Tag: spirit

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.
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*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.

In Search of Silence

Silence can be hard to find these days, and if you find it, hard to hang on to. The 21st century world is filled with noise almost everywhere, even in places that are supposed to be quiet, like cemeteries and residential areas. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, I have to admit that I am a lover of quiet: the silence of meditation rooms and nature sanctuaries. Deserted beaches and country roads. Mountain tops and forest clearings. Mornings before dawn. I gravitate to the absence of any sounds except those in Nature. In recent years, that has become more difficult to discover, particularly in living situations.

When Anne and I moved back to Massachusetts from Florida three years ago, we rented an apartment that was on a busy street in a town northwest of Boston. The neighborhood was generally peaceful, but the traffic sounds on that street continued all day long. Only in the night and early morning hours did quiet descend. We learned to live with it, but it did not engender an ongoing sense of outer peace.  A few months ago, we moved to a condo community in a more rural/suburban area with woods close by and busy streets further away. Very quiet—with one exception: There is a rifle and pistol club down the road, and the sound of gunfire is frequently audible in the distance. Fortunately, the building we live in is relatively soundproof, so we don’t hear it unless we go outside for walks, when it can definitely be disquieting.

As a walking alternative, I often take the train across town to my favorite nature sanctuary, Mt. Auburn Cemetery. I have been going there for many years to experience a quiet, peaceful oasis in the midst of a semi-urban area. Recently, though, there has been a change in focus at the cemetery. They are trying to encourage more people to visit by organizing events such as solstice gatherings, historical walks, etc. Along with that comes new sidewalks in some areas and the (perceived) need to keep them clean and tidy at all times. Enter leaf-blowers—and the deafening noise that accompanies them. When I visit now, if landscaping equipment is in use, I move in another direction, like the birds.

So, are cars, guns, and leaf-blowers obliterating any chance for silent peace in our contemporary culture? Not necessarily. For me, a spiritual perspective helps. From this view, silence is not solely a surface phenomenon in the external world. It lives inside everything, including each one of us. A friend of mine told me that when he visited India, the noise of the crowds and traffic in the cities was almost overwhelming, and yet he felt a deep silence simultaneously. It arose from a Presence deeper than human activity. And it is everywhere if we become aware of it.

Perhaps the secret is to carry silence with you. If I enter a situation consciously aligned with the silent Presence of spirit inside me (and everything), then that is what I experience. If I accept whatever is before me, I access peace. Every day, I relearn that wisdom. Within that space, there is nothing that can disturb my inner peace and silent soul.

“Relax into the part of you that is always silent, always still, always in meditation.”—Panache Desai


Breathe Your Life

Mystics have written that each breath holds birth and death in it. Perhaps each lifetime is one long inhalation and exhalation, as Spirit fills us and then gradually, finally, empties back into the Source from which it arose. We are spirits passing through, part of a mystery that only our souls know the extent of. Our human lives courageously carry us into the unknown of life on Earth, and as we travel, soul awareness slowly seeps into our consciousness. If we are fortunate, we grow wiser with each year we live.

Those who have passed through a serious illness, such as cancer, and come out the other side, often carry within them kernels of insight that may help them understand a bit of life’s mysteries. At the very least, it expands their view of their own lives and life itself. (I think of writers Mark Nepo and Suleika Jaouad.) They have looked into infinity and seen themselves. Everything is different after that.

During the months I was treated for breast cancer, I had moments of seeing the universe as a giant tapestry with moving parts that are perfectly interconnected. The pieces engage in a dance of beingness in which we all are included. There are no mistakes; everything unfolds according to a greater purpose that our souls know and our human selves catch glimpses of in our lifetimes. What I experienced carried me through treatment to survival. I could see at the deepest level that facing cancer was all part of my soul’s plan for this lifetime. I felt peace within my heart in that awareness.

A “peace that passes understanding,” as the saying goes. I experienced peace beyond any rational attempts to understand it. This is the peace that lives in each breath and is the essence of every one of our lifetimes. To live through both challenges and celebrations and accept them as integral parts of your life. The breath holds this wisdom within it. Each time you or I inhale, all of life moves into and through us. Each time we exhale, we fill the world with Source energy. The human form is a container for Spirit. When you consciously breathe your life, Spirit flowers in all you say and do.

Not everyone faces a health challenge that opens the door to eternity, but each of us, in the course of a lifetime, eventually looks beyond the mundane into the infinite. It is why we are here. To stand firmly on this Earth, this beloved blue planet full of varied experiences, and see the entire universe before us. It may happen at any time, for any reason. Or it may happen as you move through a “review” at the end of your life. Ultimately, you are Spirit embodied, and all the wisdom of the ages lives within you. Take a deep breath, open your heart, and see the invisible flow of your life and all lives, perfectly, peacefully, orchestrated in each moment.

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.

Transparency

I don’t quite know how to describe how I am feeling recently. There’s a growing space within me, a falling away of the irrelevant or unnecessary, avoidance of the negative or pessimistic. An opening to pure being without motivation or direction. So much seems like distraction to me, useless to my inner self. And that inner presence is what I live for, full immersion in the love and light that arise from my heart and soul. These are transparent in the material world view, lacking physical substance.

Perhaps it is I who lack physical substance now. I am becoming less a physical form and more a soul. The outer world seems so busy to me: news, politics, networking, apps, shopping. My inner world is simpler, quieter. I read Ann Patchett and Mark Nepo, take long walks in parks or nature sanctuaries, meditate, do yoga, awaken early to write in the predawn hours. Day-to-day life arises from that place.

My life has been emptying out for four years now—past and present homes and activities falling away, living through breast cancer, growing older—all of it leaving a wider and wider space within. An emptiness that is full of spirit, which life continuously moves us toward over the years, through various experiences and relationships. We learn ultimately that that is all we are: Spirit. Transparent spirit, radiating light in the physical world.

Sometimes I feel invisible, floating down the street gazing up at the trees, talking to the squirrels and birds. I wonder if people see me or just hear a voice. Yet when I smile, others smile in return. Does the light itself form an image at those moments? I don’t know. Maybe we are all only temporarily visible when we engage with another’s energy. Otherwise, we are just light beings drifting through the world, witnessing transformations. Sound far-fetched? Actually, maybe it’s truer than much of what we currently hear about humankind. At least it’s positive.

The positive is what my inner self gravitates toward. What touches and lifts my heart. Listening to Christian Cooper and Amy Tan talk about the joys of bird-watching and to Panache Desai speak of infinity and inner peace. Reading the poetry of Mary Oliver. Looking up at the blue summer sky and feeling gratitude and happiness. The small details of daily life that fill up a lifetime and taken together bring wisdom and clarity, if seen through the eyes of the soul. The mind can fall into judgment, fear, and sadness. The soul knows only acceptance and peace.

And so I continue, day to day. I am here, but more and more, I am not in one single place. I am everywhere. I am not one person; I am everything I see and experience. I am the stars and galaxies. I am the universe. As are we all. No separation. There is a oneness to life that we only see when we merge with it, when we become transparent. Perhaps this is exactly why we came here to this planet, to this lifetime. To step into separation and visibility and then to vanish again into oneness and pure light, the source of all being.