Who is a Boddhisattva?

Several years ago I started to keep a visual diary. I was inspired by an article about an artist who made one collage every single day for 30 years. Isn't that intriguing? So I've decided to open the visual diary as well and will share the images from the beginning. Sometimes the images inspire a painting or larger work, but mostly I just do it because I like to. They are not for sale, I don't want to dismantle the book. I read a quote by Pablo Picasso somewhere that roughly said, "painting is another way of keeping a diary". Some of them I really like, some not. So I will not edit for "quality" or preference. The coded numbering system is the date.

My energy is back so I am having a lot of fun and making plans again. Lucy and I are planning a day trip to NYC next month to see a show at the Guggenheim, The Third Mind: American Artists Contemplate Asia, 1860–1989. There is a very cheap bus service that runs from Chinatown Boston to Chinatown New York. We plan to go mid-week, leaving early in the morning.

Last night I had dinner with a friend, and today will drive to Cape Cod to spend some time with the angels. They bought a weekend house last year so we don't see each other much on weekends as they are on the Cape and Mark and I are out west. I so look forward to being with them. We walk to the beach, and on from there. My sister was a former Olympic rower so just walking with her is an intense amount of exercise. Gloria!
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Who is a Bodhisattva?

A bodhisattva is an ordinary person who takes up a course in his or her life that
moves in the direction of Buddha. You're a bodhisattva. I'm a bodhisattva; actually,
anyone who directs their attention, their life, to practicing the way of life of a
Buddha is a bodhisattva.

--Kosho Uchiyama, Opening the Hand of Thought

PTOP

Today is the death anniversary of my dad. He was killed in a motorcycle on this day in 1976. He called himself, among other monikers, "PTOP" which stands for Poor Tired Old Pappy. The image is of him with the 3 of us tykes. I am the oldest. He was anything other than poor, tired or old. He was one of those old-school country doctors who were called 'general practicioners' back in the day. He and my mom moved to my hometown of Anthon, Iowa (population 700 back then, population 700 these days) where he opened a medical practice in the late 1950's. He was the only doctor within a 30 mile radius. The 'big city' was Sioux City which was an epicenter of stockyards. He had many passions including riding horses and motorcycles, traveling to far-away places (he took several trips to Brazil), collecting art, playing music (trumpet), reading and socializing (and drinking). He also loved a good cigar. To this day people from my hometown tell me what an excellent doctor he was. He was a wonderful father, at least in my eyes. Deeply faulted, too. Our lives were already complicated in many ways, but went completely helter-skelter when he died. I miss him to this day.

throb

Here is the collage that I will put in the February "Throb" show at Atlantic Works. It's 10 inches tall and 8 inches wide. The opening reception will be a week from tomorrow, followed by a second regular event, Third Thursday. I was at the studio/gallery building last night, dropping off the piece as well as celebrating Chinese New Year. Chris hosted a dozen or so of us in her studio. She is a recipient of a Guggenheim grant and a really talented artist. It was a pleasure to partake of homemade dumplings and all other kinds of delicacies while enjoying her work all over the walls. She asked us to vote for our top 4 favorite drawings of hers, so she can decide which to submit for a gallery. Someone quipped that we are the wrong people to ask, as artists tend to have let's say unusual taste. Interestingly enough, there was a consensus for the top picks. I will ask permission to post some of her images.

Mark and I saw The Vixen late yesterday afternoon. One of our main questions was the meaning of having only one metastases. Again, we were told that it's quite rare, only 5% of cases are like mine. She hopes that I respond well to the Tamoxifen and said that when it works, it really works. It's more effective than chemo when your cancer is estrogen positive. She has lots of patients like me who live well for a "long time". We won't know until it stops working, ie cancer pops up somewhere else. If and when that happens, then I would get low dose chemo. We didn't play that one out in more detail. I asked if I am in remission -- no, I am not. Once you have stage 4 you are never considered to be in remission. Once it's spread, it continues to spread. So while things are looking great at this point, she also indicated that I will continue at very high risk of recurrence. Breast cancer seems to like bone tissue; it's the most common place it takes up residence. She can't determine my level of personal risk of recurrence (of course, she is only human) but we know the stats on general survival rates already. Not so great.

I'll return in a month to see the other Ann, the NP. I'll get scanned next month, CT chest/abdomen/pelvis. She is also thinking about radiating my chest wall. It's a likely place for a problem to occur. But then again she doesn't want to over-treat. What a balancing act.

Yet, I left feeling celebratory and ready to drive to Eastie in the freezing rain to eat dumplings with artist friends. I trust her implicitly. I feel like she totally "gets" me without having to over-explain. She is a gift to the community. She has this way of being super smart, funny, and personable all at the same time. She shares personal anecdotes from time to time. We have bonded. Any whacky question we throw at her, she responds to thoughtfully. I feel that I'm on the "A" team.

Chinese New Year

Mark and I are heading off to see The Vixen and will be attending a Chinese New Year party later tonight.

I am feeling great. There are large chunks of time -- most of the day -- that I forget about the cancer. My energy has largely rebounded. I no longer find myself in bed at 8:30pm, totally exhausted. I remember when I'm working on urdhva dhanurasana (pushing up into a backbend from the floor) as my right arm doesn't totally straighten. I remember when I put on the mastectomy bra with the fake boob. I remember when I have a medical appointment. Otherwise I feel pretty normal now.

This morning Mark said, "so, it's back to normal life, right?". That's not really accurate, either. Yes, we're back to life as usual with the exception of an occasional test or appointment. But no in the sense of taking life (and health specifically) for granted. Spiritually I also feel in a very different place -- I've written lots about that. In a way my innocence was stripped away. Both consciously and unconsciously I always trusted my body, knew I could do whatever I wanted (within reason). I had too much pride, in fact. Pushed myself too hard. That explains in part why I didn't seek attention for my aching right hip all summer. Even when I knew I had positive lymph nodes, I still didn't speak up. Didn't "complain". So as we head off to this appointment, I feel confident that I am fine.

I do have one funny symptom -- my right buttock is bright red! The radiation continues to take effect for 4 weeks after you finish and I was warned that this might happen. It looks like a sunburn but is not painful or irritated.

