Dare To Meet Reality

Today was a big appointment day. Radiation as usual (treatment 19), followed by a visit to the Dana Farber. When I walked in, radiation oncology nurse Lynn (see yesterday's photo) said she was wondering where I was, if I was OK as I was over an hour late. I had asked for a later time today so I could sleep in. It felt so nice, that she was thinking of me and hoping I was OK. The front desk had this blog site up, and she said that Dr. Mauch had read it, too -- and liked it! I thought -- oh no, I hope he's not offended by any of this. My face flushed. Mark saw him upstairs in the bakery, and Mark said they had a guy chat. Lynn said that Dr. Mauch had a good time reading my account of him and the whole treatment -- and that it made him smile! She then said, "I didn't know you were an artist." So I pulled out my business cards and they opened my web site. It was a really fun interaction with all of them.

The Vixen wasn't in today, but Anne (the nurse practicioner) took excellent care of us. I had a long list of questions which she patiently addressed, one by one. By far the worst symptom is the insomnia and exhaustion. Last night I was up at least 3 times. I woke up this morning more tired that I thought possible. I look terrible with dark circles. She gave me a script for Ativan and she said that I may take it regularly at night so I can sleep, or as needed. I quipped that Mark has been taking it, not me. That's not entirely true -- I have a medicine cabinet full of medications I'm not taking, including lots of Ativan. She gave 4 refills. With a conspiratorial wink, she said, "this should be enough for a while." The providers are so wonderful. She said to take Ativan at night until the radiation is done, and if that doesn't take care of it, she may prescribe a low dose of anti-depressant like Celexa which helps with hot flashes. I'll try something alternative -- acupuncture or something like that -- before I start taking more medication. I'd rather avoid the snowball effect of taking more drugs to take care of the side effects. But I'm happy that she is paying attention to the whole person, not just the cancer patient.

I got another infusion of Zometa and an injection to suppress the estrogen.

I was hoping to see The Vixen today as I brought her a gift. I had some tiles reproduced from a slide of one of my paintings, "Dare To Meet Reality". The image of that painting is posted today. I left the package for her and hope she likes it. I'll see her next month.

The other interesting thing that happened is that I was approached in the waiting room by a man who described himself as the chaplain. I was initially taken aback, wondering why he sought me out. He then explained that he knew I had registered as a Buddhist on the intake form where you indicate your religion. I said, "I'm not a Buddhist, I haven't taken vows". I'm not sure why I responded like that. In any case, I warmed right up to him. His name is Chris. We talked for quite a while about spirituality, yoga, cancer, etc. He is well-versed in all of it, and recommended a book I've wanted to read, Sally Kempton's "The Heart of Meditation". I asked if there is a yoga program at the Dana Farber, and he said he's been trying to get one started. I said I'd like to teach there if the institute supports a program. He said he will seek me out next time I have an appointment, and I may do the same.

We're having yet another snow storm and hope it doesn't dash our plans to go to see live theatre in Cambridge tonight.

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For as long as space endures,
and for as long as living beings remain,
until then may I, too, abide
to dispel the misery of the world.

--The Dalai Lama, "Nobel Peace Prize Lecture,"

Graduation

Here is Lynn, the nurse who works with Dr. Mauch. She has been wonderful from the start, orienting us about what to expect and monitoring my skin and fatigue level. The radiation oncology is a really warm, friendly place. I must have expected something else as it continues to surprise me.

This morning I didn't get up early as usual to practice. I will practice when I get home from work tonight. This fatigue is really something. Yesterday when the afternoon session started at 1pm, I wondered how I'd make it til 5. One colleague said I was speaking much more slowly than usual. Mark has completely taken over day-to-day life, preparing dinners, shopping, everything. I don't know what I'd do without him. 10 more treatments, maybe 12 if he adds a few on.

Today the 8:15 patient 'graduated' from radiation. He's the one who always gets there before me. He completed his 28 treatments. We've formed an interesting bond and I will miss seeing him every morning. We exchanged cards this morning and I learned that he is a medical doctor as well as department head at a major regional medical school. For some reason that made me cry -- and I cried throughout this morning's treatment. For him, for me, for all of us. He said that cancer knows no limits as to who gets sick. He said that he was an empathic physician before, but that this really took him to a new level. The last thing he said was, "no one deserves this". I hope to keep in touch with him and will add him to my ever-growing prayer list for cancer patients.

Dr. Mauch

Today was treatment # 17. I feel so much better, having a few days "off". On Mondays I meet with the radiation oncologist, Dr. Mauch. Here he is. As I said before, he is a challenge to engage. I'm not doing a great job at it. The most entertaining thing I could tell him is that I am becoming a bearded lady. That did make him laugh, a little. Much to my horror, while I was putting on lipstick in the car this morning, I found a few black hairs above my lips. It must be due to estrogen starvation.

He may give me an extra few treatments -- I'm not entirely clear why. He said that the intention of this aggressive treatment is to eliminate the cancer entirely in my hip. Although there are no guarantees that all the cells will be taken care of. The problem is that you can only treat one area one time. On the other hand, if he over-treats, the acetabulum could be compromised, and I would need a hip replacement. He said there is another risk to over-treatment but my mind shut down after the hip replacement comment.

Then the unanswerable question: how much time might I have before another metastasis? He said that because my disease is unusual in the fact that it's spread to only one spot, he wouldn't be surprised if I have 5 years problem-free. I liked the sound of that!

In sum, he said it's more art than science, deciding how much radiation to give.

While waiting I met another patient with stage 4 brain cancer. He was the most lovely, charming man. He told me the whole story as I told him mine. What struck me is how happy and peaceful he appears to be. He said he went to one support group meeting but didn't go back as the rest of the members were very depressed. We agreed that you life flips upside down with a cancer diagnosis, how the way you think changes markedly, and how much pleasure there is in life. I liked him very much.

For Cara

The image is a collage I made for Cara's bat mitzvah. I used papers from the invitation as well as passages from the ceremony. I spend quite a bit of time in the studio yesterday and got a good start on the 10 new collages, 9x12.

My energy is returning somewhat. Maybe it's being radiation treatment-free for 4 days. Or being here in the quiet. Just being able to sleep in late is restorative. I love to clock in 8-10 hours of sleep on occasion. Although the hot flashes at night are troublesome. I wake up a sweaty mess, throw all the covers off and fortunately am able to fall asleep quickly. I hope these hormones are as effective at keeping cancer cells from growing as they are at upsetting my internal thermostat.

Yesterday I had an unusual meditation experience. This week I send 10 minutes of metta to myself (standard) and 10 minutes to my 'benefactor' Narayan (standard). What changes is the last 10 minutes. For a while I was sending it to The Vixen (my beautiful red-headed oncologist), then last week I switched to 'the neutral person'. This week I've moved on to 'the difficult person' -- my uncle. So that's the 30 minutes.

Yesterday my mind was extremely quiet and focused, like never before. Very little mental chatter. When I began to focus on Narayan, it grew silent, other than the phrases I repeated in my mind. In the space between the in-breath (may you be ...) and the out-breath (may you be ...) I touched a vast silence. It's never happened before. It didn't last long because of course I began to think about it (rather than just stay with it). As soon as I began to think, wow, this is cool, what's happening?... the chatter started up again. I also began to think about what to do ... should I stay with the phrases?? or be with this silence?... there was no feeling tone such as the joy and love that sometimes come with metta practice. Very emotionally neutral.

When I moved on to my uncle, well, it was a totally different experience. Lots of mental chatter, lots of story-telling. When I would wish him, for example, safety and protection, I would think about how unsafe I still feel with him. Narayan had warned us about how difficult it is, this particular practice. But I continue with it. I have faith in the power of love and eventual transformation.

