Practice kindness

I awoke from my nap this afternoon feeling so weak it took a good 10 minutes before I could push myself up and swing my feet to the floor.

Frankly I found that depressing.

As I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself and feeling that there is almost no point to my life – since owing to increasing illness and infirmity there is little I can actually do – I suddenly thought: “ah, but I can still practice kindness.”

To a culture addicted to materialism I think that kindness may seem at best irrelevant or at worst a form of weakness.

But we all need kindness. To some extent we are actually starved for it, which is one reason there’s so much aggression in our culture. Our environment is certainly starved for a little kindness.

Generating the capacity for kindness – giving rise to an increasing capacity for kindness – and extending kindness to ourselves and to all beings may be one of the most important and significant things we can possibly do.

At this critical time our very survival may depend upon our capacity for kindness.

So lets be kind to each other. It’s one of the first things we all learned as kids. And it actually feels good.

It feels good because kindness flows naturally from a kind heart.

Perhaps we cannot be kind all of the time. I certainly don’t feel kind all of the time. But we can practice. And that’s worth getting out of bed for.

If you'd care to indulge an immediate expression of kindness please consider signing the Sandy Hook Promise: http://www.sandyhookpromise.org/

Note: If you’d like a little gentle encouragement and guidance or perhaps feel the need to reconnect with your own kind heart I recommend listening to the audio recording of a talk given by the western Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön entitled: From Fear to Fearlessness. I found the talk at my local library and was able to borrow and download it onto my computer for absolutely free and from the comfort of home. Now that’s kindness! Yes. Our public library system is an expression of kindness that we all share in because we all support it. J

A super great thing about being really sick

One great thing about being chronically sick and disabled is that I have less energy for my own bullshit.

I have less energy for all the mental trips and games I normally play with myself and with other people. Of course these things are old habits but it’s much easier to drop a pointless and bad habit when you see immediately how sick it makes you.

So it’s hard to feel sorry for myself when I see that being sick is helping me to get real. I see how little time I have left and I don’t want to waste it.

We should all see how little time we have left. When we truly know how short our life is we have a chance to sober up and quit wasting this precious opportunity.

And what is this rare and precious opportunity?

It’s our chance to cut through all our habits and games to the very core of the reason why we’re here which is to love. Love what? Love whom? Love how?

Just love.

This isn’t a self-improvement project.

Be who you truly are which is utterly naked like the wind and the rain and the earth, not pretending to be something or someone else.

Do it now. It can only happen in the space of now. 

Let yourself be

Note: as I’ve gotten sicker writing has become more difficult. In order to continue this blog I’m trying a new format: short and pithy.

Today in a brief email to a friend I wrote: “To say that my health is poor is an understatement. But I’m still alive to joyful walk my spiritual path.”

If you don’t have a spiritual path that’s okay because what I really mean is that so long as we’re alive we have the chance to experience a moment of gentle peace, a quiet space of dignity that is the true nature of who we are. 

Take one moment. Sit silently. Be still.

Beyond worry and fear is peace. Beyond hope is a vast space of fearless freedom. Don’t think about it. Let go and taste it.

Being is not the same as doing. For a few moments each day quit doing.

Let go. Let go of everything. Just be. It’s easy. For just a few moments every day be who you truly are. It will slowly become a habit.

All of life is lived in one moment. We are alive now.

Coping with illness and other stresses – a Buddhist perspective

In order to maintain a basic sense of sanity while coping with constant illness I spend a lot of time working with my mind. Happiness is nothing other than a state of mind and therefore it’s something we actually have control over – it’s up to us.[i] If we pinned happiness to external circumstance then it would be no more stable than a house of cards in the wind. By learning how to work skillfully with our minds we can experience genuine happiness and have more resilience for handling stress.

Habitual tendencies

We use concepts and language often without realizing it to fuel our emotional states, as if we have to keep reminding ourselves why it is that we’re anxious, frustrated or afraid. We tell ourselves the same old stories over and over again and rarely give our mind a rest. Like a child poking a stick into a hornet’s nest we’re continually stirring up our mind, making ourselves unnecessarily miserable.

When we look straight at our experience without the weighty baggage of our usual narrative we can start to see that things aren’t as claustrophobic, solid or substantial as they seem. A sense of space opens up within the very experience of worry, anger, or fear. When we drop the labels and mental chitchat, even if only for a few seconds, we’re free to watch our mind and to let the energy of our mind settle on its own. When our mind is calm we are able to be relaxed and to experience a basic sense of well-being.