Satchitananda

Over the weekend I was commenting how "attached" I feel, wanting to experience life deeply, now that I'm relatively out of the woods with cancer. Jane sent along another very thoughtful comment which I'd like to share. She wrote, "There's a crucial difference, I think, between "attachment" and "satchitananda," sat-chit-ananda, i.e., the realization of existence-consciousness-bliss, which Hindu teachings say is the consciousness of "God" itself, and the goal of spiritual practice.

Seems as though things usually unfold in that order: first we exist, but unconsciously; then we become conscious, and conscious that we exist; lastly, we arrive at real conscious celebration of the whole wonder of conscious being (body,
heart, mind, spirit)--become conscious of consciousness itself, feel conscious bliss at the entire mystery, as far as we have witnessed it, and increasingly feel trust in the Whole Story, and in the rest of the process."

So here is an image that Mark took of me on Sunday, as we set out to snow shoe. Celebrating my body, heart, mind and spirit.

Tomorrow I have my regular monthly appointment with my oncologist, aka The Vixen. I actually see the nurse practicioner one month, then The Vixen the other month. They rotate, at least in my case. Who looks forward to seeing their oncologist? I actually do. She is awesome. I'm guessing that she will have me scanned next month, both CT chest, abdomen and pelvis, as well as bone scan. She said I'll do that every 3 months for a while, and if that goes well, every 6 months. Any kind of tests have become anxiety-provoking but I will try to rest in the Present Moment and deal with the results as they become available.

Last night I went to my sister's and saw "the angels". Zoey, the 3 year old, asked me to tell her a story about Buddha. I don't know where she got that idea. I stumbled through historical Buddha's personal history and they kids were fascinated. They love stories, so I will dig out a copy of "Old Path White Clouds: Walking in the Footsteps of the Buddha" by Thich Nhat Hanh next time I see them.

May you, may I, may we all consciously be Satchitananda.

Pearls of Wisdom

I received some pearls of wisdom from Jane, my cousin and spiritual teacher. I was musing on all that's happened over the last 6 months, and here's what she had to say (with her permission to use her words) to my question: I wonder if it's possible to be "awakened" but not due to a crisis? She responds: "Maybe it's theoretically possible, but the lives and stories of mystics suggest that some kind of crisis always either precedes, accompanies, or follows "awakening." Or all of the above." As I mentioned in an earlier blog, she is teaching a seminar at Saint Michael's College in Vermont this summer and I'll be sure and post it once the program is printed. She continues, "That's what's alluded to in this part of my course description for this summer's seminar: 'To be a mystic is to touch and be touched by the Ground of Being--in one or more, or all, of its aspects, especially power and tremendousness, all-knowledge, or love. Such experience is usually either preceded or followed, or both, by radical modification of the ego.' The last sentence, there, is "code" for having the living daylights scared out of us by one kind of event or another, inner or outer, thinking we're losing it, etc. Whatever particular form the verge or knife's edge or aftermath of "awakening" takes for us in particular. I would say, your description of yourself "before" and "after" your diagnosis and your practice of metta describes a process of 'radical modification of the ego'. I mean the term "ego" not in the sense of "vanity" or "conceit," but, among other things, in the psychological sense of habitual "self-image" and "self-talk," whether positive negative."

It is so comforting to have guides along the way. I've often wondered -- where is Life's instruction manual? What I'm finding is that your teachers are right there, just when you need them. I would not understood at all Jane's teachings, had they come earlier. I am making no claim to be "awakened" or "enlightened" -- I just know that I have found peace and love that I never dreamed possible. The Bible has a line something like, "the peace that surpasses all understanding". My anxiety is quelled, I am at home in the World.

This cancer experience has re-shaped me profoundly and I'd guess I may be shifting yet, but am more in the process of integrating. So I am heeding my own intuition, and listening to all my beloved friends, to not introduce anything new at this time, i.e. a meditation intensive. The practice engages me, I love sitting, so I am just where I need to be.

Image of Mark by Lola

Show shoes in the snow bank

Yesterday I took a long walk on our dirt road. I had intended to meet our friends at their horse barn, but as they were just leaving, I decided to continue to walk. And walk. And walk. I ended up walking the whole way, out to the blacktop, 3.6 miles altogether. It was a little cold and windy, but glorious. I felt so alive, enjoying a little birdsong along the way. We had some lunch, then Mark and I went snow shoeing. Not too far as my legs were a little fatigued, but enough to get the feel of it again. We both have bad head colds so stayed in the rest of the evening. I worked in my studio and finished a collage for the Atlantic Works group show next month and started a new oil painting, as well as preparing a bunch of supports for more collage.

Today is very cold, about 2 degrees. My aunt Marty says that zero is her bottom temperature for outdoor activity, and I agree. We'll go out this morning to 'shoe but will take along the heavy-duty clothing including face masks.

I had been planning to attend a week-long silent retreat starting next Sunday at Insight Meditation Center in Barre, MA but have now changed my mind. It's an intense program, 5am until 10pm. Each day is spent in complete silence with either sitting or walking meditation, and a dharma talk in the evening. No talking other than during teacher interviews, no writing, using the phone, computer, reading. As the time has gotten closer I have felt more and more anxious. Although I feel more stable and grounded than any other time in my life, the thought of complete silence terrifies me. I would have no access to my coping strategies which include all the things that are not allowed. A part of me feels that I am avoiding the next big step, but the larger part feels relieved, that I am taking good care of myself at this tender time. Narayan (my meditation teacher) will be back from Myanmar in the next few weeks, and offers some Thursday morning mini-retreats of 4 hour duration. For now that feels more comfortable.

Image: Lola.

One Fortunate Attachment

We're in the country, there is at least a foot of snow on the ground, and it's time to put on snow shoes to explore the winter wonderland for the first time this season. At this time I feel attached to all of this -- this wonder of life itself. Maybe if I were extremely evolved I could let go of all my desire and attachment, but at this point I want to enjoy it all! I am hungry to do it all (OK, not sky diving). Yesterday the Wall Street Journal had an article about traveling in Myanmar. I'd like to make a pilgrimage there to visit a particular town which has stuppas and temples dating back 1,000 years. You can also take a hot air balloon at dawn over the valley. Now I feel like I can plan again.