Our Struggle Against Change

I've mentioned before the daily email that comes from Tricycle magazine. You can sign up for it on their home page. Here is today's:

Our Struggle Against Change

Suzuki Roshi said, "Renunciation is not giving up the things of this world, but accepting that they go away." Everything is impermanent; sooner or later everything goes away. Renunciation is a state of nonattachment, acceptance of this going away. Impermanence is, in fact, just another name for perfection. Leaves fall; debris and garbage accumulate; out of the debris come flowers, greenery, things that we think are lovely. Destruction is necessary. A good forest fire is necessary. The way we interfere with forest fires may not be a good thing. Without destruction, there could be no new life and the wonder of life, the constant change could not be. We must live and die. And this process is perfection itself.

All this change is not, however, what we had in mind. Our drive is not to appreciate the perfection of the universe. Our personal drive is to find a way to endure in our unchanging glory forever....Who hasn't noticed the first gray hair and thought, "Uh-oh."

--Charlotte Joko Beck, Everyday Zen

Or your physical exhaustion... or living with an advanced disease... Many people have commented how perfect Buddhist psychology is for my personal health situation, but doesn't it speak to all of us? Thursday was a really hard day for me. While it felt good to rest and be pampered, that feeling of physical incapacity led to a torrent of negative thoughts. A virtual cascade of catastrophic thinking. That's OK. My intention is to write about the whole experience, leaving nothing out. We all have feet of clay.

Over the past few days, I feel better physically. So in this case, thank god for impermanence! I remember many years ago the first time my yoga teacher Patricia Walden said, "you are not your thoughts". That was about the scariest thing I ever heard. I struggled against that insight for a long time. Over time I am beginning to understand that more. The catastrophic thoughts of Thursday don't completely define "me", nor do today's more positive thoughts.

Yesterday we ventured out to Brattleboro to deliver a few paintings to a cooperative gallery where I am a member. It felt delicious to get out of the house, to breathe fresh air. We ran into another member who is a very successful painter. She is represented by a gallery on Newbury Street in Boston. She encouraged me to re-contact the gallerist who had shown interest in my work last spring. My friend really likes my collage work and said that Susan would, too. So I sent off an email to Susan yesterday with some jpgs and an offer to show her actual work. I find myself inexplicably disinterested in painting, which has been an absolute passion for 15 years. All I want to do is collage. Val wisely said yesterday, "go with that vein -- go with that impulse -- there should be no 'shoulds' in one's creative life". She is so right. Today I will start a series of 10 collages on canvas paper. The idea excites me very much.

The other "excitement" from here is that our well quit yesterday so we had to call in well man. $1500 later, our water is flowing and the heat is running. I am so grateful that Mark knows how to take care of these things. I would never know how to run this place on my own.

I'm almost done with this book, "Sister of My Heart". I don't recommend it other than if you're on a long plane ride or on the couch for whatever reason. The writer uses the most painful phrases. Here are a few samples: "as though guilt were as easy to shake off as water on a lotus leaf". Yuk. Or, "she knows the power stories hold at their center, like a mango holds its seed".

Yesterday I was able to finish a small collage that I'd started with the angels some weeks ago. Zoey slopped aqua acrylic paint over a page from an old dictionary, and it forms the basis for this new piece "A Girl's Story" . Mark says he will take some jpgs of it as well as the one I made for Julie's daughter. I'll post those images in the next few days.

Feet of Clay

Last night I was thinking of how to describe my inner state and the phrase popped up, "feet of clay". I have no idea where that came from. This morning I google'd it, and here's some of what I found:

FEET OF CLAY - "The phrase comes from the Old Testament (Dan.2:31-32). There the Hebrew captain Daniel interprets a dream for Nebuchadnezzar, founder of the new Babylonian Empire. Nebuchadnezzar had dreamed of a giant idol with golden head, silver arms and chest, brass thighs and body, and iron legs. Only the feet of this image, compounded of iron and potter's clay, weren't made wholly of metal. Daniel told Nebuchadnezzar that the clay feet of the figure made it vulnerable, that it prophesized the breaking apart of his empire. Over the years readers of the Bible were struck with the phrase 'feet of clay' in the story and it was used centuries ago to describe an unexpected flaw or vulnerable point in the character of a hero or any admired person." From the "Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins" by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997).

Interesting. There's my Bible-based Protestant heritage showing through.

I have been feeling absolutely exhausted. My body feels so vulnerable. My rational mind says it's the universal effect of radiation treatment, my non-liberated mind says it's the cancer... killing me cell by cell. Yesterday for the first time in some weeks (since the stage 4 diagnosis) I cried during meditation. Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon and evening on the couch in front of the fire, reading a silly book by an Indian/American woman, "Sister of My Heart". Mark attended to my every whim for snacks, drinks, adjusting the fire, everything. In some ways it made me feel very pampered, but at the end of the night when he said I seemed to have enjoyed relaxing in that way, I burst into tears.

I don't want to spend the whole day on the couch. I don't want to need anyone's help. I don't want the side effects of treatment. I don't want cancer!

Recently I feel like something is wrong with my body, and that's terrifying. For months now I've remarked that there is a dissonance between how I look and feel, and my diagnosis. People have been remarking constantly, 'you look great'. Of course I like that. But now I am not feeling or looking great. The last few days my mind is full of scary thoughts such as: what if the radiation doesn't work? where and when will a new metastasis show up? what if my hip fracture hasn't healed? what if they can't stop the spread of cancer in the acetabulum? then longer term: where will I want to do hospice? what will happen to these beautiful spaces that Mark and I live in? what will happen to all my paintings? who will Mark hook up with?

When I meditate I still experience those states of love and connection, but the tears flow as well. This part is real, too. I recall the very first passage included in this blog about radical acceptance. I am struggling to live up to that ideal.

Sometimes the best you can do is realize that you have feet of clay.

Spaciousness of the Vessel

I spent this morning making a bat mitzvah gift for my friend Julie's daughter. She had her bat mitzvah in October. I had intended to finish before the big day, but was distracted by being a medical patient. I used the papers from the invitation and the program - it came out nicely.

Here is a beautiful passage from Sharon Salzberg's book, Lovingkindness . This is the bible of metta practice. She will be leading the meditation retreat I hope to attend the first week in February at the Meditation Insight Society in Barre, MA.

"Imagine taking a very small glass or water and putting into it a teaspoon of salt. Because of the small size of the container, the teaspoon of salt is going to have a big effect on the water. However, if you approach a much larger body of water, such as a lake, and put into it the same teaspoonful of salt, it will not have the same intensity of impact, because of the vastness and openness of the vessel receiving it. Even when the salt remains the same, the spaciousness of the vessel receiving it changes everything.

We spend a lot of our lives looking for a feeling of safety or protection--we try to alter the amount of salt that comes our way. Ironically, the salt is the very thing that we cannot do anything about, as life changes and offers us repeated ups and downs. Our true work is to create a container so immense that any amount of salt, even a truckload, can come into it without affecting our capacity to receive it."

Christmas Eve Tagine

Another change of plans. We had intended to spend the holiday with my sister and the angels, but the kids are all contagious, so at the last minute we ditched that plan. My sister forbid me to say what happened on this blog, so it will remain a mystery. I had really hoped for a 'normal' family get-together, but it wasn't in the cards for this year. Fortunately we got a lovely invitation just last night from Jeff and Karma to spend the evening with them. They cooked up a beautiful Moroccan tagine which is traditionally eaten the second day of Hanukkah. So in a sense we have skipped Christmas and have had 2 Hanukkahs instead.

It was kind of haunting to be at their house, as the last time we were there was the last day of my old life. They had invited us to dinner on a Saturday night in mid-August. It was hot, the fullness of summer. There are no street lights as they live deep in the country, so it felt daring to be guided by moonlight only. There was a full moon, and we went for a walk along their country road, chatting and laughing and having a wonderful time. The next evening is when I found the breast lump. That full moon night seems so long ago, such a different reality.

The radiation is really wearing me out. We are now at our farmhouse until Sunday. What a relief to have 4 days off from treatment. It's about all I can do to maintain my practice (first priority), get treatments (second priority) and work (third priority). I don't have much juice for anything else.