Calm abiding

Because we’re so used to our habitual ways of relating to people and situations we don’t notice when our minds are spinning out of control. By the time we do notice we’re in the midst of a full-blown drama: frustration has flared into anger; worry has turned into paralyzing fear and suddenly we’re completely off balance, unable to control our whirling thoughts and feelings.

When our minds are overwhelmed by negative emotions even the simplest things are difficult and cause additional suffering. When we have a calm and peaceful mind everything is more workable and even difficult challenges are manageable.

The best way to cultivate a calm mind is through the practice of mindfulness. By practicing mindfulness we know what our minds are doing: we can see when our mind is agitated or aggressive, excited or overwhelmed, sad or happy. By cultivating mindfulness we get to know our mind in all of its states. When we know our mind well and are able to maintain some degree of mindfulness then we aren't so easily ambushed by negative emotional state or carried away by positive ones. 

As a means to develop mindful awareness Buddhism teaches the meditation practice of shamatha, a Sanskrit word translated as “calm abiding”. In shamatha practice the breath is used as a focal object to give the mind something to focus on. We simply follow the breath in and out as we breath. Each time we notice that we've lost our mindfulness and that our minds have been chasing after thoughts we let those thoughts go and return to watching the breath. We simply drop the thoughts without any judgment about “good thoughts” or “bad thoughts” and return our attention to the breath. By practicing this technique we develop concentration and the ability to maintain a calm mind even in the midst of extreme situations and emotional states.

Prajna

Mindfulness is a powerful and profound practice and can help us deal with both stress and physical pain but according to Buddhism it isn't enough to truly free us from suffering. To experience genuine freedom from suffering we need to develop prajna, or wisdom – the wisdom that sees how things really are. We’re constantly bamboozled by our belief in external appearances; we believe in our dualistic perceptions of subject and object, perceiver and perceived. But that apparent dualism is more like a habit of mind and not how things truly are.

One of the simplest examples used in Buddhism to describe the true nature of phenomena is the reflection of the moon on water. On a clear night with a full moon we can see a bright, vivid, luminous and convincingly real image of the moon shining on a still lake. The reflected moon does not exist in any substantial way but is the mere appearance of a moon that arises from causes and conditions that have come together: a clear night, a full moon; a still lake.

Likewise, everything we think, feel or perceive with our senses – taste, touch, sound, sight, smell – arises from the coming together of various causes and conditions. Although this is obvious we rarely think about the implications, which are utterly profound: our entire phenomenal world including the “I” or “self” has no permanent, unchanging, or independent identity.

Because all phenomena are dependently arisen they are no more substantial than a reflection of the moon on water. When we can actually see how it is the all phenomena are vividly appearing yet empty in essence that is the birth of wisdom in our minds. When we truly understand interdependence we have the chance to free ourselves from suffering because we realize that whatever appears is just like a reflection. Whatever we experience is illusion-like. At that point we quit grasping or clinging to dualistic appearances of sadness and happiness, friend and enemy, illness and health, etc. and we experience a profound equanimity.

Note: The way we develop the prajna that understands and sees interdependence is through the practice of Vipashyana or analytical meditation. Shamatha and Vipashyana are best learned at a meditation center where one can receive instruction from a teacher with experience in these profound methods of working with the mind.

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[i] Certain physical conditions, like depression caused by chemical imbalances, can make it more challenging to experience happy states of mind. But knowing how to work with the mind in a skillful way can still be beneficial and help alleviate suffering.

Cultivating peace and happiness within the experience of loss

Chronic illness is among other things an experience of profound loss. The loss of one’s health necessarily means a host of other losses that can include one’s friends, family, job, home, security, independence, mobility, strength, and stamina – the list can be almost endless. But it doesn't have to include happiness and peace of mind.

In fact we can use the opportunity of illness and suffering to generate something that Buddhists refer to as boundless joy - sometimes called sympathetic joy.

How do we develop such a quality of joy? By rejoicing whenever we see or hear of someone else’s good fortune. We have lots of opportunities to practice sympathetic joy because when we’re sick we often see or hear about other people enjoying life in ways we no longer can.

Of course it isn't always easy to feel joyful especially if we have habits of jealousy or resentment, which most of us do to some degree. This is our chance to become familiar with some of our negative habits and develop positive ones instead. At first it takes practice. In the beginning we have to make some effort but eventually feeling genuinely happy for other people becomes a new habit.