Yesterday's consultation was a major turning point. I got a break. Gloria! However, there are no guarantees. It's not like I'm done, for sure, with cancer. I am still considered stage 4 as it spread beyond the original area, the breast. The statistics remain the same, quite frightening. Half of patients with stage 4 die within 3 to 5 years. I pray that I will be one of the lucky ones and will remain healthy for many years. I am disease-free as far as we know. You remain disease-free until you're not. A future problem could be determined by a bone or CT scan. Or if I experience pain or other symptoms. My lackadaisical attention to physical problems will need to shift to paying more attention so that if a problem arises, it can be attended to quickly.

In the meantime, I am extremely grateful and full of love, energy, peace and hope.

Each Presently Arisen State

"Let not a person revive the past
Or on the future build his hopes;
For the past has been left behind
And the future has not been reached.
Instead with insight let him see
Each presently arisen state;
Let him know that and be sure of it,
Invincibly, unshakeably.
Today the effort must be made;
Tomorrow Death may come, who knows?
No bargain with Mortality
Can keep him and his hordes away.
But one who dwells thus ardently,
Relentlessly, by day, by night--
It is he, the Peaceful Sage has said,
Who has one fortunate attachment."

--Lomasakangiyabhaddekaratta Sutta, in The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha,
trans. by Bhikkhu Bodhi

Image: "Summer Pattern", mixed media, by Lola.

and then I just walked home...

Prior to the consultation, I had more x-rays taken, then walked next door to the Dana Farber to see my handsome bone oncologist. First I met with the bone oncologist resident, Michael Banffy, pictured here. He was surprised by my request to take his picture, but was a good sport. He "tee'd me up", taking an inventory of what's happened since I last saw them. He viewed my MRI and x-rays, and said it all looked really good. Wow -- I grew misty-eyed. A few minutes Dr. Abraham came in and after a quick physical exam and inviting me to view the images with him, he said that all is well. I can officially get off the crutches and can resume all normal activities including snow shoeing and running. Not that I'm a runner by any definition. He said, "no sky diving, no jumping off high ledges while you hike". I can bike, run, whatever. Then I truly burst into tears. What welcome news. I was of course hoping and praying for this outcome, but was also aware of the possibility of bad news. The scans showed no new areas of concern, either. So I will go back in 6 mos to see him, preceded by an x-ray the same day. And then I just walked home!!

So at this point, I'll see The Vixen or her NP monthly and will get scanned every 3 months. I'll continue on Tamoxifen and calcium supplements. Otherwise I'm on my own and am free to do whatever I like. I will see The Vixen next Wednesday. I always like going to see her -- she is a wonderful human being as well as an excellent doctor.

We'll spend the weekend in the country and I can't wait to put on my snow shoes tomorrow. Even if it's extremely cold, you know where I'll be!

Thanks for all your prayers and support.

Helga

Gary wrote that he was leafing last night through Andrew Wyeth's "The Helga Pictures" and came across this statement of the artist: "One's art goes as far and as deep as one's love goes." Which stimulated some thoughts for me. I am not very well versed in Wyeth's work, although I did visit his museum in Chadd's Ford, Pennsylvania, a few years ago with my aunt. He died at age 91 just last Friday, 1/16/09.

I began to wonder about the impact of metta meditation practice and whether it explains a profound inner shift, an ability to deeply experience love for myself and for others. I am still relatively new to the practice; I started a daily practice in March 2008. I think that these practices percolate slowly, so slowly that you don't notice changes until you really stand back and reflect. All of my life I have been incredibly self-critical and shame-based. Never good enough, etc. These days I feel much easier with myself. I don't compare myself to others (and inevitably come up short). I don't chastise myself endlessly for the road not taken or for my innumerable "mistakes" and "shortcomings". This practice has truly brought love into my life. And when I sent metta to "the good friend", inside I am filled with love and goodwill. This week I am focusing on Lucy. It makes me feel juicy and alive. When I send metta to the other categories, I still can appreciate that all other beings (even my difficult uncle) wish for happiness as much as I do.

I haven't been painting of late, but am now excited to begin again. And am curious what will unfold on the canvas, how my inner shift will be reflected.

Tomorrow I see the bone oncologist. I got a call this afternoon that I am to arrive early to take some x-rays. I hate it when the doctor's office calls and tells me something that I'm not expecting. It's probably routine for this kind of consultation; maybe he needs both the MRI and x-ray. I don't like medical surprises of any kind! Yes -- I'm anxious about what he will say. I feel good and hope that how I feel is indicative of what the scans show.

Te Amo

I was commissioned to make this collage in the summer. A friend asked me if I could work with the actual wedding invitation for a Portuguese couple. She also gave me the name of a famous woman poet and now her name entirely escapes me. I used fragments of those love poems in the piece. It's entitled "Te Amo". My friend had me sign it this week and soon it will make it's way to Portugal for a belated wedding gift.

In March I will be in a collage show at the Windham Art Gallery in Brattleboro, Vt. I still have many pieces but want to make some new ones for this show. I'll also be in a group show next month in East Boston, Atlantic Works Gallery. It feels very good to get active in my art life again.

I have to admit to being a little anxious about the MRI done yesterday. While the bone oncologist has ordered the scan to see if the fracture has healed, obviously they will be looking for other problems. I try not to "go there" and for the most part don't, but it's a weird thing to know that something else can pop up anytime. The silver lining is that I live in a state of intense gratitude and heightened awareness, but I'd probably rather be asleep at the wheel and cancer-free. It's a funny question -- I wonder if it's possible to be "awakened" but not due to a crisis?

My cousin Jane has invited me to attend a workshop this June in Vermont where she will be presenting. Her presentation will be on mysticism and art. I'm not entirely clear about the overall theme but am intrigued by the little I know. I'll write more about it as details become available. Karma also told me that the Dalai Lama will be giving a 2-day conference here in Boston on May 1 and 2. I want to attend that, too. We are so fortunate this day and age to have access to so many teachings, so many paths. And I am honored to be on this path with so many of you.

Hope/Progress

What an exciting day for change. The medical director at our clinic invited us to watch the Inauguration together at a bar next door. This is the first one I've ever watched and found it so extremely moving. I feel hope for the country for the first time in 8 years. This morning I sent him a round of metta -- he's going to need it!