Lucy says she can sense my energy level from how I write, and this one is certainly a little thin.

I don't think I will attempt to snow shoe (even with ski poles) but I will be sorely tempted to give it a try. There is a lot of snow here, enough for a good shoe. This is now 6 weeks without any real exercise and I am restless. I look forward to resting up and working in my studio these next 4 days.

Wendy sent this along a few days ago.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A BLESSING FOR BEAUTY

May the beauty of your life become more visible to you that you may glimpse your wild divinity.

May the wonders of the earth call you forth from all your small secret prisons and set your feet free in the pastures of possibility.

May the light of dawn anoint your eyes that you may behold what a miracle a day is.

May the liturgy of twilight shelter all your fears and darknesses within the circle of ease.

May the angel of memory surprise you in bleak times with new gifts from the harvest of your vanished days.

May you allow no dark hand to quench the candle of hope in your heart.

May you discover a new generosity towards yourself and encourage yourself to
engage your life as a great adventure.

May the outside voices of fear and despair find no echo in you.

May you always trust the urgency and wisdom of your own spirit.

May the shelter and nourishment of all the good you have done, the love you have shown, the suffering you have carried, awaken around you to bless your life a thousand times.

And when love finds the path to your door may you open like the earth to the dawn and trust your every hidden color towards its nourishment of light.

May you find enough stillness and silence to savor the kiss of God on your soul and delight in the eternity that shaped you, that holds you and calls you, that you may know that despite confusion anxiety and emptiness your name is written in heaven.

And may you come to see your life as a quiet sacrament of service which awakens around you a rhythm where doubt gives way to grace of wonder, where what is awkward and strained can find elegance and where crippled hope can find wings and torment enter at last into the grace of serenity.

May divine beauty bless you.

- John O'Donahue

Christmas Altar

So this image is a nod to both meditation practice and the upcoming Christmas holidays. Mark sometimes buys me flowers and today he outdid himself when he brought home not just one bunch but two. In the past I would have asked him how much he spent (in a judgmental and critical tone) and would have had a little 'attitude' towards his 'extravagance'. Those days are gone. That's yet another way that having cancer has softened me: I am not so frugal anymore. My sister and I laugh at how we would drive the long way around to avoid paying a road toll. These days I appreciate his generosity and am thrilled to have such a beautiful meditation space.

Radiation is taking it's toll on my energy. Last night I was asleep at 8:30. Tonight is moving in the same direction. I have just enough juice to get up at 6am for practice, work a full day, and come home. Mark has been doing the lion's share of everything -- shopping, cooking, cleaning up. Today Joan took me to radiation -- Monday Lisa took me -- all the ways that friends help are so deeply appreciated.

I have decided to re-join the Atlantic Works Gallery in East Boston after being away for about a year. I have faith that the side effects of radiation will be over soon enough, and I look forward to being with that dynamic, creative group again. I wanted to re-join in the fall, but the stage 4 thing threw that off until now. One of my interests is to curate a group show with the theme of -- you guessed it -- cancer. With 1 out of 7 American women having breast cancer at some point in their lives, clearly this disease affects all of us. I haven't been too future-oriented for a while, so am looking forward to looking forward.

Hanukah

Last night Mark and I were invited to our first Hanukkah party by the extended family of my high school friend Julie. For many years we have been attending their Passover celebration but this was the first Hanukkah. I always know that spring is around the corner when her mother calls a few weeks before the event, inviting me to join their extended family. It has become something that I treasure and embrace. I feel like an honorary family member. We've known each other 30 years! There were some years when Julie was living out of town, and I would still get invited. What a wonderful feeling of inclusiveness. What really impresses me is the family unity that I experience with them, and the second thing is the involvement of the younger generation. Each of the kids knows the traditions, and they participate!

Thich Nhat Hanh talks a lot about the importance of remaining in one's own religious tradition. He writes, "when young people come to Plum Village [his retreat center in France], I always encourage them to go back to their own tradition... If they succeed at becoming reintegrated, they will be an important instrument in transforming and renewing their tradition." He continues, "if we can find ways to cherish and develop our spiritual heritage, we will avoid the kind of alienation that is destroying society, and we will become whole again... Learning to touch deeply the jewels of our own tradition will allow us to understand and appreciate the values of other traditions, and this will benefit everyone."

This is the advise of not just Thich Nhat Hanh but also the Dalai Lama -- stay within your own tradition.

Yoga studios and meditation centers in the US are filled with those of us from non-Hindu and non-Buddhist traditions. I don't know what this means for me in my spiritual unfolding, but those passages of Thay's certainly caught my attention.

Somehow my friend and her extended family have found deep meaning in their family tradition. It's enviable. I never felt that Protestantism somehow suited me and at this point I can't imagine seeking it out again. I have this idea that all the great traditions lead to god -- but find it most interesting why we choose one doorway rather than another.

All Shall Be Well

We just got back from radiation treatment #13. Tomorrow will be half way. The streets are a little treacherous with all the snow and much more is expected later today.

We had a wonderful solstice party yesterday. Many people came over - family, friends, neighbors, colleagues. In spite of the snow! Our last guest left at 9pm so it was an all afternoon/evening party. In my hometown of Anthon, Iowa, there used to be a weekly paper and one of the most-read features was the "gossip" section. My dad abhorred it. Column after column there were recounts of who had visited who after church, who was present at which wedding or funeral ceremony. In a nod to small town life, I won't name anyone -- but thanks all for making it such a memorable, celebratory event.

Yesterday Mark printed a photo of my meditation teacher Narayan and I put the image on my altar. It now feels complete, having her there. Even though I sit with eyes closed, I was more tuned in to her with the visual aid.

A few weeks ago I was pondering how much to struggle with or surrender to this disease. Jane Kopp, my cousin and teacher, send along these words of guidance:

"What doctors know and think may, but may not, be so and come true. So my own policy for myself or anyone else) is to "render unto Caesar what is Caesar's and unto God what is God's", which is to say, I am profoundly grateful for the skill and commitment
and healing passion of doctors, and I take in what they say, and totally follow their advice as to what to do on the material level, but I stay open to the possibility of healing--on all levels and to the mysterious spiritual source of healing in all its forms, and I seek that point of balance where I know that all is well whether the
healing of the so-called "material" occurs or not. As far as I can see, this is pretty much exactly where you are. Some people take what doctors say to heart, verbatim, without reservations; some become absorbed in the beauty of surrender (and it is beautiful); some do both. I just prefer Not-Knowing Mind, along with trust that, whatever happens,

'all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well'."

14th-century English mystic Julian of Norwich

BOOBS

The other book I'm reading is entitled "BOOBS" which stands for Bunch of Outrageous Breast Cancer Survivors". Suzanne sent it a while back, along with a candle that I use everyday on my altar and a wonderful Aveda lipstick (poppy). The book is divided into about 12 chapters, each chapter is told by a member of a breast cancer support group. So far I have yet had the desire to seek out a support group -- maybe because I have all of you! But it is interesting to read about others' experiences. The one thing I might do in the near future is meet with a nutritionist at Dana Farber. I am considering going back to a vegetarian diet (lacto-ovo) which is inspired by reading Thich Nhat Hanh. I have been off the vegetarian wagon for the last 3 years, but maybe it's time to get back on.

The Vixen told us that my periods would stop after a few months. I just started today, and in a way it's good. It makes me feel like I'm still 'normal' hormonally. Maybe that explains the chocolate cravings of the last few days.

Speaking of chocolate, today we will have a winter solstice party with an emphasis on exchanging cookies. We had a massive snow storm last night and it's still coming down, but we have lots of neighbors who will surely come over. Christmas holidays have always been a hard time for me (family of origin issues, what else??), so this year we are trying some new things. Last year we celebrated winter solstice as well and had a wonderful party and bonfire. I am really looking forward to today's celebration (I LOVE parties). This Christmas will be centered around my brother and sister -- and we are all feeling that we've got it right this year. More on that next week.