If we notice we’re feeling resentful or jealous that can be a reminder: “oh, yeah, instead of feeling resentment I can use this chance to practice feeling joyful.” Then we flip the negative habit – we drop it – and give rise to  happiness for the person towards whom we were feeling jealous. We smile and feel genuine happiness in our heart that the other person is happy and that good things are happening for them.

Notice that the happiness is in our own mind and heart. It actually feels good! With a little practice we start to automatically feel happy for other people when good things happen for them. We start to develop a happier and more peaceful mind.

This is part of a Buddhist practice called the Four Immeasurables: boundless equanimity, boundless compassion, boundless loving-kindness and boundless joy. They are called “immeasurable” or “boundless” because we cultivate these qualities towards all sentient beings. Since the number of sentient beings is considered to be infinite these qualities are also infinite as we develop the ability to extend them to all beings.

In brief, equanimity is considering all beings including friends and enemies as equal and having no partiality towards those we think of as friends or enmity towards those we consider enemies. Compassion is the desire to free all sentient beings from suffering and loving-kindness is the wish that all sentient beings have happiness.

We can use the opportunity of chronic illness to develop all of these qualities. When we suffer we can think that we don’t want anyone, not even someone we might think of as an enemy, to have such pain. Then we can extend our compassion and think how we would like all beings to be free from suffering. We think how wonderful it would be if all sentient beings were happy; we make the wish that everyone would have everything they need in order to be happy. Then we can practice sympathetic joy by rejoicing when we actually see that other people are happy.

When doing these kinds of practices it’s best to start with those we care about and have some feeling of affection for, otherwise it’s too difficult. Gradually we can extend these practices towards those for whom we have neutral feelings. Eventually we can include people we have difficult relationships with or whom we think of as enemies or have some feelings of revulsion or aggression towards.

In the Buddhist tradition when we do such practices at the end we always dedicate the merit so that all sentient beings have happiness and are free from suffering. These profound practices enable us to generate vast loving-kindness and compassion as well as a happy and peaceful mind.

Illness and the Buddha’s begging bowel

In Old Path White Clouds, Thich Nhat Hanh’s classic retelling of the Buddha’s life, the Buddha explained why he and his disciples begged for their daily meal: begging was a spiritual discipline that enabled the monks to develop patience and humility and because it freed them from having to prepare their own meals they had more time for spiritual practice. Moreover the monks learned not to be overly attached to food and to accept whatever was offered with gratitude – even a small yam or bit of rice was better than an empty bowl.

Because the monks were in daily contact with the lay community they established meaningful relationships with the townsfolk and could share the Buddha’s teachings with anyone who expressed interested. The concept of karma is deeply rooted in India and the villagers, whether Hindu or Buddhist, understood that they accumulated merit and good karma by offering food to the monks. By relying upon the generosity of villagers for their food the monks were reminded everyday of the truth of interdependence – that we are all interconnected and dependent upon each other.

We generally think of dependency as a bad thing. The truth however is that we are dependent upon each other all of the time. The problem is that we don’t usually see let alone acknowledge our interdependence. That’s partly because our culture over-values independence. We have an entire national mythology, a sort of cultural fantasy, of rugged individualism that might be great for our egos but that’s devastating for our development of kindness and community.  Of course we are all unique individuals each with our own talents and gifts. But at the same time we depend upon each other for our very existence.

Illness reminds me daily of my dependency and the truth of interdependence. I have to ask for help cooking my meals, doing laundry, getting to medical appointments, picking up prescriptions, shopping for food. Even the most basic things are often beyond what I can manage. Everyday I rely upon family, friends and even strangers for assistance. Most people are happy to help – it feels good to help another person.

Whenever I do ask for help, perhaps for something as simple as reaching for an object off a grocery shelf, there is a small but profound moment of contact with another human being. In that way illness provides me with opportunities to develop meaningful connections with other people and my community. In turn, my dependency creates opportunities for other people to practice generosity, kindness, compassion and even patience. And that’s a good thing. How else can we develop these qualities?

When we can’t take care of our own needs we can either become bitter and resentful or we can learn to accept our situation. I have to be patient with my situation and with those who are trying to help me. I have to be willing to ask for and accept help even though it's not always easy to do. Illness is my chance to practice and develop qualities of patience, kindness, gratitude, and humility. It's extremely humbling to be dependent which may be one reason, culturally speaking, that we prefer to forget our interdependence.