This morning I went for my 4th MRI. This time I found it almost boring. I felt sleepy in the machine. It sounds like alarm clocks on steroids, various tones and rhythms. So loud that they insist you wear earplugs. The first few times I was so anxious and about passed out from doing so much deep slow breathing. This time I felt like an old pro -- not something you want to become. I left feeling kind of sad and upset. Mark drove me home, then I went to work. When you go in for a procedure or scan, there is no denying a health problem. It's sobering and a constant reminder that although I feel well and am thrilled to be walking around on my own, that I do have a serious condition.

At Suzanne's urging, I called the NP today and asked about my calcium level that was drawn 12/31. She said it's back in normal range and that I can start taking the supplements again. She wanted to get a baseline level which is why I stopped taking them for a month. I eat Tums like there's no tomorrow. 1200 mg per day.

The following passage came today via email from tricycle.com:

Great Art and Great Dharma

The artist's dilemma and the meditator's are, in a deep sense, equivalent. Both are repeatedly willing to confront an unknown and to risk a response that they cannot predict or control. Both are disciplined in skills that allow them to remain focused on their task and to express their response in a way that will illuminate the dilemma they share with others.

And both are liable to similar outcomes. The artist's work is prone to be derivative, a variation on the style of a great master or established school. The meditator's response might tend to be dogmatic, a variation on the words of a hallowed tradition or revered teacher. There is nothing wrong with such responses. But we recognize their secondary nature, their failure to reach the peaks of primary imaginative creation. Great Art and Great Dharma both give rise to something that has never quite been imagined before. Artist and meditator alike ultimately aspire to an original act.

--Stephen Batchelor, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review, Vol. IV, #2

"All of Me"

Here is "All of Me", the oil painting I finished over the weekend. It measures 36" x 24". I started it in August just after the diagnosis. For many months I didn't touch it -- I couldn't figure it out in terms of color or line -- but really it was just too intense to bear witness to. The designs are copied from the talisman that my meditation teacher Narayan gave to me. Once I finished, I noticed that the heart center is actually somewhat in the shape of a heart. It's expanded and pink, surrounded by a rosary of sorts. This happens most of the time -- I see things after I've finished that weren't consciously intended. For the longest time I couldn't paint but was working only on collage or in my little artist book. Finishing this piece has opened me up to paint again.

Yesterday Mark and I went for a walk up our steep dirt road and it felt fine. Less tentative than the day before but still tender. I am very hopeful about my hip specifically but my overall situation.

Today I have the day off and am expecting a visit from a childhood friend. Her name is Kim and I've known her since we were 6. My mom and her dad knew each other in junior high school where they lived in Albert Lea, Minnesota. Kim is visiting family in Hartford and will drive up to Boston for the day. I am blessed with some innate ability to maintain friendships over decades. My nuclear family was problematic so I think I compensated by turning to the outer world for love, support, connection. Friendships are vital, essential to my well-being and I treasure each and every one.

You Must Be Present To Win

This weekend feels like the first "normal" one in many months -- I'm not in treatment, nor waiting for another biopsy, surgery or whatever. Our pattern over the last few years is that after work, I drive to Starbucks for a "tall", then meet Mark at his office. We leave my car, and drive out together in his. We often go to the goofy Chinese restaurant, then to the house. We settle in, making a fire, unloading the car. I was able to help as I'm not using crutches. It feels just like old times. What a relief.

Yesterday we went for a walk, up the extremely steep dirt road we live on. Every step was hesitant, not the barreling walk I usually prefer. In some ways it reminded me of walking meditation -- I paid deep attention to every step. I didn't even want to talk -- and how unusual is that? It felt most excellent. We had a heavy snowfall last night and will walk again today.

I have spent a lot of time in the studio and am completing a painting. Hopefully I'll finish today and will take a photo of it to post this week. The title is "All of Me", a self-portrait of my body post-surgery.

Image: "Petals 1", Valerie Spain
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You Must Be Present to Win

There is a sign outside a casino in Las Vegas that says, "You must be present to win." The same is true in meditation. If we want to see the nature of our lives, we must actually be present, aware, awake. Developing samadhi [concentration] is much like polishing a lens. If we are looking to see the cells and workings of the body with a lens that has not been ground sufficiently, we will not see clearly. In order to penetrate the nature of the mind and body, we must collect and concentrate our resources and observe with a steady, silent mind. This is exactly what the Buddha did: he sat, concentrated his mind, and looked within. To become a yogi, an explorer of the heart and mind, we must develop this capacity as well.

--Jack Kornfield, Seeking the Heart of Wisdom

"Fiery Spirit 3"

Another image from Valerie Spain, "Fiery Spirit 3". Aside from loving her work, this title seems apropos today. I feel so, so happy about finishing radiation. It was a long 6 weeks. I counted the days, keeping careful track of how many done and how many to go. Which is not the way I want to live -- I try to live in the "now" rather than in the future. But given the situation, counting seemed like a good strategy. Each treatment felt closer to a return to health and function.

Yesterday I decided to stop using the crutches. I went to work and left them in the car, just in case. I felt so free to have the simple freedom to walk down the long hall and greet the patients, rather than having the front desk staff walk everyone down. I pay minute attention to sensation, and felt stable and strong all day.

Next step: an MRI on Tuesday followed by a consultation with the handsome bone oncologist on Friday. The purpose of the MRI is to determine whether my acetabulum fracture healed. Otherwise I continue to take Tamoxifen indefinitely, "until it doesn't work anymore". Whatever that means. But I don't want to go there. I'll see The Vixen in a few weeks. I've missed her! She says I'll get scanned q 3 months and if all goes well, I'll get scanned every 6 months. And we hope and pray that I remain free of signs of disease. I'm not sure, but it sounds like remission to me.

We're at our little farm and it's extremely cold, -10 degrees. A friend said the snow is "sandwiched" with powder on the ground, ice in the middle with more powder on top. She said she sunk through yesterday and fell hard while walking on the show. So we'll nix the snow shoeing idea and will just talk a walk on the dirt road instead. I appreciate all my "mother hens" cautioning me to be careful -- and I will. Mark has better judgment about such things, I tend to be a little bit of a cowboy. So I will bow to his caution and not strap on the snow shoes just yet.