Mark just printed out some photos of Narayan my meditation teacher which I am eager to put on the altar. He made a few extras which will be shared with other yogis who have also studied with her.

Here is a poem that Sayword sent:

Otherwise
by Jane Kenyon

I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

"When Jesus Met Buddha"

Lulu called my attention to an article in last Sunday's Boston Globe Ideas section entitled "When Jesus Met Buddha" by Philip Jenkins. The image is pulled from that article. I'm reading "Living Buddha, Living Christ" which is all about tolerance of other faiths and willingness to have true dialogue. This article talks about how Christianity lived side by side with Buddhism 1,000 years ago; and that they got along. He went on to say that these days being intolerant of other religions is increasingly dangerous as religions come into ever-closer contact with one another. That living peaceably together side by side is a prerequisite for human survival.

He describes by a symbol that appeared on memorials and stone carvings in both southern India and coastal China during the early Middle Ages. The image is of the cross with is a lotus flower base, the symbol of Buddhist enlightenment. Early Asian Christians were comfortable associating themselves with the other great monastic and mystical religion of the time, and they believed that both lotus and cross carried similar messages about the quest for light and salvation.

I will explore that symbol in future paintings and collages.

Here is a poem from my friend Sayword.

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Who We Used To Be
(for Stephen)

This afternoon I think of you as I walk a land that is hard-packed, arid.
It crunches under foot like brittle skeletons forever lost.
Ponderosa bark smells of vanilla and primitive camp fires.
History closes in and reminds me that in a moment life can change…
a shudder from another room, a thud and suddenly
the woman you loved for thirty years may never be the same.

Hot sun beats on the back of my neck as if it were full noon
in summer but it is mid-October high in the mountains
and I am far from home. Two thousand miles away,
you sit in a hospital room, hoping your wife is not lost to you,
that she will find her voice and know you again,
but there are no answers and all the questions you have
sleep under your tongue.

I watch a raven fly low, skirting tree trunks, sun on its back, silver-black
and I hear birds twitter and wind moan in the tree branches. The day
is long and the sky bluer than you can imagine. I remember that
years ago I loved you before war and truth captured our innocence,
taking us to places dark and golden. A son. But I had to follow
the inside of my own blood and it carried me away from you.

In one moment a life can change, a broken sound in another room,
a phone call, a thickening in your breast and all that mattered
elongates and hums inside itself. Colors shift. You forget
the inside of your eyes and nothing looks the same.

The wind calls to us from far away…calls from far away.

With a Little Help from my Friends

The Beatles' song "With A Little Help From My Friends" popped in my head as Dave dropped me off from radiation this morning. The Sergeant Pepper's album came out in 1967 -- my mom was a self-styled hippy so we heard all that music while growing up. The song is so apt for this time in my life. Yesterday Anne drove me, today Dave did it for the second time, tomorrow Karma has offered to take me. Next week will be Joan and Lisa. I have said often how I continue to be amazed at everyone's generosity. I can only hope to be such a good friend and neighbor.

Today was #11. As I lie on the table, I visualize the beam melting away the tumor. I welcome the treatment. I can expect to be on crutches until mid-January when I see Dr. Handsome again, the orthopedic oncologist. Prior to that meeting I will have an MRI to see if the tumor is gone and whether the fracture has healed and the acetabulum has grown back. In the meantime I take Tamoxifen and chew Tums for a calcium boost.

I'm feeling more energetic the last few days. I have slept very well with no waking up the last few nights. Last night we went out to dinner with Becca and Gary to a Tibetan place in Cambridge. I faded towards the end of the evening, but am feeling more my old self in terms of energy. I hope this trend continues. Tonight I hope to go to the MFA with Lulu to see the calligraphy exhibit.

We have moved our open house/solstice celebration/cookie exchange to Saturday from 2 til 6. Sunday we are invited to a Hanukah party!

Momo's friend Vern sent this beautiful poem. Thank you Vern.

God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of
the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand." --Ranier Maria Rilke

May we all flare up, wake up and live life to it's fullest.

Stream-enterer

I took this photo a few weeks ago at Deborah's. This earth goddess had a important role in the Buddha's awakening.

I'm reading "Living Buddha, Living Christ" by Thich Nhat Hanh. This passage struck me: "The Buddhist Sangha includes Arhats, those who have overcome all afflictions, and Stream-enterers, those who have entered the stream that will surely lead them to enlightenment. Stream-enterers have no doubt that the practice will transform their suffering." [pg. 64] I like that term, stream-enterer. Not in the sense of enlightenment, but in the sense of transforming my suffering. Enlightenment is puzzling to me and is defined in so many ways in so many Buddhist and Hindu traditions. It's not of particular interest to me - I don't seek or expect anything along those lines. However, the idea of transforming suffering intrigues me. I feel like I've shifted into another dimension, another level of consciousness. I remain in ordinary mind -- you probably have to in order to work and function like a regular person. But this growing sense of peace and love remains, the surety that all is well in the midst of suffering.

My teacher/cousin Jane Kopp would describe this state as "liberation". You know that there is something beyond ordinary consciousness. You've been given access to something that usually remains cloaked. Maybe the image of jumping into the stream works as well as any. I am inadvertently in this steam. I feel that the longer I live (which I hope is a good long time), this journey will only deepen. Sometimes I wonder if it would have happened anyway, if I had remained cancer-free. It doesn't really matter, but sometimes I think about that.

Here is some information from Wikipedia about stream-enterers:

"The first stage is that of Sotāpanna, literally meaning "one who enters the stream with the stream being the Noble Eightfold Path regarded as the highest Dharma. The stream-enterer is also said to have "opened the eye of the Dharma".

A stream-enterer is guaranteed enlightenment after no more than seven successive rebirths, and possibly in fewer. The stream-enterer can also be sure that he will not be reborn in any of the unhappy states or rebirths. He can only be reborn as a human being, or in a heaven.

The stream-enterer has attained an intuitive grasp of Buddhist doctrine, has complete confidence in the Three Jewels of Buddha, Dhamma, and Sangha, and has good moral behaviour.

Radiation team

Here is most of my radiation team. This was taken this morning. Dave our neighbor drove me today -- thanks Dave! The kindness of friends continues to amaze me. Last night Julie left 2 red coffee cups with a green peace sign, filled with homemade cookies. This happens frequently -- we arrive home and something is waiting on the front or back step. 2 days ago Margie had left a tin of homemade sugar cookies. It really is something to witness the ongoing generosity and support. I feel like everyone I know offers me something - a poem, acupuncture, food, books, photos, inspirational readings, various suggestions.

I was speaking with Laureen the other evening and she asked how it felt emotionally to have had a mastectomy. I haven't written much about this as it's pretty much a non-issue. Before I knew I was stage 4, I viewed it as a trade; I was willing to sacrifice the breast with the idea that the rest of me would remain healthy. My yoga teacher John Friend was very helpful at that time, when he suggested the (obvious) truth that the body ages and changes over time. I accepted the loss of the breast at that time, and haven't looked back since. Unfortunately now I know that the rest of me is not disease-free, but I still feel fine in this different body. I am mostly focused on my ongoing physical recovery and don't think too much about the lack of the breast itself. Mark still calls me his "one breasted beauty".

I started yoga all those years ago to be in my body, but ironically the practices have also helped me transcend my body as an identity. I have learned that "me" is not my body, although it houses my spirit. I still take very good care of my body but am not attached to it as such. In Iyengar yoga we were taught that the body is a temple, and asana (the physical postures) is the prayer. My body is a physical manifestation of my spirit. I want to remain as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and love to physically challenge myself. So as far as the breast itself, I am at peace. I will not do reconstruction -- I don't want more surgery and I feel comfortable as I am.


Here is another poem from Gary D. Maxwell:

18 May 2006 - Thursday Morning
(for Dottie Wood)

The sky was burning while I ate my breakfast.