Humility is not valued in our culture and yet it's extremely important. We tend to think of humility as a kind of weakness but actually it’s a great strength. When we've tamed our ego to the extent that we care as much for and about other people as we do ourselves that is freedom. It's freedom because we've freed our minds, if even just a little bit, from poisonous emotions like jealousy and resentment, pride, arrogance, anger, spite and all the negative states of mind that cause us so much suffering – sometimes far worse than any physical illness. Gentleness, humility, kindness and compassion are true strengths that reflect genuine and unshakable fearlessness. I aspire to such fearlessness.

When I was still healthy I was stubbornly independent and wouldn’t ask for help even when I needed it. That’s not a good way to be in the world because it closes off opportunities to deepen our connectedness to each other and community. Living with chronic illness is not easy but it can be a rich spiritual journey. I can either waste the time I have left feeling sorry for myself or grab this chance to tame my own mind and develop all of the openhearted qualities that are so important. As I see it, illness is an utterly profound reminder of what is truly important and of the truth and blessing of interdependence. I’m reminded of these things everyday as if I too were walking from home to home with a begging bowl.

Suffering and the path of wisdom

It’s something of a joke among Buddhists – and among those who know something about Buddhism – that we spend a lot of time studying, contemplating and meditating upon suffering. It sounds depressing but actually it’s a very pragmatic thing to do because it acknowledges the reality of our situation. We can’t work with suffering effectively unless we have the courage to look at our experience exactly as it is without any sugarcoating. By doing that we get to know our situation in great detail so that we can relate to it with a sense of open-mindedness and sanity instead of the usual close-minded neurotic way we relate to things.

The first teaching the Buddha gave after attaining enlightenment is known as The Four Noble Truths. Of those, the first is the truth of suffering. Why did the Buddha begin 40 years of teaching talking about suffering? Why didn’t the Buddha talk about enlightenment first?

The reason the Buddha talked about suffering first is because we can’t attain enlightenment by ignoring and skipping over the reality of our experience. It isn’t possible to skip straight to enlightenment. We have to begin the journey to enlightenment based upon the truth without glossing over how things are. “This life,” the Buddha told his disciples over and over again, “is suffering.” The Buddha didn’t say that to depress the monks, he said that to encourage them to get real and see things the way they are.

Of course no one wants to hear, let alone acknowledged, that this life is suffering. We want to think that suffering is only a small part of our experience. We want to think that if we just do the right thing, if we exercise everyday, if we eat our vegetables, if we wear a seatbelt, if we say “please” and “thank you” then we can avoid suffering. But that’s not realistic. If we look honestly at things we can see that suffering pervades all of our experiences in obvious and subtle ways. There are obvious forms of suffering associated with sickness, accidents, aging and death. Even those things that make us happy have the seeds of suffering in them.

For example: every spring when fresh strawberries finally arrive (imagine your favorite fruit for this example) the first berry is absolutely heavenly – plump, juicy and luscious – so is the second, third and fourth berry. But at some point we become jaded and the strawberries don’t taste quite as sweet. There’s a subtle dissatisfaction right in the midst of our pleasure. Added to that is the fact that they don’t last, which causes an additional feeling of disappointment. Maybe we eat too many and feel uncomfortable and a little sick of the berries. If we look closely at all of our experiences in this way we will find an undercurrent of dissatisfaction or discontent even in the most pleasant situations. That’s because things are impermanent and changing. Nothing lasts forever. Moreover, things never go exactly as we want no matter how much we try and control them.

It’s said that when we experience suffering so deeply that we want to be free of it, that very desire to be free is the first step on the path to enlightenment. If our life is nice and cushy then there’s no motivation to want to wake up. But when we’re completely sick and tired of suffering we have a lot of incentive to do something about it. When we’re sitting in the nightmare of our situation we want to wake up out of our dream of suffering. That dissatisfaction is a powerful motivation to start to question our experience and begin our journey towards wisdom. Without such motivation we’d never question our life, we’d never want to wake up. Who wants to wake up from a nice dream?

So that’s the good news about suffering. The moment we take a closer look at it we’ve started our journey on the path of wisdom. And what is that path of wisdom? It’s the journey of discovering the true nature of suffering, which is ultimately about realizing the true nature of our own mind. And what is the true nature of mind? According to all the Buddhist masters who have actually realized that nature, the fundamental nature of our own mind is peace, or nirvana. That fundamental nature is freedom from suffering.

It’s said that when we have some realization of the nature of mind then we experience peace right in the midst of whatever is happening. One doesn’t have to be a fully enlightened Buddha to develop some genuine experience of peace or to experience a taste of freedom from suffering. One does, however, need to know something about the true nature of mind and to learn about that we first have to develop a firm understanding of the truth of suffering. Through investigating our own experience we generate a sense of conviction about the truth of suffering and that starts us on the path of wisdom. Otherwise, without such conviction, we’ll never take that first step towards freedom.

