole, and we had the choice to mend the divide—regardless of how things appeared on the surface—would it be a practice worth engaging in? If we viewed conflict as an expression of fear and a desire for safety, recognizing that, in this way, we are all the same- would it shift our perspective on how to approach it? Wouldn’t we help each other from that place? If we are truly connected, then human relationships become the mirror through which we see our relationship with ourselves at the deepest level—and an opportune place to heal from.

Perhaps miracles happen when we step onto a playing field where no one needs to win and fear cannot enter. But first, we must allow the possibility of such a place to exist in our minds. I believe that as we shift from fear to the safety of love, the ripple will spread—benefiting us all. What I’m certain of is that the paradigm of pointing fingers only repeats the same patterns. A Course in Miracles is gently guiding and inspiring me to question the dominance of fear. That’s where the real healing is taking place, and I believe it’s extending outward and beyond.

LESSON: I’m eternally grateful for the community of mighty companions studying the Course alongside me—teachers and friends who dedicate their lives to making these teachings accessible for all of us. I’ve never truly felt like I belonged until I found the Course. It has literally saved my life. There are study groups happening all over, all the time. This is not a profit-based organization but one that genuinely seeks to contribute to the healing of the world. Here’s the link if you feel a tug. https://circleofa.org/

CHAOS TO LOVE

by Maasaisis

The process of biological changes manifests as loud, outer expressions, screaming for attention. It’s so easy to be swept away by these acute sensations and fall victim to them. When my focus latches on, it’s like a ravaged dog clamping onto a bone, unwilling to let go. Escaping the madness of what all this could mean requires a quantum shift in awareness.

Now, both breasts are mutating. For months, I’ve been witness to the gruesome disintegration of a mass that, depending on my mindset, can look like healing or like cells spiralling completely out of control. My awareness has evolved, revealing just how easily I can be whisked into victimhood and pulled into dark, unsettling territory. This new lump on my other breast is a different cancer—its subtle emergence allowed it to slip under the radar of my current treatment. It is not hormonally driven which means I’ll have to consider an alternate plan.

The use of my right arm now has limitations due to the swelling of trapped lymphatic fluid under my armpit. This breast has shrunk to half its size as the tumour corrodes. My right wing feels taut, wrapped tightly, like it’s encased in saran wrap. I’m quite certain there’s tearing in my tissue from all the stretching thats causing the edema. The open crevice reveals a dark abyss where there is a battle taking place. The other day, I pulled out a piece of rotted flesh the size of a loonie, and the sight of it made me woozy. Is this process of tissue dying off a form of healing, or am I slowly breaking down?

Yesterday, nearing the end of a peaceful forest walk, a distressed call from my daughter coincided with my dog getting into a vicious dogfight, instantly changing my state. Whirling around, I stepped onto a slippery rock, sending my phone and legs flying into the air. I broke my fall with my good arm and went into immediate shock. It felt as if the opening on my breast ripped wide open, while pain shot through my shoulder and wrist on the other side. The tranquil forest suddenly became a stage for my screams, echoing alongside the brutal sounds of the dogs fighting—a symphony of chaos amidst the silent trees that my daughter heard on the phone lying nearby.

The thing with chaos is that it can feel like the entirety of time, pulling us into its trap. The dogs stopped when my boy, Apollo, sensed I was in trouble. Somehow, he knew I was more important than the fight and came right to my side, whimpering and crying with concern. I lay there, terrified of the damage beneath my bandage, now with both arms compromised. All I could think was, ‘Are you fucking serious? More pain?’ My mind quickly spiralled into blame—the wrong shoes, the dog fight, the phone call—but I caught myself and changed my mind. That road will take me nowhere but down.

Becoming something of an avid traveler in my mindscape, I recognize the familiar downward spiral. Each descent reveals traps and my entire existence hinges on if I can step over the traps and respond to life in an affirmative way. Can I find peace amid so many frightening, moving pieces? No, not always and not right away. What I’ve noticed is that when I strip everything down to this very moment, I’m okay. Nothing is imminently ending. If I separate myself from the pain as an external experience, I can find pockets of respite simply by being here.

As I type, each press of a key reminds me of what’s wrong with me, but I counter it with, ‘Well, at least I’m writing, at least no bones are broken, my boob is still in one piece, I’m eating, and above all, I am so deeply loved by so many.’ What’s truly scary is not knowing what will happen. Grounding myself in what I do know is the only solid counteraction I can hold onto. As long as I anchor myself in love without clinging to it as something I might lose one day, I have the magic antidote to get me through the toughest of days.

I have been stripped down in a way that has allowed me to love myself by truly accepting love from others. Suffering is the sickness of feeling utterly alone. I’ve finally allowed love in. I feel the sparkle of all my relationships shining bright like a lantern, guiding my way forward. In this torn-up world of differences, love is the only medicine. It’s the glue that binds us to life, enduring through whatever is thrown at us and staying with us always.

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

PURGING

by Maasaisis

My ego is revolting in a ceremony of resistance and release. I feel the need to purge what must come out, yet it fights to maintain its territory of self-importance. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve felt the escalating buildup. Yesterday, I was finally able to wail it out.

This wave began with the news of a beloved friend who released herself from her body. Her sudden departure shocked me, and it could have easily sent me spiraling into existential conflict. Yet, I was granted the grace of space, allowing me to recognize the importance of honoring her Spirit. Her light, which can never be extinguished, illuminated this understanding. It’s the very light that exists in me, though I’m still shaking as I hold onto this insight.

This isn’t spiritual bypass, where grief is avoided. Instead, it’s about facing the attachments I hold and allowing grief to show me hidden truths that can either pin me down or heal me. Grief offers a small peephole through which I can choose to look, revealing what I keep hidden—the true source of my suffering and the fears I hold.