Flames appearing in the tops of oaks,
Winged embers singing - everything was singing -
And everywhere I looked all living beings
Dancing! Great, majestic lines - all holding hands!

Threading their way from the earth to the heavens!
Finding their way from the earth to the sea!

And I sat there, wanting nothing, having... everything -
Enthroned, just like an emperor! I, who am a dancer,
And a pauper!

None of it matters!

None of the history, none of the choices
Awaiting decisions - none of it matters!

The Dance is all I ever wanted, and this morning
There is no reason I should stop to write this down
Except to give it as an offering to you.

Babar's Yoga

Lulu's mother Jeannie sent along this book last week, along with a few quarts of delicious curried squash soup. She knows that the angels like to practice yoga with me, and they were captivated when I showed it to them yesterday. All 3 continue to work on their "handstands". They loved it when I read the story, and had a big fight about who would get to use which mat (3 kids, 2 yoga mats, big conflict). They finally settled down and wanted to do pose after pose. My energy wasn't what it usually is so I directed them from the couch. For the first time Shayna said that we have no games in the house, not even cards. That is the first sign of latency development. We made a pact that they would listen to me outside the house, to stay together and watch for cars. So I crutched with them to the overly expensive toy boutique store and didn't get anything. We wanted playing cards, chess and checkers. One of the customers told me to go to Walgreens instead. The boutique had none of those basic toys. They were great in the store, even leaving empty-handed. My sister and John are definitely doing something right.

I just got an email from Anne from Shanghai. I really wish I could be there with them, doing the presentation at the Shanghai MOMA on 12/20. The other thing I wish I could do is a 10 day insight meditation New Year's retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, MA. That starts 12/28 and Narayan is one of the teachers. Someone once said, "if wishes were horses, beggars would ride". I try not to think too much about what I can't do, and focus rather on living in awareness and gratitude each day.

Mark got home last night from our little farm house. The power finally went on around noon on Sunday. I am so grateful to him that he roughed it all weekend with no water, electricity or heat other than the wood stove. He took some amazing photos of the ice storm which I will post as soon as he transfers them to the computer. He has fallen in love with photography again and is doing some wonderful work.

We have decided to have a Winter Solstice Party on Sunday afternoon around 2pm so if you follow this and live locally, please come by! We had hoped to do it in the country as last year, but I have a work party Friday night and radiation on Sunday morning, so we'll do it this way this year. Last year we dug a big fire pit and after writing down on paper what we wanted to say goodbye to, we tossed the paper into the blaze. No fire pit this year, but we'll come up with some kind of ritual to welcome back the light.

Love’s Constancy

While it was disappointing not to get out to the country for the weekend, it became an urban adventure day instead. Lucy, Val and I made a visit to the Institute of Contemporary Art of Boston which is on the waterfront in South Boston. The building itself is rather unimpressive, a big white cube, but once you're inside, it's a wonderful space. We went to see a retrospective of Tara Donovan, American sculptor. One of her images is here. She uses ordinary objects such as paper plates, scotch tape, straws, buttons to create room-sized installations that look nature-like. The image here -- it could be clouds, a beehive, cells. One of my associations was that it looks like cancer cells, dividing quickly and randomly. Beautiful and wild.

I've been taking Tamoxifen for almost 2 weeks now and I think it's beginning to affect my sleep. Tamoxifen is used to suppress estrogen entirely, slamming you into menopause. My cancer is estrogen-positive so this drug in a sense starves cancer cells so they can't grow. At least that's my lay-man's understanding. Usually I sleep like a log with 1 trip to the loo. Now I wake up several times as I feel so hot -- I wonder if the hot flashes are starting? Fortunately I can fall asleep quickly but I'm not liking this trend. If it gets worse, a trip to the acupuncturist is in order. I've heard that acupuncture works wonder to release heat from menopause.

Kande sent along this poem that Narayan read several times in our metta meditation class in October. Five of us took the class together: Kande, Karla, Margrit, Mark and myself. She calls us the "posse" and suggests that I sent metta daily to my metta class posse as well as the larger posse, my personal Indra's net as well as all beings.

Love’s Constancy

Anyone who has waded
Through Love's turbulent waters,
Now feeling hunger and now satiety,
Is untouched by the season
Of withering or blooming,
For in the deepest and most dangerous waters,
On the highest peaks,
Love is always the same.

- Hadewijch of Antwerp (13 c. mystic)

Ice Storm

I took this photo a few weeks ago while walking on the dirt road in our beloved hill town. That delightful walk might have been my last, the Sunday just before I got sent to the ER and was put on crutches. Oh how I miss those long walks. My hip is feeling great so I hope that indicates shrinkage and elimination of the tumor. However, I seem to have an extremely high tolerance for pain so the fact that I feel great isn't the best indicator, I'm learning.

Yesterday the radiation techs took another x-ray to make sure the radiation markers are in correct position. The amount of radiation in my body at this point must be really high. I am following Josh's advise and am eating seaweed daily. His teacher, a Japanese acupuncturist, said that survivors of Hiroshima did better when they ate a lot of seaweed. I like it, the color is vibrant, so I have just added it to my daily salad.

We attempted to drive out to the farm last night with our friend Val but were thwarted by a nasty ice storm. A friend at work told me late in the day that mid-state was completely iced with no power in the area, and that the Governor had declared an emergency. I decided that driving through an ice storm on crutches would not be the best idea, so Mark went ahead without us. He later called to say he got there safely but there's no power in the house. So being McGuyver, he will figure out how to get it all working again. Give him a challenge of that sort, and his brilliance shines. I'm disappointed as I wanted to spend time with Val. I was also scheduled to gallery sit in Brattleboro and had planned a dinner out with friends. Again, another opportunity to let go. It's not what I wanted and had planned for, but what can you do?

Every day I get a dharma email from Tricycle magazine which Val had told me about. You go to Tricycle.com and click on top of the page to request this free service. I love getting them and save all of them. Here is today's:

Journey to Wisdom and Happiness

The Buddha's maps for the journey to wisdom and happiness are attractive to many people because they are so simple. Essentially, he taught that it doesn't make sense to upset ourselves about what is beyond our control. We don't get a choice about what hand we are dealt in this life. The only choice we have is our attitude about the cards we hold and the finesse with which we play our hand.

When the Buddha taught his ideas twenty-five hundred years ago, many people understood him so well as soon as they heard him that they were happy ever after. The people who didn't understand him immediately needed to practice meditation, and then they understood.

--Sylvia Boorstein, It's Easier Than You Think

Winter Gathering

Becca sent this lovely piece by her tai chi teacher Bill Ryan.

Winter Gathering & Quiet

"Your life energy naturally moves differently in the different seasons of the year. If you want your life energy to flourish, then to follow these natural cycles in how you practice is a good idea.

Now in New England we are moving from Fall to Winter. Throughout the Fall, the life energy of everything in nature - including your own life energy - moved inward. In Winter this process continues deep inside us, and in addition, everything shifts toward stillness and quiet.

So this week and in the weeks that follow until Spring stirs, practice in such a way that you gather in more energy than you let out. It's not difficult. Just in a relaxed way emphasize the aspects of your exercises which involve gathering energy inward toward you. Put less emphasis on the upward, outward, or downward aspects of your activities and play with how you can gather energy into yourself. Keep doing the other aspects, but emphasize the gathering more.

In addition, and perhaps even more importantly, try to practice in such a way that everything inside of you becomes quieter. Let quiet pervade all levels of your being
- the physical, energetic, emotional, etc.

As you exercise, move, stand, or sit as smoothly, quietly, and effortlessly as possible.

Expend only as much as energy as you must.

Relax your emotions and try to let them become calmer rather than more charged.

Try to let your mind settle.

Seek quiet even in activity.

Allow yourself to follow the natural energy flows of Winter."

I just got back from radiation treatment #7. 21 more to go. Last weekend I felt fatigued which apparently was not attributable to radiation. This week I have felt well. I went out probably too much -- my old lifestyle. Last night I had to forgo an invitation to the Museum of Fine Arts with Lulu to see a show with Chinese calligraphy. Disappointing, but the show is up for a while yet and next week I will make that an evening priority.

