Tag: connection

Survivors

There are imitation “survivors” like those on the contrived TV show. Then there are real ones, such as those who have survived cancer, stem cell transplants, heart surgery, or another extreme health challenge. Surviving these involves courage and physical stamina unlike any other life experience. On the other side is relief, gratitude, happiness, but also, unexpectedly, sadness. The latter is invisible to others and almost unidentifiable at first to those experiencing it. It may have many sources, such as loss of “life as it once was” or the realization that one’s own mortality is inevitable, sooner or later. Unexpected tears arise for no specific reason, except perhaps the poignancy of life. I am a breast cancer survivor, and these issues came up for me. I am finding that they come up for others as well.

I just finished reading Suleika Jaouad’s book Between Two Kingdoms, Memoir of a Life Interrupted (and listened to her powerful TED talk), in which she describes her reactions to surviving a leukemia diagnosis at 22. Her prognosis was dire, and she went through almost four years of difficult treatments to finally emerge cancer-free.* She too then felt both relief and sadness, at times an unshakable depression. Yet she eventually came to great wisdom about how the two “kingdoms” of health and illness are not inseparable but “porous.” We all move back and forth between them in our lives. There are always “interruptions” of every kind.

The breast cancer treatments I received lasted about six months, and the prognosis was good, so my experiences were very different from hers in significant ways. She faced setbacks and brushes with death over years. Indeed, each person who lives through a difficult diagnosis or illness has a very unique experience. For the most part, after initial shock and fear, my experience became one of trust in my soul’s path and accompanying inner peace because of that trust. This helped me through any discomfort/pain that accompanied treatment. I had moments of extraordinary spiritual epiphanies throughout the surgical, chemo, and radiation treatments, ones that expanded my view of my own life and all life. It was only after the completion of treatment that an inner sadness appeared.

I must add that all this took place during the first years of COVID as well and brought up general issues of health and growing older. Looking ahead to one’s eventual death can happen at any age, young or old. It is something we each face. Those experiencing health challenges may have it handed to them unexpectedly, but we all eventually must come to terms with our own mortality. There can be fear, sadness, acceptance—or all simultaneously. It is never just one thing.

To be completely honest, thoughts of death and infinity have been with me since childhood (as those who read my blogs or books may know). I have carried background grief about the nature of life/death all my life. Yet, as I’ve explored a more spiritual path as an adult, those fears have shifted; a new balance has been created with deeper trust in the wisdom of a greater universal Intelligence. This is where I was when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Eventually that took me to the next level, an indescribable expansion into the unknown which gave me a broader acceptance of both the tears and joy that is life on Earth. Yes, I’ve had sadness and emotional ups and downs after recovery from breast cancer, but I’ve also had amazing moments of connection to the spirit that exists everywhere. I became aware that at that level, life and death are One.

So, to be a real survivor (as opposed to a TV one) is to recognize that the deepest survival happens at the soul level, because the soul is eternal; it never dies. Our human bodies may survive illness, disease, trauma, heartbreak, loss, and other life crises. Our souls survive beyond all those physical experiences, even, or especially, death. Sometimes that’s how we learn this wisdom, through the challenges of our physicality. God shows us irrevocably that the form may “die”, but spirit never does. We are ALL soul survivors, every one of us—butterflies of light.
_____________
*Suleika was recently diagnosed with a cancer recurrence after ten years. She has moved once again through a successful bone marrow transplant, with her husband Jon Batiste by her side (as seen in the film American Symphony). Their mutual journey is very inspiring.

The Big Picture

The universe felt overwhelming to me when I was a little girl. One late-night thought of the vast unfathomable cosmos, and my five-year-old brain would freeze in terror. I learned to distract myself as I grew older, but the background fear never disappeared entirely. In college, a class in astronomy activated it again. It was only in later years, as I began to pursue a spiritual quest that some sense of meaning and safety in the universe came to me.

Over the years I have grown in my acceptance of what Native Americans have called “the Great Mystery.” It is multi-faceted and not a puzzle to solve but a vision of oneness that humans eventually learn to surrender to—either in life or in death. In life, we often get lost in the details and a need to control them. But if we can let go and accept everything in the span of our lifetime, inner peace arises within and remains with us always, even, or especially, at death. Some people call this peace God, or infinite consciousness. Language does not capture it, but the heart knows it. In moments of heart-centered connection to the people and the world around us, we are one with a presence beyond words.

When I am in that oneness, I see the perfection in all things, in my own life and in all life. There are no mistakes. In every detail of life is a light visible throughout the cosmos. When we accept our lives as perfectly unfolding, that light shines everywhere, and we relax into what has been called peace beyond understanding. For we cannot really “understand” life and death; we can only surrender to it and thus experience what is outside of the realm of understanding: Presence.