For you who consider suicide

Note: This article is for readers who may be having suicidal thoughts now or who have had such thoughts in the past and are not in immediate danger of acting on those thoughts. If you are at high risk of committing suicide please call a crisis line now: click here for phone numbers. If you are an immediate danger to yourself call 911 now.

Living with chronic illness is sometimes an exercise in managing overwhelming grief and despair. Days slip by in a blur of pain and fatigue. Social connections and community ties drop away. Friendships disappear because we don’t have energy to maintain them. Isolation becomes a kind of prison. Everything is hard to manage. Limited resources – physical, financial, mental and emotional – are stretched to the breaking point.

Without support from family and friends our most basic needs may not be adequately met as our collective social safety net is eroded to almost nothing. Because our society places a high value on productivity it is unforgiving to those of us who are unable to contribute in the workforce. If we’re unable to work we may begin to feel that there’s no purpose to our life. Even in the best of situations hopelessness and despair can be frequent companions.

Any or all of these things can snowball until suicide feels like the only, or perhaps best, option. Our world becomes a claustrophobic hell of suffering and we just want out of it. In those darkest moments how can we resist suicide?

Here are four techniques I use:

1. I remind myself (over and over again) that despair and depression are temporary; eventually they recede in intensity even if they don’t entirely go away. No matter how much despair I may be feeling or how many suicidal thoughts I have I don’t act on them. We live in a culture that values action and when we’re suffering we may feel like we’ve got to do something, anything, to make it stop. No matter how strong the impulse I resist the temptation to act on my suicidal thoughts. Instead, I try to sit with and simply be with whatever is happening. I sit with the depression and pain, whether it’s physical or emotional or mental pain, and try to relax as much as possible. By relaxing even just a little bit depression and pain can become more bearable. The more we can relax the more bearable our situation becomes.
2. When I’m having suicidal thinking I reach out to a friend or family member so that someone knows what’s going on. It’s not easy to do but it actually keeps me safer. In the past I’ve asked people to make me promise not to hurt myself. For me that’s been a powerful lifeline. If I make a promise to a friend or family member that I’m not going to hurt myself then I feel a responsibility to uphold that. It’s a bargain I’ve made with someone else that I feel a need to adhere to. It’s important to remember that the person we reach out to wants to be there for us. Our life matters to them even if, in the moment of our worst depression or despair, it no longer matters to us. Eventually we will value our life again and then we’ll be grateful that we reached out for help.
3. Over many years of working with severe depression I’ve learned to think of it as something that is completely impersonal. I try to see depression, to relate to it and experience it, as if it were nothing worse than a temporary weather system that’s set in – a long stretch of gloomy rainy days that will eventually lift and move on. This technique is similar to the first point above because it involves a willingness to simply be with what’s happening, to relax with it and wait it out.
4. Whenever we resist the urge to commit suicide – and instead protect our own lives – it becomes easier for others to do the same. No matter how depressed I am I keep resisting suicide in order to help other people. It’s well known that suicide runs in families and can span multiple generations. As my therapist once said, “suicide is a terrible family legacy.” Suicides often come in clusters within the larger community as well. When a person takes their own life it increases the risk that another person – whether a family member or stranger – may do the same. By resisting suicide we may actually save another person’s life. We may even save the life of one of our own future descendents or relatives. And that’s worth doing.

One day when I was in particular pain and thinking about suicide it occurred to me that if I’m really willing to take my life then I ought to be able to find the courage to face my life. It really helped. I had this sense of fearlessness. Because at that point, when I’m willing to end my life, then I’ve got nothing to lose. So why not continue to live? When there’s nothing to lose that means we’re beyond hope – we’re experiencing hopelessness – but since hope and fear always go together like two sides of a coin that means we’re also beyond fear. We can be fearless. At least for a little while we can experience that. We can have a taste of what that’s like.

When there’s nothing to lose what’s actually left is kindness and compassion. We can experience what it’s like to have a fearless kindness and compassion for ourselves. Love, compassion and kindness have always been the most important things. So we have this amazing chance; we have this precious opportunity to extend kindness to ourselves and to others no matter what’s happening, no matter how sick we may be, no matter how much pain we may be in. What does that look like? It’s just as simple as a smile. Of course we can’t smile all of the time, but if we smile once in a while that’s good enough.