Being on crutches and having returned from medical leave was a theme this week in my therapy work. It has been really difficult to know what to tell patients before I left for an unknown amount of time, and now that I have returned, what to say about the crutches. This week I decided to open the question to them and got some interesting responses. One of them commented that seeing me physically challenged was helpful to her in that if I struggle, it gives her more 'permission' to struggle. It humanized me in a way that was helpful to her. Another one has been struggling with control, feeling that she has to fight and push to maintain a sense of control over her world. She struggles with somatization, so I was very curious how she would interpret my crutches. To my extreme surprise, she said that it made her realize that THINGS HAPPEN that are beyond out control. She commented that last time she saw me in October, I had ridden my bike to work. Seeing my on crutches was actually helpful to her. She then went on to use an analogy: she is a small boat on a big river. You can steer the boat to some extent, but when the swift current comes, you can only fight so much. You then yield and go with the current as best you can. So in a strange way, my situation is not scaring the people I work with, but giving them a different perspective, such as permission to struggle and yielding. It's been a most interesting work week.

Yielding

I got together on Monday with some artist friends for dinner. Jaye brought us all a bouquet of flowers -- here they are on my altar.

I just got back from radiation treatment #6. 22 to go. Being the perhaps overly friendly creature that I am, I am now on first name basis with Mel the parking attendant. I also got to know a few of the other radiation patients. Every morning I see Dick and we made acquaintance this morning. I am 8:15 and he is 8:30 but being a slacker, I often arrive late so he goes before me. We joked a little about that. I also met another man about my age whose mother has stage 4 cancer, in a wheelchair, who has a spot on her spine. It really is a different world, the cancer world. This disease seems to make us a little more open with each other. It's kind of like, we're all in this together. Cancer, the field leveler.

I wanted to write a little more about "A New Earth". On page 57 he continues the discussion of "The Peace That Passes All Understanding". "Not everybody who experiences great loss also experiences this awakening... When tragic loss occurs, you either resist or you yield. Some people become bitter or deeply resentful; others become compassionate, wise and loving. Yielding means inner acceptance of what is. You are open to life.. When you yield internally, when you surrender, a new dimension of consciousness opens up. If action is possible or necessary, your action will be in alignment with the whole and supported by creative intelligence, the unconditioned consciousness which in a state of inner openness you become one with. Circumstances and people then become helpful, cooperative. Coincidences happen. If no action is possible, you rest in the peace and inner stillness that come with surrender. You rest in God."

That is so beautiful and complete. The only possible follow-up could be this Rumi poem that Gary sent today:

The way of love is not
a subtle argument.
The door there is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles
of their freedom.
How do they learn it?
They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.

Handstand Prep with Auntie

My sister tells me that Shayna, the oldest angel, has been practicing this pose all week, anticipating this evening. When there are 3 kids, the others will not be left behind. After a lot of coaxing and many pictures, we were finally to get them all up at the same time. They are incredibly strong and stable. They were very pleased with themselves and the adults were completely entertained. We interspersed handstands with painting. They are learning that orange + red = orange and blue + red = purple. It's always fun to be with them.

I have yet to read "A New Earth" by Eckhardt Tolle, but Maggie copied a few pages that she thought I might resonate with. Here is part of the passage: "There are many accounts of people who experienced that emerging new dimension of consciousness as a result of tragic loss at some point in their lives... Whatever they identified with, whatever gave them their sense of self, has been taken away. The suddenly and inexplicably, the anguish or intense fear they initially felt gave way to a sacred sense of Presence, a deep peace and serenity and complete freedom from fear..It is indeed a peace that doesn't seem to make sense, and the people who experienced it asked themselves, In the face of this, how can it be that I feel such peace?"

That paragraph really sums up my experience of the last several months.

He goes on to explain, "when... death approaches, your sense of Beingness, of I Am, is freed from its entanglement with form: Spirit is released from its imprisonment in matter. You realize your essential identity is formless, as an all-pervasive presence, of Being prior to all forms, all identifications... That's the peace of God. The ultimate truth of who you are is not I am this or I am that, but I Am.

This would have made no sense to me whatsoever, prior to August. Now it really resonates. Sometimes I wonder, am I in some kind of serious denial? How could it be that I feel so happy, so peaceful, with the knowledge that my body may fall apart at any time? The Vixen thinks that I will not have what she calls "explosive" cancer, with quick spreading and death within 6 months. It happens sometimes that way. But it could happen to me, too; there is no way to predict the course of this disease. I have never before felt so awake, so alive yet so peaceful. I am happy that there are people around like Eckhardt Tolle who can explain this phenomenon. In fact I asked Marcia about this very thing last night -- am I crazy? She said, no, your spirit is just evolving really quickly. By the way, I know I'm not crazy, I know that what I am experiencing is some kind of awakening. Narayan said the same thing. When it first started happening, I felt a little frightened. Now I'm pretty comfortable on my journey and am eager to witness the unfolding. It feels like the most exciting thing that's ever happened in my life.

Sometimes I wonder if I am preparing for death soon, if this is the way that the soul grows when it doesn't have much time in this body. Even that's not particularly scary. In the meantime I have fun with the angels and encourage them with art and yoga, things that have brought great meaning to my life. I thank god every day for my many blessings, and feel fully alive. What more could you ask for?

Dante's Divine Comedy

Today was a rather ordinary day. Mark drove me to radiation for treatment #4. We live so close to the hospital that by the time he circled around the block, I was ready to go home. I'm getting the drill down now - it's self check-in; I wear the same yoga pants so I don't have to change into johnnies; hand them my red card for ID; wait for the machine to circle around me twice; get off the table, collect my ever-important card and take the elevator to the lobby. So far I have had no side effects that I can identify. I made it to work by about 9:30, and put in a full day.

This evening I met up with a psychiatrist friend Marcia and we saw "Milk". It's a very moving film and we both liked it very much.

Initially it was hard to concentrate at work, but this is my 4th week back and it feels like I never left (in a good way). What I do notice is that I am much more empathic towards our patients. Today I met with a man who has a yet undiagnosed condition. He is in a lot of pain and fears it is bone cancer. His thoughts are running towards the scary scenarios and what might happen going forward. My heart opened to him. Our lives, all our lives, run so parallel. They just seem to be "yours" and "mine". Of course I didn't disclose anything about my experience, but I think he felt really understood. He shared that he is recently sober (again). Metta. May we all live in love and peace. I will help him apply for disability next week. When I was a kid, we used to say, "it takes one to know one". Well, now I know one. I am "the other" and "the other" is me.

I'd like to share a beautiful passage from Dante's Divine Comedy that was read at Kande and Mike's wedding.

“The love of God, unutterable and perfect,
flows into a pure soul the way that light
rushes into a transparent object.
The more love that it finds, the more it gives
itself; so that, as we grow clear and open,
the more complete the joy of loving is.
And the more souls who resonate together,
the greater the intensity of their love,
for, mirror-like, each soul reflects the others.”

Dawn and Jennifer

Here is a shot of Dawn (left) and Jennifer, the women who manage the front desk of radiation oncology. They are very friendly and helpful. They greet me every morning. Today was treatment #3. I went in at 8:15 for the radiation, then had free time until 9:30 when I meet every Monday with Dr. Mauch.

During that break, I had the good fortune to visit my beautiful friend and neighbor Vanessa who just had a new yet-to-be-named baby girl. She was upstairs on maternity with a complicated check-in for security. Baby is learning quickly how to coordinate sucking and swallowing. Vanessa looks radiant. It was a real treat to spend time on the "happy" floor rather than wait in the radiation oncology area. Congratulations Vanessa!