We've got a problem with frozen kitchen pipes so Mark is busy with that. He is so competent! I can just focus on my practice, studio time and our visit later in the day with our neighbor.

I plan to make a new piece of work this weekend to go in the show next month at the gallery in East Boston. The show is entitled "throb" so driving out last night I spent some time imagining how to respond visually to that idea. My sense of the future is opening up again and I'm getting excited to make plans. To think about new work. To consider teaching yoga again. My spirit is fiery.

Talk Less, Meditate More

When I got to work yesterday morning, Lucy was standing in the lobby. I did a double-take as I wasn't expecting her. The reason for her visit? She brought me this huge bouquet to celebrate the end of radiation. When I got home last night Lynn had left a big pot of celebratory red beans. The love just keeps on flowing.

Last night after work I went to a fun event in East Boston. I have re-joined the cooperative gallery Atlantic Works, and went to my first event as a returning member, Third Thursday. Last night was unique in that they had set up a 'trade wall' where you put up a piece of art you'd like to barter with. I brought along a bunch of hand-painted placemats. I traded for a painting by Bo. I've loved his work for many years, and Mark loves it, too. Mark has commandeered it for his space. Returning to the gallery feels like returning to my pre-cancer life (although I left the gallery a year ago, before the health stuff started). I really love the energy of artists, who tend to be quirky and just totally themselves.

Shall I heed the warning below?

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If you do decide to start meditating, there's no need to tell other people about it,
or talk about why you are doing it or what it's doing for you. In fact, there is no
better way to waste your nascent energy and enthusiasm for practice and thwart your
efforts so they will be unable to gather momentum. Best to meditate without
advertising it.

Every time you get a strong impulse to talk about meditation and how wonderful it
is, or how hard it is, or what it's doing for you these days, or what it's not, or
you want to convince someone else how wonderful it would be for them, just look at
it as more thinking and go meditate some more. The impulse will pass and everybody
will be better off--especially you.

--Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are

Radiation treatment - complete!

One of the technicians took this image a few days ago. Today I said "goodbye" to my machine, BWH 15. It was a little emotional -- I prayed really intently as the back side got radiated, then after the machine's arm turned over me, I prayed as the front side got it's final treatment. May I be free of cancer, may I walk without difficulty, may I snow shoe, hike, bike and ride a horse. Garden. All the things I love to do. I hugged practically the entire staff, and cried with relief and maybe a little sadness as I walked down the hall to the elevator. So now I'm done with this part of my journey. Mark and I will celebrate tomorrow night by going to a really tacky Chinese/Japanese restaurant in Greenfield that I love.

This week I've been sending metta to the radiation suite. I started with the car park attendants, then the outside reception desk; Vicky the resident who has since moved to a new rotation; Dr. Mauch; Lynn; the patient waiting room; the inside reception desk; all 3 radiation suites. It's interesting that I experienced a heightened sense of well-being when I'm in there, after sending metta their way. Again, more connected. More compassionate. I love this metta practice. I will be attending a week-long retreat starting February 1 and look forward to deepening my practice.

Next steps: MRI on Tuesday, followed by a consultation by ortho oncologist on Friday (next). It will take a year for my bone to recover per Dr. Mauch, the part that got eaten away by the cancer. Hopefully the fracture is mended by now, and I will get discharged from crutches. There is a lot of snow out west so I may attempt a short snow shoe this weekend. My hip feels stable and I have a little energy. I'm ready!

Last night Kande and I got ourselves invited to a very fancy artist reception at the St. Botolph Club in the Back Bay. Our friend Joan Ryan had a show and it looked great. The Club is exclusive -- to join, you need to be invited by a current member. All members are involved in the arts in some way, and are wealthy as the dues are expensive. It was fun to be out and about town, exploring a new venue, spending time with Kande, and supporting Joan. I also ran into a neighbor who is a member there, a well-known painter. I am blanking on his last name. It gave that feeling of being part of a community, being connected.

Take The One Seat

I called Dr. Mauch's office this morning and was told that the machine is down, so my last treatment will be tomorrow. I wish that they had simply left me a message; I was a little worried all night.

Here is an image of Katherine, Mitty and Danielle who man the desk inside the radiation suite. I continue to be impressed with the warmth of the staff -- each and every one of them. This week my meditation has focused on "all beings" and I have been sending metta to L2 (radiation oncology suite, basement of Brigham and Women's Hospital). To the staff, the patients, and everyone else swept up in the drama of cancer.

My sister brought "the angels" over for dinner on Monday and I told them that I would be finishing my treatment this week. I tell them I'm getting x-rays to help my hip feel better. The 5 year old Luke looked at me with his piercing blue eyes and said "I hope they can fix you, auntie." He has gotten into the habit of bringing me a gift every time he visits. This time he brought "crystals", white rocks he found on the beach. A few months ago I gave him a crystal necklace that I got in Brazil many years ago. He never takes it off, and when his mom is sad, he rubs her with it and tells her that it's full of aunty's love. Last week he brought me a bag of lavender from his aunt's garden in NJ. Zoey, the 3 year old said, "Yea, then you can pick us up again." It's funny what they notice -- it's true that I haven't been able to pick her up in several months now. Shayna, 7, remains silent.

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"Take the One Seat"

When we take the one seat on our meditation cushion we become our own monastery. We create the compassionate space that allows for the arising of all things: sorrows, loneliness, shame, desire, regret, frustration, happiness.

Spiritual transformation is a profound process that doesn't happen by accident. We need a repeated discipline, a genuine training, in order to let go of our old habits of mind and to find and sustain a new way of seeing. To mature on the spiritual path we need to commit ourselves in a systematic way. My teacher Achaan Chah described this commitment as "taking the one seat." He said, "Just go into the room and put one chair in the center. Take the seat in the center of the room, open the doors and the windows and see who comes to visit. You will witness all kinds of scenes and actors, all kinds of temptations and stories, everything imaginable. Your only job is to stay in your seat. You will see it all arise and pass, and out of this, wisdom and understanding will come."

--Jack Kornfield, A Path with Heart

Being a Buddha

Here is a photo of Lucy that I took the first day of radiation. It seems fitting to post it today as she drove me to treatment today, the second-to-last. In fact she drove me all over town today. After picking me up for radiation, she then drove me to work. She came back to retrieve me at 5, and we went to a meditation class with Ann. An all-Lucy day! I often comment on what a blessing it is to have such good friends -- and it still holds.