Years ago a friend sent me a card with a famous saying from the Talmud: “And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he [or she] saved an entire world.” The life we save can be our own. Our life, no matter how seemingly ordinary, is a miracle and the smile we share with another may end up traveling around the world. If we aren’t here to share that smile when it’s our turn to pass it along it will never reach the next person who needs it.

My Story: what's wrong with me?

In 1992 I moved to New Mexico to attend graduate school in Albuquerque. I was 32 and in excellent health, or so I thought, but by 1995 I knew something was wrong. My hands and feet burned and tingling, a curious sensation that was especially acute at night when I was in bed. I developed sudden and severe seasonal allergies, had increasing sensitivity to chemicals and fragrances and experienced periodic muscular weakness in my legs.  Stabbing pain in my head made me fearful that I was having small strokes. Looking back, signs of illness were clearly apparent by my late 20s. There were years of drenching night sweats along with swollen and painful lymph glands, insomnia, anxiety and extreme weight loss. When in my thirties the muscular and neurological symptoms first appeared I assumed it was the onset of MS but without medical insurance had no ability to see a doctor.

Despite increasingly strange symptoms I still enjoyed a reasonable level of health. Then, in September 1998, after a day spent rock climbing in Canada and only three days after finishing a 73-mile solo backpack trip, I found myself in a hospital in acute congestive heart failure. My heart was enlarged and seriously damaged with significant left ventricle failure. At the time I was told there was no hope for recovery and advised to get on a transplant list. By a miracle, over the course of several months my heart recovered its mechanical (pumping) functioning with only minor residual damage to the electrical system. It took a year and a half to regain much of my strength but by summer of 2000 I was biking to work. For a couple of years I was able to take long walks, do some modest cross-country skiing and even managed one 40-mile backpack trip – the last I would ever take. 

In early winter 2004 my health took a sudden nosedive. I could no longer bike to work and spent increasing amounts of time on the couch during the weekends. I had episodes of breathlessness and alarming cardiac arrhythmia when walking. By spring I was having problems at work. Most disturbing was the decline in my cognitive functioning. Once mentally agile I was now easily confused. I suffered from memory loss and struggled with word recall; my comprehension was poor and I had difficulty tracking and assimilating information. A tremor that manifested in my early 30s was significantly worse. My gait was unsteady and I couldn’t walk a straight line. When walking the long corridors of my office I bounced off the walls, bumping first into one then overcorrecting and staggering into the next.

By June I could no longer work and had difficulty getting out of bed. All of my muscles hurt. My legs were so weak they shook with the effort of standing. I was exhausted and spent all my time in bed or on the couch. I didn’t have the strength to clean house or do laundry – cooking was nearly impossible. Finally, unable to care for myself, I spent two month living with family. Along with all the other symptoms I had a constant headache, abdominal pain, dizziness and nausea. The tingling and burning in my hands and feet had moved up into my arms and legs and caused constant pain during the day and night. Bright lights and loud noise hurt my head. Curtains were kept closed to keep rooms as dark as possible. I was unable to watch television, read, use a computer for any significant length of time, or even talk on the phone.

Despite the severity of my symptoms I had no identifiable disease. Two doctors diagnosed me with chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia but those diagnoses failed to identify what was actually making me sick. Routine blood tests came back normal. A neurologist assured me nothing was wrong despite severe cognitive problems and the fact that my muscles weren’t functioning properly. Doctors were focused on the scope and severity of my cardiac arrhythmia – a twenty-four hour Holter monitor failed to record one normal sinus rhythm. In August thyroid tests came back positive for Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis. My cardiologist had me on medication for tachycardia and was threatening to do a catheter ablation to burn out the area of my heart that was misfiring. But neither treatment addressed the underlying cause of my illness – a wonky heart and thyroid were mere casualties of a war raging in my body.

Panicked, I spent what little energy I had when I could actually get off the couch scanning the web for clues that might point to what was wrong. I began to suspect an environmental cause and searched, without much luck, for information about mold. The apartment building I lived in was old. There was obvious mold on windowsills and the kitchen fans vented straight into the roof. I even removed electrical plates to peer into walls but without any luck. Unfortunately, information about mold illness was still in its infancy and I gave up pursuing that possibility.

My google efforts eventually lead me to suspect Lyme disease – the only illness I could find that listed all of the symptoms I had. My naturopath ordered a PCR test that came back negative. When I finally realized that doctors were never going to figure out what was wrong with me I quit seeking medical help. In September I moved in with a friend and slowly recovered enough to return to work part-time. By March 2005 I was able to get another apartment and live by myself but my health remained extremely fragile. In July 2005 I had a pacemaker put in.