Dr. Mauch is a character. He looks like an absent-minded professor. He actually is a Harvard Medical School professor so Mark says I shouldn't tease too much about him. He told us last time that he's been at this profession for 3 decades. I made some snide comment to him the first time, something like, "it seems you are really thinking about my case and have deliberated a lot". He shot right back, "that's what they pay me to do, to think". Touche. He seems to be one of those people that doesn't smile much, so now of course it's become a game to see how much I can engage him. Maybe I'd be very serious too if I was a radiation oncologist for 30 years. He didn't have much to say. I asked a lot of questions about recurrence of breast cancer in my bones. He said there are no answers. It all depends on how well I respond to the hormone tx. If I get another bone metastasis, he says they can treat with radiation. I asked if I could possibly go indefinitely without anymore cancer flare-ups. He said it was highly unlikely. I will see him weekly so my goal over the next 5 weeks is to have some fun with him.

Yesterday we visited my brother Mark who had a major surgery on Monday to fix his lower leg/ankle after his mountain bike accident a few weeks ago. He is on lots of Percaset as the pain is significant. We had a good laugh about both of us being on crutches. He is in good spirits and can't wait to get back on his bike. We have always been close but now with my diagnosis, it seems we are more motivated than ever to spend time together. He gave me his external hard drive with 30,000+ songs. We share a passion for gardening, the outdoors and cooking.

Lucy sent this along a few weeks ago.
===========================================================================
*Meditation*
To meditate does not mean to fight with a problem.
To meditate means to observe.
Your smile proves it.
It proves that you are being gentle with yourself,
that the sun of awareness is shining in you,
that you have control of your situation.
You are yourself,
and you have acquired some peace.

- Thich Nhat Hahn

Reading

I have been a big reader my whole life. When I was in grade school, I loved it when it was time to order books from a catalog that our teacher gave out once a year. I begged my mom for as many as she could afford, and she never said "no". It was the most thrilling day when the books arrived at school. Another wonderful memory of reading comes from the years we lived in a tiny town in northwest Iowa. My dad's medical clinic was right next door to the library (which also had a tiny jail attached). We lived several miles out of town, so we would ride our horses to the library, tie them to the cherry tree in the yard, and spend hours in the library. Those are among some of my best early memories.

I have been reading "spiritual" books for years, but with a heavier emphasis on literature. Of late my interests are almost exclusively spiritual. Back in October, Mindy gave me a book called "First There Is A Mountain" by Elizabeth Kadetsky. It is a memoir of her experience in Iyengar yoga which I studied for 10 years. The narrator's voice was a little annoying at times, but she really captured much of what I experienced in that system. In fact today the Boston Iyengar community is celebrating the 90th birthday of Mr. Iyengar.

Next I read "Your Mind is Like the Sky" by Jane Kopp. I just finished it this morning. She is one of my dad's cousins. My family of origin tends to be extremely conservative in every way. The family claim to "fame" is that my grandfather's cousin was a well known sociologist at University of Pennsylvania, Dr. E. Digby Baltzell. He coined the term "WASP" in one of his books, "The Protestant Establishment". However, the family has also produced some wonderful outliers like Jane. Her book was totally engaging. It was based on a series of sermons she gave at her church, The Brooks Center for Spirituality in Denver. I have found a wonderful friend and teacher in her. It continues to amaze me, connecting with so many like-minded teachers and friends of late.

Next will be "Living Buddha, Living Christ" by Thich Nhat Hanh. His photo is attached. Tony, Mark's brother lent it to me when we visited him in NJ a few weeks ago. I have attended a few public talks by Thich Nhat Hanh and have read many of his other books. He is a living master, a gift to the world.

Mark and I have both noticed that my energy is lower than usual. We attempted to go to a party last night. I was sure I could remember the address but once we got over to that neighborhood, I had transposed the numbers entirely. We ended up coming home with a big beautiful uneaten salad. I felt so tired that I fell asleep before 9pm. I find myself needing more sleep. I just don't have the usual juice. I even move slower. I have had so many medications after the 2 surgeries, now the radiation and the double hormone treatments. So I am just releasing into this current energy state
with no judgment. If my body needs to slow down, that's OK. Mark will have no more "forced marches" for a while, I guess. I hope that I will be back to full energy once the radiation is done and I'm off the crutches.

Gary, a new friend, wrote the following poems for me. He publishes under Gary D. Maxwell. They are so powerful! He is a very talented man. Thank you Gary for writing them and for allowing them to be shared.

====================================================================
27 Nov 2008 - Reprieve
(for Lola)

death approaches!
"Stage IV"
"Metastasized"
but, now
you hear:
"Contained"
"Removable"
a life returned!
and yet -
death approaches!

better to live -
awake, serrated
steel to wind-pipe
than slumber,
mesmerized -
that gentle rocking
of the sun and moon -
the sea and stars,
chanting to yourself:
"this last forever"

~


29 Nov 2008 - Give

what do you
have to give
another
can open
wide enough
to welcome -
this, without
hating you?

~


29 Nov 2008 - hymn

this spark enkindled
in the ordinary way:
flint was my mother -
a father of steel,
and now, the task before me
is to fan the flame

cold are the heavens,
wet the wisdoms of this world -
so little tender

so many fires
banked before their hour came,
their smoke still rises -
wet leaves and ashes
smolder where the spark once reigned,
before the rain came

why was I chosen?
how is it tiny embers
became this pyre?

Narayan Liebenson Grady

Here is the article written by my teacher Narayan in the 2007 winter issue of Buddha Dharma Magazine. It is question and answer format. The same question was answered by two other teachers but I don't have their comments available.

Question: I received a breast cancer diagnosis in January and have almost finished chemotherapy, which will be followed by radiation treatment. Many cancer survivors say that attitude is key to survival. I understand that having hope and a good attitude, eating the right food, exercising, and so on can probably help, but there is always the possibility that the cancer will recur. Some of this disease is purely genetic; good diet and attitude may make no difference. So I’m confused about where to stand between accepting impermanence and having the hope and desire to live until my old age, which may help my recovery.


Answer: Thank you for this very poignant question. I really wish you well.
We all live with the fact of impermanence, whether or not we have a life threatening disease. When we are very ill, however, we may be able to see more clearly and directly how utterly unpredictable life truly is. There is not only the possibility that the illness will occur, there is the inevitability that each of us will die in some way and at some time. This is out of our control. Dharma practice helps us to work with this insight.

It’s not just a question of seeing impermanence more clearly; we need to develop a wise relationship to impermanence in our daily lives. A wise relationship includes the development of sadha. Sadha means trust or confidence. In this case, it is the confidence that whatever the conditions may be, we’ll be able to respond with intelligence and kindness.

It is like in metta (loving-kindness) practice; we wish good health to ourselves and others because it is a blessing in life. At the same time, we are aware that things are the way they are. Thus we bring loving-kindness and equanimity together. A line in a T.S. Eliot poem expresses this so well: “Teach me how to care and not to care”. We take care of the body the best we can, without the belief that we have any ultimate say-so over nature. We can be aware of the fragility of the body and still have freedom of mind. This is the cultivation of wisdom and compassion.

It may be a new age belief to think that it should be possible to “conquer” illness through attitude alone. One may believe that if one’s attitude is positive, the body shouldn’t be sick. A dharmic perspective is that our attitudes don’t determine the outcome. Dharma has to do with suffering and the release from suffering, not the effort to control the uncontrollable. I see this kind of belief system leading to double suffering – the suffering of the body plus the suffering that is experienced because if one just had a better attitude, this would not be happening. This inevitably leads to a feeling of personal failure when the body doesn’t co-operate with one’s agendas and follows the laws of nature. I have seen this kind of belief system lead to so much unnecessary suffering.

It is said that the Buddha was neither pessimistic nor optimistic; he was a realist.
The Buddha taught the middle path. Hope and desire are on one side, resignation and depression are on the other. The middle path is one of awareness and understanding.

Accepting impermanence is a key to happiness. The Buddha taught: “All conditioned things are impermanent. Their nature is to arise and pass away. To be in harmony with this truth brings true happiness.”