In that space, I have had the most profound sense of being part of a complex tapestry of beingness, every thread interwoven with every other thread, always connected and evolving within Presence itself. Each soul on an infinite journey to know itself. God experiencing God. My soul and divine intelligence chose the design of my life so that I could experience all the details of a human existence and eventually come to know everything as Heaven on Earth. Ultimately, there are no divisions in the universe. Humans experience division in order to return to oneness and know it as who they are. To know the universe as oneself. This is the Big Picture.

It has taken me many years to reach this perspective. Yet within it, I realize that there really are no “years,” or time as humans have defined it. The greatest sages have spoken of the eternal Now. This sweet moment of timeless time is what we have been given. When I surrender to that wisdom, the peace of my limitless soul informs all my life, and every “picture” before me, big or small, becomes one with an ever-changing cosmic kaleidoscope of light and divine connection. And as the full moon rises perfectly over the dark trees outside my window, my fear is replaced with gratitude.

Walking, Everywhere

I’ve been a walker all my life, in a world of cars. I learned to drive at 16 but have rarely driven because I’ve lived mostly in or near cities, where public transportation, biking, and walking were my norm. Even though I grew up in the Illinois countryside, as an adult I gravitated to urban life. There were so many possibilities there, including the freedom that comes from being able to walk everywhere: to work, to stores, to concerts and films, to parks, to nature sanctuaries. To meet friends for tea or dinner or to walk silently in solitude. All of it a gift.

I’ve walked so many places on this Earth. I spent five months hiking and taking trains through Europe after college. (Switzerland, by the way, is a perfect place for walkers—walking/hiking trails everywhere and some villages car-free.) In later years, I hiked Peru’s Machu Picchu and Hawaii’s Napali Coast, as well as throughout the Southwest and Northeast. I walked miles through the streets of cities I called home (San Francisco, Boston). Nothing could keep me from my daily walks. I even walked to/from treatments for breast cancer in the middle of winter in Cambridge, Massachusetts!

Walking is like opening a door for me. On the other side is everything. The sense of awe at the beauty of Nature and the inner spiritual connection when I walk in parks or sanctuaries. The deep feeling of freedom as I explore new areas in the towns and cities where I’m living. The challenge, however, is navigating this freedom in car-centric environments, which includes most places in the U.S.

When Anne and I lived in Florida, we loved the tropical flowers and water birds, but walking, except for short distances, was difficult. It is a world of cars and condos and shopping plazas. Walking is not a priority in most non-urban areas in the U.S. People rely entirely on cars, and sidewalks are infrequent or nonexistent. The town where we live now, south of Boston, presents exactly this challenge. I dash from one side of a busy road to the other in order to access occasional sidewalks—and then turn off into smaller streets of houses to continue walking. The upside though is a winding woodsy lane that leads to our condo community, all of which is pleasantly walkable. I can also take the train to Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge for car-free walking in Nature.

I walk for many reasons and experiences: exercise, errands, exploration, encounters with people, birds, wildlife. Ever-changing seasons and skies. Mental stimulation and spiritual connection. Walking is a wonderfully expansive way of being in the world. I have been inspired by other walkers whose lives I know of: poet Mary Oliver, who walked each morning in profound appreciation of the natural world on Cape Cod; Henry David Thoreau, who walked through the woods and fields of Concord, Massachusetts, where Walden Pond is located; Neil King Jr., who recently walked from Washington, D.C. to New York City after recovering from two bouts with cancer; and Peace Pilgrim, who spent 28 years of her life walking across the U.S. speaking with others about peace.

I will continue to walk everywhere possible. One of my greatest wishes is for the creation of car-free living zones across the U.S. with easily accessible public transportation, safe bike lanes, and walking paths designed for use by everyone of all ages and abilities, including those with walkers or wheelchairs. In the meantime, I remind myself every day to appreciate the blessing that walking is in my life, wonders visible with every step I take.

Life Partners, Life Friendships

My friends Savanna and Katie were together nearly 50 years, until Savanna’s recent passing this summer. One of their daughters created a touching video photo montage of their life together, complete with perfectly chosen music. As I watched it, with alternating tears and smiles, I could feel the depth of their love and the ongoing joy of the life they shared. Such a sweet blessing—for them and for all who knew them. It made me think of so many other friends with decades-long marriages or partnerships. Gay, straight, bi, trans—all relationships based in caring, devotion, laughter, joy, tears, and a mutual appreciation for one another. Anne and I have been together 41 years ourselves. The longer I live, the more I feel the preciousness of these lifelong connections, interlaced with shared memories and experiences.