I limped along until spring 2008 when the research institute that I worked for relocated to another building. Within weeks I started getting sick and suspected that the building was the cause. There was a terrible odor in my office and I kept the window open all the time. Co-workers complained to each other about the building but there was little we could do against a powerful state institution. By May I was in trouble. My cognitive function was deteriorating again. One day I got in the car to go to the chiropractor but when I drove to the end of the block I froze at the stop sign; I couldn’t remember how to get to his office.

In June 2008 I had a complete relapse; all of the old symptoms returned with a vengeance. Once again I was unable to work. I spent most of June in bed and on the verge of having a seizure. Sometimes I’d lie on my bedroom floor and put my head in the closet with a sleeping bag over it just to close out all light and sound. In August I started seeing a naturopath who diagnosed me with Lyme disease. At the time it made sense. I’d grown up in rural north Idaho where ticks were common and had spent years hiking and backpacking. In September I started antibiotic therapy and spent six weeks living with my parents.

In late fall I returned to my apartment and part-time job. Now the office building was even worse. In my absence they’d started a remodeling project. The first day they painted near my office I was exposed to fumes for nearly seven hours. I was so sick I barely made it home. All of my muscles burned, the back of my neck felt like it was in a vice, I had chills and a headache and felt like I was going to projectile vomit. For three hours I saw a blue fog everywhere. My muscles shook and twitched uncontrollably – I thought I was dying and I knew I couldn’t go back into that building.

My supervisor approved a telecommuting schedule and I found an office in another building on campus that I worked from two days a week. I struggled to hold onto my job while being treated for Lyme disease. A year and a half of antibiotics did nothing to improve my health, which continued to deteriorate. By May 2010 my supervisor insisted that I return to the office. Every time I went into the building I got sicker. In June I went on a year-long sick leave but by then my health was ruined. I left Seattle, moved in with my parents and applied for disability. A year later, in June 2011, I officially quit my job.

In summer 2011 I started reading Dr. Ritchie Shoemaker’s book Surviving Mold. In August a genetic test came back positive for one of the worst HLA genotypes for mold illness, the “dreaded” 4-3-53. In January 2012 I traveled to Maryland to see Dr. Shoemaker. Thorough blood tests confirmed biotoxin illness from exposure to mold. All of my symptoms going back nearly 30 years are the result of chronic inflammation caused by mold toxins. Even the cardiomyopathy (heart failure) may well have been caused by inflammation associated with biotoxin illness.

For information about biotoxin illness caused by mold: www.survivingmold.com/diagnosis
See also my previous post:
http://comingbacktopeace.blogspot.com/2012/06/biotoxin-illness-basics.html

Biotoxin Illness: the basics

Biotoxin illness generally occurs when: 1) a person is exposed to a biotoxin; and, 2) has a genetic predisposition or susceptibility. When those two things come together a process of chronic inflammation is set in motion. The basic dynamic of the illness can be summed up simply: exposure to biotoxins plus genetic susceptibility triggers inflammation that results in illness. In addition, and this is extremely important to know: biotoxins directly affect and impair nerve and cell function. Moreover, a sustained or massive exposure to biotoxins may cause illness in people who do not otherwise have a genetic susceptibility.

EXPOSURE + GENETICS = INFLAMMATION = ILLNESS

Exposure

As its name suggests, a biotoxin is a toxin produced by a living organism. People can acquire biotoxins from food, water, air, or insects such as spiders and ticks, and indoor environments. Many types of bacteria produce biotoxins including borrelia burgdorferi, the bacterium responsible for Lyme disease, and cyanobacteria found in blue-green algal blooms. Exposure to mold is by far the most common cause of biotoxin illness. People are exposed to mold (and toxic mold spores) when they live, work or spend any time in a building that has been water damaged. Mold is often invisible. It can be found inside walls, in basements and attics, and in HVAC systems. Mold is a common problem in homes that have a crawlspace with exposed dirt.