The three of us went to the beginners class tonight and we all really liked the teacher. Dharma talks are always a balm to my soul. Just hearing or reading brings an immediate sense of calm. He was teaching vipassana but said he practices metta these days. I have basically no experience with vipassana, yet found that I was able to deeply enter the practice, just focusing on breath sensation. My thinking mind shut off, and I was able to experience quite a big of silence and peace. At some point I'll switch to vipassana as well. Meditation practice is said to have 2 wings, compassion (metta) and wisdom (vipassana). Just as a bird needs 2 wings to fly, so the meditator needs both sides of the practice.

When I got home tonight, there was a message from Dr. Mauch's office. It makes me a little nervous -- why would they call today, just when I'm to finish up tomorrow? Now it's too late to call so will have to wait til I get there tomorrow to find out why. Strange, kind of.

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A student once said: "When I was a Buddhist, it drove my parents and friends crazy, but when I am a buddha, nobody is upset at all."

--Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are

Maddening Uncertainty

"Maddening uncertainty" -- that's how Dr. Mauch describes post-radiation treatment. We had an excellent consultation this morning, my last with him. I told him about my ambivalence about ending the active part of the treatment. On the one hand it's most excellent to be done with it, to get your schedule (and energy) back to normal. But it's also kind of hard to let go of the idea of being in active treatment. When I get radiation, I feel as if we are actively treating the disease. He was most kind and understanding, as was Lynn. I have a new funny symptom which is that much of my public hair fell out on the right side. He said it would grow back; I said I didn't care. Lynn said that it's like having a Brazilian bikini wax. A little humor is always welcome. So I will finish on Wednesday! He decided to stick to the original plan of 28 treatments rather than to extend to 30. So now I will make a plan to celebrate on Wednesday night.

Another curious thing about my case is that only 5% of patients have only 1 metastasis. He said there's been little research into this small group. I suggested to the resident that he should take that on as a research challenge -- just joking with him. Dr. Mauch went on to say that there are many areas of medicine that are not fully researched. Why do I continue to find this disconcerting? I have always thought of medicine as very black and white. I am learning that many mysteries remain.

I will have a follow up with him in 2 months but won't need any additional scans before the consultation.

Today's image is another of Val's, this one "Madonna Misercordia 3". She is really a wonderful artist. We had a really good time working side-by-side in the studio over the weekend.

Yesterday I threw the crutches aside and went for another walk. Albeit very short -- just a few driveways up our steep dirt road -- it felt fantastic to feel my heart beating (from exercise, not anxiety!!). Mark was at my side and I walked like a grandmother, but I felt so free. I felt elated when I got back to the house.

We're kind of getting the sleep thing under control. Mark has kindly agreed to keep the house freezing cold at night so that when I wake up, it's easy to cool off and fall right back asleep. Even though treatment will continue a few more days and there is a lingering after-affect, I don't feel so tired. I think it's more about sleeping better than the effects of radiation per se.

madonna misericordia 2

Another image from Val today, this one entitled "Madonna Misercordia 2".

We're having a wonderful time in the studio. It's fun to observe another artist's process. I made a lot of process on the oil painting and worked on more collage as well.

I tend to get restless and easily succumb to cabin fever. So yesterday I took a risk -- whether large or small, I'm not sure -- and took a short walk without the crutches. It felt so liberating. Just up and down the driveway a few times with Mark alongside. I felt no discomfort during or after. I may do the same again today. We're in the middle of another snow storm -- it's beautiful.

Tomorrow will be my last consultation with Dr. Mauch. It feels weird to be finishing up this treatment. Of course I am looking forward to it as it's been exhausting. At the same time I've felt like I'm being cared for on a daily basis, by the medical team and by my drivers, friends and everyone. So ending makes me feel a little vulnerable. There is no way to know whether the cancer is gone other than another biopsy which will not be done unless I have more symptoms. Dr. Mauch hopes that all the cancer cells will be eliminated as he gave a good margin, but no guarantees. In a strange way I will miss the routine of the last 6 weeks. After this treatment series, we just hope and pray for no more metastasis. I hope the Tamoxifen works its magic and protects me from further problems for a long, long time.

dei genetrix

It's really fun to have access to a lot of new images. Val has kindly agreed to let me post any of her images. This one is called "Dei Genetrix" and can be found on her web site www.valerie-spain.com.

We plan to spend the weekend in the studio, making art.

It feels good to sleep in, to give my body some much-needed rest. My body is feeling good, no strange sensations in my hip. Mark and Val just went for a walk in winter wonderland -- how I wish I could go with them. It's very, very cold, about 10 degrees. I am very hopeful that I will get the green light from the bone oncologist to ditch the crutches and get back to my physically active life.

si prohibita impune transcendaris...

Today's image is from my friend Valerie Spain. You can see more of her work on www.valerie-spain.com. We met several years ago at a Cambridge Art Association show that we were both in. I loved her work and was pleased that we met that night. We've been friends ever since. She is spending the weekend with us here in the country.

It seems like everyone I know is getting mammograms now, in response to my situation. My sister finally got an appointment with her primary care physician after waiting several months, but the doctor was running extremely late and my sister had to leave to teach her class. She called to reschedule, and was told she'd have to wait until April. I suggested that she call my PCP, to see if she was taking new patients. The answer was "no". I have my doctor's private number, and by chance she answered the phone. And agreed to take my sister as a new patient! She is really wonderful. She said she'd get her in immediately and would do a mammogram the same day. My sister is so relieved. She has no symptoms, but would like to be checked in any case.

I had a wonderful day off yesterday with my Brazilian "parents". We've known each other for 19 years. My relationship with their son was short-lived, but I've kept in good touch with them all these years. I've been to Brazil to visit them and they've come to Boston to visit me. We share so much -- our personal histories, but many other things as well. Such as love of literature. They brought me two very sophisticated books which will be reading challenges. One is Machado de Assis' "Epitaph of a Small Winner"; the other is Robert Bolano's "2666". I recommended that they consider a book I'm reading now for their book club: Salman Rushdie's "Shalimar the Clown". I feel surrounded by so much love from so many people. It is so strengthening and life-affirming.