Valuing your life, living in the here and now, and knowing the point of things – this is a wise attitude. Using your life to lighten the heart of its burdens and continuing to practice through thick and thin. We learn to be grateful for what is, right now. The awareness of impermanence teaches us not to take so much for granted. Not taking things for granted is the birth of true love.

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It is such a blessing to have her in my life. To sit with her for a private interview or in a class setting is such pleasure. Her written words are so wise, her presence is so loving.

I like all of what she has to say. Of special interest is the part about New Age beliefs. Many people say to me that I will "beat this thing" and far outlive the statistics because of my positive attitude, strong body and such. While I appreciate their hope, that may or not be true. The only part I have control over is how I respond to this particular situation. It's kind of like I "fail" if I die soon; as if my attitude is "wrong". The other New Age belief that really angers me is that this is that breast cancer is related to maternal issues. It is so blaming of my mother for whatever she did or didn't do, and it's blaming of me for not "resolving my maternal issues". I have yet to meet someone who didn't have issues of some kind with their mother. Or father for that matter.

The truth is that no one really knows why one gets cancer. There are some hints about genetics and lifestyle in certain kinds of cancers (smoking, toxic exposure, etc) but mostly it seems random. Why me and not my sister, for example. Same mother, same issues. With each visit to the Dana Farber I step further into the cancer world. It is a very sad place. And of course there are many kinds of disease, accidents, reasons why people have physical suffering. As my wise friend Sayword said when I first told her about my diagnosis, "shit happens".

Dr. Abraham

This morning was a flurry of activity. I had more x-rays of my hip before meeting with my new handsome orthopedic oncologist. He's pictured here, in the center. The others are his resident and his nurse practitioner. I didn't catch their names. The resident told me that there aren't that many orthopedic oncologists (other than here in Boston) in the country, so again I feel very fortunate to be right here with full access to them. The hip fracture is stable but he still wants me to continue on crutches for another 5 weeks for a total of 8 weeks. He spent a lot of time showing me all the images of the various kinds of scans. I will see him again in late January.

The other image is me doing pinca mayurasana (peacock) this morning. I do handstand every day and today decided to try peacock for the first time in 6 weeks. I've been preparing for it, but today was the first time I tried in earnest. I kicked up somewhat hesitantly, and found myself not only in position but able to balance without the wall. Another banner day. In fact, today is 6 weeks from the mastectomy. I also tried urdhva dhanurasana (upward facing bow, aka full backbend) and could lift a little higher than last time, but nowhere near straight arms. It's good to have goals, right?

After Dr. Handsome I crutched over to the Brigham for radiation treatment #2. I was on the table for maybe 2 minutes. There are about 6 or so young whipper snappers on the team. I am starting to memorize their names and asked them to call me "Lola". My sister always says I can have fun doing just about anything, even fooling around with the radiation staff. It sure makes for a more pleasant experience.

There have been silver linings to this disease. One of the most satisfying ones is that I am reconnecting with old friends and deeply connecting with many people who I have known more casually. My sister is even experiencing it. Recently she saw an old friend who she hadn't talked to in some years. She told her friend about my situation, and her friend is praying for me every day. Amy's friend now seeks more contact with Amy. Isn't that cool?

Last night my friend Lulu of almost 30 years came over for some yoga and dinner. She was intrigued by the handstand preparation image and wanted me to help her address some areas of tightness as well as learn handstand. She told me that she was the backyard champion of her family as she could do the best handstands of anyone when she was 8. We ran through a series of opening poses, and she was able to get into full handstand. What a thrill for both of us. I have been my own best teacher since the first surgery and am so happy to reclaim my full practice. It is also a joy to help others. I am offering my time to anyone who might benefit from some instruction.

I won't do radiation on the weekends so will do treatment #3 on Monday.

Lulu send this Mary Oliver poem a few weeks ago.
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Am I Not Among the Early Risers

Am I not among the early risers
and the long-distance walkers?

Have I not stood, amazed, as I consider
the perfection of the morning star
above the peaks of the houses, and the crowns of the trees
blue in the first light?
Do I not see how the trees tremble, as through
sheets of water flowed over them
though it is only wind, that common thing,
free to everyone, and everything?

Have I not thought, for years, what it would be
worthy to do, and then gone off, barefoot and with a silver pail,
to gather blueberries,
thus coming, as I think, upon a right answer?

What will ambition do for me that the fox, appearing suddenly
at the top of the field,
her eyes sharp and confident as she stared into mine,
has not already done?

What countries, what visitations,
what pomp
would satisfy me as thoroughly as Blackwater Woods
on a sun-filled morning, or, equally, in the rain?

Here is an amazement – once I was twenty years old and in
every motion of my body there was a delicious ease,
and in every motion of the green earth there was
a hint of paradise,
and now I am sixty years old, and it is the same.
Above the modest house and the palace – the same darkness.
Above the evil man and the just, the same stars.
Above the child who will recover and the child who will
not recover, the same energies roll forward,
from one tragedy to the next and from one foolishness to the next.

I bow down.

Have I not loved as though the beloved could vanish at any moment,
or become preoccupied, or whisper a name other than mine
in the stretched curvatures of lust, or over the dinner table?
Have I ever taken good fortune for granted?

Have I not, every spring, befriended the swarm that pours forth?
Have I not summoned the honey-man to come, to hurry,
to bring with him the white and comfortable hive?

And, while I waited, have I not leaned close, to see everything?
Have I not been stung as I watched their milling and gleaming,
and stung hard?

Have I not been ready always at the iron door,
not knowing to what country it opens – to death or to more life?

Have I ever said that the day was too hot or too cold
or the night too long and as black as oil anyway,
or the morning, washed blue and emptied entirely
of the second-rate, less than happiness

as I stepped down from the porch and set out along
the green paths of the world?
Mary Oliver

Radiation treatment #1

Lucy arrived promptly to pick me up at home, and we drove together to the Brigham and Women's Hospital, L2 for my first treatment. I was escorted in the room as pictured here with johnny bottoms on. I was told to lie on a table. They took a few x-rays to make sure that the tattoo markers were still lined up with the new and old images. Then an arm-like thing rotated around me and gave a zap of high energy radiation to the back of the hip, then another zap to the front. I was told to lie still but to breathe normally. The whole thing took about 5 minutes, and will be shorter from now on as they will just do the radiation tx, not the x-rays. I felt nothing and was completely comfortable. When I walked back into the waiting room, what was Lucy doing other than meditating and sending me metta. It is such a blessing to have friends such as her. I can only hope that I can be such a good friend in return. To her, to all who have helped me so much, to everyone.

They gave me the schedule and I will finish on January 14. It will be daily other than 12/25 and 12/26 and 1/1.

Last night Narayan invited me to attend a 10 day New Year's meditation retreat at Insight Medication Society in Barre, Massachusetts. She will be one of the teachers. I can't do it this year due to the treatment schedule. However, she mentioned the metta retreat with Sharon Salzburg which runs from 2/1-7. I signed up for it today. The timing will be perfect as radiation will have ended and I'll have 2 weeks to recover if the treatment brings fatigue. Margrit has already signed up and I am so happy to be able to do a retreat with a good friend. Any other takers!?

Narayan also told me that she writes a column for Buddha Dharma magazine. She writes an advise column along with an 80 year old Buddhist nun (I don't remember which lineage) and a Tibetan teacher. People send in a question, and each of the teacher responds. I posed the question last night about the "spiritual" approach to health and healing. She said that a few years ago she had written on that very subject. Once I track down the article, I will share it here. The question is how much to struggle and fight for health vs. how much to surrender to the inevitable. I ordered a subscription this morning.

I return tomorrow for the second treatment and will also see ortho about the crutches. I hope to be able to work through this. My manager is fine with me working kind of a swing shift, to start later and work later. Again, we'll see how it goes in terms of energy. I am learning more and more how to find inner balance, equanimity in daily life. Cancer is a good teacher.