As I held space for feeling her loss, I noticed how terrifying it is to confront the impermanence tied to our bodies. We live in a world full of endings, yet we invest so much into holding on. We compromise, manipulate, control, and arrange our external world to dull the overwhelming fear of deep loss that we’re afraid to feel. Although this struggle manifests differently for each of us, I believe the root of all our suffering is our quest for peace that already exists within our Spirit.

For some, peace seems unattainable while in the body. For others, the experience of being in the body becomes the catalyst to discover where it’s always been. Perhaps our individual paths ultimately lead to the same place—a place that is always available and within reach. Aren’t we all striving to return to our indivisible nature, to fill the gap that can only be filled by love—love that encompasses everything and always? Isn’t that what peace is: resting in a place where nothing can be taken away or need to be changed?

The more I question what occupies my mind, the more I become aware of the traps within the labyrinth of my thoughts. As I strive to surrender the meanings I have assigned to the things I cherish, my ego retaliates with ferocity, expressed in my body through pain. I am an apprentice alchemist, learning under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. I feel the stirrings of a revolution of undoing.

What can be understood intellectually must still be alchemized into knowing. This process often requires breaking down the components of what held it together so it can transform into something of value and importance. For me, this breakdown process is extremely painful—a metaphor unfolding in the slow, rotting process of a heightened crescendo, punctuating my five-year saga with my lump.

Undoing this story means waking up to a new one. It’s happening in fits and starts, with many do-overs. My ego wants to fight, and my body is the battleground where this struggle unfolds, intensifying the pain the more I seek solace in God’s peace. It rebels, demanding that I focus on the peaking discomfort that calls me into the darkness. I want to escape, but I won’t find the exit where there’s a fight.

Death and pain are the ego’s most powerful tools for convincing me that all I am is confined to my body. The moment I release this belief, I create space for what exists beyond. Perhaps that’s where we can find the truth we’re searching for. Nothing external can replace what I already possess, though the world tells us otherwise.

A Course in Miracles teaches that peace exists in removing the obstructions to love’s presence. So, I continue to do my best to redirect my attention to finding love, and I often find it easier to access this love outside myself—through the strength of love I have for others. This beautiful distraction offers respite from the attention that pain demands.

The thing about practicing anything is that nothing is permanent while we are here. The light switch flickers on and off within our mortal predicaments. In a world where our peace can be so easily disrupted, I must continue to practice. This practice will look different for each of us, but the shared ground we stand on is our deep desire for peace. I believe we will all arrive there, beyond the space of time and in a place of always.

LESSON: SEEK NOT WHAT YOU WILL SURELY LOSE. CONTENT YOURSELF IN WHAT YOU WILL SURELY KEEP, AND BE NOT RESTLESS, FOR YOU UNDERTAKE A QUIET JOURNEY TO THE PEACE OF GOD. -ACIM

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

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

SOULFIRE

by Maasaisis

Learning anything new requires practice before the frustration and discomfort start to ease. It’s akin to arriving in a new country with unfamiliar language and customs. We crave familiarity because within what we know, we can navigate predictably. We gather life experiences to establish a standard of living, so when that is forced to change, struggle is inevitable.

We must learn to crawl before we walk, but returning to crawling after knowing how to walk can feel demeaning. However, viewing the world from a different perspective can bring new meaning and challenge what we thought we knew. Certainty is a perception that does not leave any room for growth.

I used to be so confident in my certainly which allowed me to attain so much in my life. The attainment accelerated as I got older and gathered more to be confident about. My appearance, my vitality, and the knowledge I consumed and shared crafted a narrative of success. But why then was it never enough? Why didn’t I feel satisfied?

I’m contemplating the borders of what success once meant to me. It was crucial for me to be recognized as a strong, beautiful, talented and independent woman capable of achieving anything she set her mind to. The umbilical cord of my value was always attached to serving others in a meaningful way, yet beneath the surface of that admirable pursuit lay a less glamorous reality. My outward expression was a super imposed version of what I did not want to feel. I buried my insecurities deep within, amplifying my mission whenever they tried to resurface.

The fire of ambition was fuelled by big dreams and new challenges, most of which I attained. Still, it was never enough, and I continually sought new ways to feed that fire by learning and integrating fresh approaches into my expression. I’ve taken countless courses and pursued numerous endeavours, always seeking something new, exciting, and noteworthy to satisfy the hunger deep within.

Now, in my inability to blaze my way forward, I’m granted the opportunity to make peace with the domineering doer and allow myself to be exactly as I am. To seek ease of being without the pressure to become anything more or less. In exchange for my willingness, I’m given glimpses of aspects of myself that are ripe for healing. What would it be like to approach the unfolding path with curiosity about where it leads, rather than a relentless pursuit of achievement? What will be known by not knowing anything?

The irony lies in this soulful invitation occurring at the most fragile time in my life. Without the loud expression of the persona I once strove to embody, I’m beginning to hear wisdom from a quiet yet powerful voice. This disease is unveiling the stripped down version of me so I can let her be just as she is and be enough. What I want now can’t be found by reaching for it. Peace, containment and ease is like the space in between the breath. It’s always there but easy to miss.

Even in this vulnerable state, I’m cradled by an invisible, tender embrace. Held in this way, my heart unfolds gently, like a rose unfurling to reach the warmth of the sun. There’s a beckoning to return to that which I’ve always been and to what yearns to be known. Not all at once, but in meaningful ways that keeps my Soulfire burning bright.

LESSON: EASE OF BEING IS NOT SOMETHING TO ATTAIN BUT RATHER TO ALLOW.

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