Today was radiation #25. The patient before me got wheeled in on a hospital bed. He was hooked up to lots of machines and bags. He didn't seem to be conscious. It was scary and sobering to witness. The whole suite seemed deeply affected. It made me feel extremely grateful that I am still ambulatory and have a treatable situation. I've seen other patients in wheelchairs and such but that was the first time to see someone in a dire situation.

My treatment will end Wednesday or Friday at the latest. Any reason is a good one for me to have a party -- maybe I'll have a get-together to mark this event. I had a party over Labor day to mark the beginning of my cancer journey. Why not one to mark the end of this cycle?

I Will Love You, Again

This poem was sent by Jane a few weeks ago. I am pretty sure that it was written by the same Ellen Bass who wrote "The Courage To Heal" some 20 years ago. I was in social work graduate school when it came out, and it was kind of like a bible to mental health people.

It's kind of funny that this blog is filled with so much poetry as until very recently, I didn't connect with poetry at all. There is now an endless supply as almost every day someone sends something. Maybe it's that poetry is emotional short-hand, it cuts to the chase.

The thing is
to love life
to love it even when you have no
stomach for it , when everything you’ve held
dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands
and your throat is filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you so heavily
it’s like heat, tropical, moist
thickening the air so it’s heavy like water
more fit for gills than lungs.
When grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief.
How long can a body withstand this? you think,
and yet you hold life like a face between your palms,
a plain face, with no charming smile
or twinkle in her eye,
And you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

-- Ellen Bass

Last night I clocked in 10+ hours of sleep. Asleep at 8:30pm. It felt wonderful, and I feel refreshed today.

"I Salute You"

I salute you. I am your friend, and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not. But there is much, very much, that, while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instant. - Fra Giovanni

This is part of a longer passage that Lucy sent a few days ago. Again, this thread of being in the moment, "this present little instant".

Today I had treatment #23. This is exhausting. 5 or 7 more to go. I do OK in the first part of the day. I wake up at 6, enthusiastic to do my practices. It's the best part of the day. I love to sit on my meditation cushion, room dark, just the light of a candle. (I also love the very end of the day when I lie in bed and read until falling asleep.) By mid-day I really begin to fade.

This morning I crutched it over to Dana Farber after radiation to have more blood drawn to check on the calcium levels. There was no order in the computer, even though we stood in a long line last week, waiting to book the order. It took 3 attempts to draw one tube. I've always been an easy stick so it surprises me when the first tech calls over another one to try. Annoying, as it made me late for work. If the levels remain elevated, I will get some IV fluids to "flush out" my system. I don't know what the long-term effect of elevated calcium would be, or what they do to treat it. Last month I was told to take 1200mg calcium supplements daily. Last week I was told to discontinue the supplements.

Tomorrow I'm taking the day off to spend with friends from Brazil. It will be great to visit with them. I had attempted to visit them in September but I had a visa foul-up which was totally my fault. I didn't realize that the visa needed to be used for the first time within 90 days of issue date. It was issued in April so was invalid by the time I used it in September, even though it's good for 5 years and unlimited entries. So I flew as far as Dulles in DC, then had to pay for a hotel room and fly back home the next day. I will never make that mistake again.

Lucy's Shed

I took this image of Lucy's shed in October. She added the Tibetan prayer flags when we learned of my diagnosis. Her farm has always been a touchstone for me, a safe place, a refuge. I love this image.

I'm feeling much, much relieved. I saw Lynn the nurse this morning as I checked in. She is so lovely as is the entire staff of L2. She wanted to make sure I'm doing OK today, and said, "no matter what you're feeling, it's all fine. All feelings are allowed. This is a really hard thing to go through." Balm to my soul.

A Girl's Story

Here is a collage I finished a few days ago. It's called "A Girl's Story" based on some text within the piece. It's 8"x10". I am finishing a floorcloth based on the same design.

As I entered the elevator this morning to go downstairs in the hospital, I recognized the radiologist who did the breast biopsy all those months ago. I said hello and told her that I had been her patient back in August. She gave me a blank stare -- she probably sees dozens of people every single day. As she walked off the elevator, she said, "I hope you're doing well now". I wonder if she noticed the crutches and that I was heading down to radiation oncology.

The last few days were emotionally difficult as I was extremely anxious about my hip. I was worried that the bone wasn't supporting my femur, and that I was at risk of another fracture or something like that. I was tearful, irritable, sad with negative scenarios running through my mind. Maybe estrogen starvation plays into that as well. I went to see the radiation oncologist, Dr. Mauch, today as I do every Monday. As I explained how I've been feeling, I burst into tears. After much discussion and reviewing my images and written reports, he thinks that I have pulled a muscle or a tendon. Where I feel discomfort is not where the bone is compromised. I felt quite reassured by the consultation and grateful to him as well as Lynn, his nurse. I am scheduled to finish up next Wednesday but may go until Friday -- he will discuss my case in rounds today and make the final decision next week. He thinks I'm doing well and that the discomfort is due to being on crutches all these weeks with awkward alignment. What a relief. More of the emotional rollercoaster.

The angels are off quarantine so my sister brought them over tonight. I gave them their belated Christmas gifts. They played their first round of Chinese checkers and were quite quick to pick up the moves. It makes me so, so happy to see them, even though they leave a trail of crumbs as they head out the door. My life is so enriched by them.

So now that I'm not so freaked out, I'm calming down as the day goes on. I ran into another patient today, my brain cancer friend. I met his wife, too. I told him how I've been feeling, and he shook his head knowingly. We all try to stay in our happy place, but this is hard work. It's a real challenge to remain steady in the midst of this storm called cancer.

Dante's Prayer

Liz sent a few verses of "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt in response to my Feet of Clay entry of last week.

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

I'm doing OK. The last few days were kind of scary as I had a lot of sensation in my hip. Not real pain, just a sense of instability and weakness. I'm guessing that the tumor is shrinking and hopefully gone by now, and that the bone hasn't had a chance to grow back, leaving some empty space. This morning it feels fine. My energy is definitely better, but I haven't worked since Tuesday. It's too much to work full-time and do a long course of radiation. The energizer bunny is winding down. This week some friends will visit on Thursday so I'll take that day off. The week after I'll take off a few more days until I finish up.