And this applies to friendships as well. I have friends I’ve known since grade school, high school, college, and work, each of them unique and irreplaceable. In the 1970s, I lived in a household with four other women that holds a special place in my heart. We were feminists active in the Boston women’s movement, several of us in a women’s literature graduate program at Goddard-Cambridge. Out of that came the humorous name we called ourselves: Cranford, based on a 19th century novel by Elizabeth Gaskell about a community of women who lived together without husbands. We shared our lives and all the exciting changes at that time: women’s music, presses, magazines, sports teams, activist groups. We latter-day Cranford sisters have remained friends ever since, the five of us (with our partners) meeting via Zoom recently, in San Francisco, Boston, and Western Massachusetts, coming together across time and space to reconnect with love.

Whether partner or friend, those in our lives mean everything to us. These are the souls we’ve chosen, prebirth, to travel through this life with. There are no coincidences in these arrangements. We came here to be together for however long we’re meant to be, sharing exactly what we’re meant to share. Learning and growing together and separately. That’s why we often feel like we’ve known someone before when we first meet them. Souls can travel together through lifetimes, playing different roles, experiencing different life lessons. Perhaps all of life is one reunion after another within a giant tapestry of being and soul expansion.

Every Christmas Eve, I talk on the phone long-distance with my friend Barb, whom I’ve known since we were 11. Our families spent Christmas Eve together throughout our childhood and adolescent years in Illinois. The golden nugget of those memories has stayed with us all our lives, through moving to different coasts, after the deaths of each of our parents, throughout changes, differences, and similarities. Each December 24, all of it comes together in one phone call in which we remember all the years of knowing and loving each other. We laugh and shed tears, and we renew our connection.

I treasure that phone call and our friendship, just as I treasure each one of my friends and especially dear Anne who has been by my side more than half my life. There is nothing like a life partner or a life friendship. It is one of the greatest gifts life on Earth brings us. May I always hold that deep appreciation and gratitude in my heart.

Remember

I have just finished rereading the ending of Ann Patchett’s new novel Tom Lake. I am crying—at the poignancy, at the beauty, at the soul wisdom. Last night I watched a 1988 PBS production of the play Our Town, which figures so prominently in Tom Lake, though always in the background (Tom Lake is a summer theater). I wept at that too. There are such deep life lessons in both of them, ones that few remember in their lifetimes. The characters Lara and Emily open to these lessons over the course of events in the novel and play. As does George in the film It’s a Wonderful Life. As are so many of us now at this time on Earth. We are awakening to how extraordinary human life really is.

Don’t miss a second of your life on this remarkable planet. The sadness and suffering as well as the joy and celebration. It’s all such a tremendous unrepeatable experience, like no other in the universe. Each morning, when you wake up, remember. The poet Rumi said it: “The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep,” This is the greatest wisdom of each of our lifetimes, throughout time, and especially now. Don’t go back to sleep. See the living spark of divine light in your partner’s or child’s eyes. Love your friends and family with all your heart. Appreciate them. Love yourself. You are a miracle.

Look around at the beauty of Mother Earth, the birds and trees and flowers. Everywhere there is beauty, even in the smallest detail of the most insignificant blade of grass. Even in a cemetery. A cemetery is a central figure in both Tom Lake and Our Town (and It’s a Wonderful Life). It stands as a coming together point of all life and eventually all the wisdom that arises from living. Spirit lives there. Spirit, which continues throughout time and space.

There is a cemetery that is a central figure in my life as well: Mt. Auburn. It is also a nature sanctuary, and for more than 40 years, I have walked there in the sweet silence and sounds of the natural world. I greet the birds each spring as they migrate and sing their lilting songs. Anne and I were married at Mt. Auburn, under the trees by Auburn Lake, the most beautiful day of our lives. I heard about the death of a friend there, tears streaming down my face as a bright red cardinal appeared on the path before me. I felt my mother’s spirit there after her passing, a cardinal singing nearby then too. And I have sensed my dad’s energy in the trees and the crows calling overhead. One cold November night many years ago, Anne and I watched meteor showers streaking across the cosmos in the deep darkness of Mt. Auburn at 3 a.m. Some of my most powerful moments of connection to something greater in the universe (Spirit, the Great Mystery, God) occurred there. All of life and death coming together as One in my awareness.

In Tom Lake, a cemetery on a rural wooded hillside brings everyone together in love and continuity. I feel that at Mt. Auburn. That is why I return, year after year. It helps me remember. We are all finding our own ways to remember now, we latter-day poets and saints of the 21st century. We came to Earth at this time to become fully awake and aware, to connect with one another, and to see the miracles in everything. In life/death, in pure being. Don’t go back to sleep. Remember. It is the gift of a lifetime, of all lifetimes.