Yesterday I had a long studio session which was wonderful. However, I notice that it's more difficult to get into and remain in "flow". Pre-cancer, I hit the ground running, so to speak. I have a huge body of work. I was better able to focus and work efficiently. Not it takes me longer to get settled and to sustain attention. Kind of funny, as it's the opposite in meditation practice. But then again these days I notice much and have explanation for little.

For the first time in months I worked on a 40"x30" self-portrait painting. It's not done yet, but I made a lot of progress. The colors are now working but it needs a little more texture and finish work in places. I started it when I was first diagnosed. It starts at the neck and ends below the hips and has a very prominent missing breast. Earth tones, startling lines. I'll post it when it's done. It may be the kind of piece that I will never hang up -- it's intense and unsettling.

I've been invited to curate a show at the collective gallery in Brattleboro in August, breast cancer awareness month. Hopefully I will have a good spring and summer, and will have the energy to do so. And yes, I will show my new almost-finished piece, "All of Me".

moonlit heart's flaming aspiration

Lucy sent this poem a few days ago. It brings into sharp focus much of what I've been pondering of late which is -- what really matters? How to live each day to the fullest, and how to do this over time? With no certainty over how much time one really has. Statistically I have an estimate of how much longer I will live, but it's only an average. I've mentioned in previous blogs that both my parents were killed in separate accidents. They didn't wake up that fateful morning with any sense that it would be their last. Or maybe they did -- I'm only guessing. I remember kissing my dad goodbye on his last morning -- he had a scratchy face and smelled of his usual coffee and stale cigar. I always loved how he smelled.

Don't we all get caught up in what we think will please others? What will impress others?

Yesterday as I was leaving the hospital another patient rushed up to me. We met last week in the waiting room. He has stage 4 brain cancer. He had hoped to see me again as we have different appointment times and didn't exchange cards the first time. He is the most beautiful spirit, his eyes speak volumes. It must be that facing your own mortality brings out what is latent in us. The sense that all "that", the material world, doesn't really matter and will soon not exist, but what remains, "this", is that we want to focus on. "This" meaning our internal world, our spiritual life. Our challenge is to figure out what "this" is. "That" is easy. "This" is the path.

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The New Year

The new year has commenced
Its momentous journey today.
From today on, during the entire year,
I shall not offer my volcano-ambition
To the world.
I shall offer the world
Only my moonlit heart's flaming aspiration.

- Sri Chinmoy

The Miracles

I'd like to introduce the other set of kids, my brother's three teens. I call my sister's kids the angels, and an appropriate name for these 3 is the 'miracles'. Mark and I visited them Christmas weekend and I continue to marvel at how well they are doing. Just a little background and you will understand why they are so amazing. My brother -- no criticism meant here -- was a total burn-out in his youth. Each of us had a hard time in our own way. He went into drop-out mode by dropping out of high school and partying hard for many years. There was a stretch when no one knew where he was. Then he met his wife who exemplifies stability. He is really a new man, sober for many years and the father of 3 amazing kids. Each miracle is what I'd describe as a scholar/athlete. But most importantly, they are really good kids. Not perfect -- that would be scary -- just wonderful. Hats off to my brother and his wife for a job well done.

In this photo Evan is holding a gag gift. There are 2 handles connected by a wire. The 'goal' is to see how much voltage you can handle on a scale of 1 to 5. They invited me to play, but declined as I have enough radiation/current running through my body on a daily basis. They talked Mark into trying it and he got to a 4. Later Trent put both ends under his bare trunk and arms, and turned the volume way up, until his hands started to twitch. Kids.

I'll have radiation this morning, then we'll spend the rest of the weekend in the country. Tonight we'll attend the Gallery Walk in Brattleboro. The first Friday of the month all the shops and galleries are open and it's a big street party. We'll have dinner with friends after the galleries close. Tomorrow night we'll see a show at the Iron Horse in Northampton with other friends.

Aurelia's Oratorio

Last night we braved the cold and snow and had dinner at a wonderful Indian restaurant, then attended a performance of Aurelia's Oratorio at the American Repertory Theatre in Cambridge. I really try to maintain my life as 'normal' as much as possible. It was a challenge on crutches, navigating the show banks and such, but it was a wonderful show. The main actress, Aurelia Thierree, is the granddaughter of Charlie Chaplin. The show incorporated dance, illusions, trapeze, puppetry. No speaking, just a soundtrack with old French music. It felt great to be out, to have a new experience. It also helped that I slept most of the afternoon!

Today we will meet up with a group of friends for dim sum in Chinatown. The last time I did that was probably 20 years ago when Claude still lived here. She would always "rally" us [her words] and would lead us on adventures all over the place. There was always food involved, even at the beach. She had a knack for making everything so elegant, so special. It's no surprise that she set up her own catering business in San Francisco. You can find her at www.chefgarbo.com. Just last week she sent us the most elegant Christmas cookies that are edible, but will also last for years as tree ornaments. The centers are filled with Jolly Rancher candy!

Another treatment tomorrow, then we'll drive to the country for the rest of the weekend. I am to get another blood draw on Wednesday as my calcium levels are still too high. When I got admitted to the ER in mid-November, I was told that elevated calcium is in indicator that your bones are compromised, that they are not solid, and are leaking calcium. Not a good thing. So then I was told to take a daily calcium supplement which I've been doing for the last 2+ months. Yesterday I was told to stop the supplements. This (elevated calcium) is concerning to the Nurse Practicioner, and creates a lot of fear in me, too. Of course I worry that there are other bones involved that are affected and leaking, too. Never in my life was I worried about my health, but now every little thing that happens raises my alarm.

Better living through modern chemistry. I took an Ativan last night and slept so well, just like old times. What a blessing to wake up refreshed and energetic.

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Have confidence in your own spiritual potentiality, your ability to find your own unique way. Learn from others certainly and use what you find useful, but also learn to trust your own inner wisdom. Have courage. Be awake and aware. Remember too that Buddhism is not about being a Buddhist; that is, obtaining a new identity tag. Nor is it about collecting head-knowledge, practices and techniques. It is ultimately about letting go of all forms and concepts and becoming free.

--John Snelling, Elements of Buddhism