Genetics

Genes are like the operating system for a computer; they contain all of the instructions necessary for our bodies to function properly. When there’s a problem with our genetic code there will usually be a corresponding problem somewhere in our body. Think of it as a type of programming error in which the genetic code causes a system malfunction. In the case of biotoxin illness, the genetic problem is found in a certain group of genes known as human leukocyte antigen (HLA) genotypes. The HLA system contains a large number of genes that regulate immunity in humans. HLA regulation specifically relates to the body’s innate immune system and plays a key role in the body’s ability to identify and get rid of foreign molecules (antigens), including biotoxins. There are different configurations of HLA genes, which are referred to as HLA haplotypes. It turns out that 25% of all people have a HLA haplotype that makes us susceptible to biotoxin illness. When those of us with genetic susceptibility are exposed to a biotoxin our innate immune system, which is regulated by the HLA haplotype, cannot properly identify and get rid of the toxin. 

Immune system dysfunction

Antigen detection and presentation – the process by which the innate immune system identifies a foreign molecule and then presents that molecule to the adaptive immune system – is complex. But what’s important to know is that when the innate immune system can’t properly detect and present foreign molecules to the adaptive immune system, the adaptive immune system isn’t able to make antibodies. Without antibodies we have no way to eliminate the foreign molecule (antigen), or biotoxin. The genetic foundation of this immune system failure is the basic mechanism underlying biotoxin illness. HLA genes (HLA haplotype) cause a malfunction in the immune system which then cannot do its job. It’s as if the innate immune system has a faulty program operating system. 

Chronic Inflammation

Inflammation is the body’s first line of defense when it identifies any type of antigen including bacteria, viruses and biotoxins. In a normal healthy immune response the body regulates inflammation until the threat is gone and then the inflammation response stops. In biotoxin illness the body’s inflammatory response doesn’t get shut off. Because of immune system dysfunction – faulty antigen detection and presentation – biotoxins continue to circulate through the body causing ever-increasing inflammation. Under this onslaught, the body’s ability to regulate inflammation is quickly overwhelmed. Chronic inflammation causes damage to multiple systems in the body resulting in a complex, multi-system, multi-symptom illness. See: survivingmold.com/diagnosis/the-biotoxin-pathway

Illness

Dr. Ritchie Shoemaker provides an excellent overview of the illness on his website which includes a list of common symptoms and a 90-minute video. See: survivingmold.com/diagnosis

Resources:

• Surviving Mold: Life in the Era of Dangerous Buildings, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2010
• Mold Warriors: Fighting America’s Hidden Health Threat, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2005
• Desperation Medicine, Ritchie C. Shoemaker, M.D., 2001
• survivingmold.com 
• chronicneurotoxins.com

Disclaimer: This article is a simplification of complex biological and chemical processes. I am not a doctor and this is not medical advice; I am a patient doing patient education. Readers are encouraged to educate themselves and if necessary to consult a medical doctor familiar with biotoxin illness.

Ordinary Beauty

The view outside my window looks onto a small pond in which several large brightly colored Koi swim lazy circles. An artificial stream and waterfall provide background accompaniment to the cheerful melody of songbirds. The home I live in is not my own – I live with my parents who help care for me – and the pond belongs to the neighbors. Suburban beauty.

wild daisies along the backyard fence

Previously I lived in an apartment in Seattle where my views were largely dominated by asphalt and concrete with one lovely slice of sky just above the three story townhouses across the street. To the constant background roar of traffic was added the more human sounds of conversation and music that wafted through the thin walls of the building. Filling every patch of dirt along the sidewalks lining that particular block of 22^nd Ave NE were flowers, shrubs and trees creating tiny magical islands of lush greens and vibrant colors.

The yearly show in my Seattle neighborhood began with crocuses in the late winter, followed by daffodils and narcissus of every sort, then tulips, irises, rhododendrons, azaleas, lilacs, roses, hollyhocks, magnolias, dogwoods and yet more flowers and flowering trees than I can recall or name. In the spring and summer pots overflowing with kitchen herbs, geraniums, nasturtiums, lobelia, African daisies, pansies, petunias, and again more flowers than I know by name, lined decks and patios. Birds built nests, drank foul water in the cracks of the road, and called out their merry songs. At night one could see the occasional raccoon or possum and people filled the streets by day and night. Beauty was everywhere in sights, sounds, and even fragrance – of spring lilacs and summer roses, cooking dinners, scents from the local bakery and coffee houses, grilling meat form the neighborhood burger joint – free for all to enjoy. Beauty and life in the urban wilds rivals anything in the country or suburbs. And I know – I grew up on over 200 acres of fields and old forests where an encounter with deer or a bear was nearly as likely as meeting a neighbor on the road.

early spring weeds in the sidewalk 

Chronic illness seems to have shrunk my world but beauty is always there. I see it now in the tiny ecosystem of “weeds” growing in the cracks of a sidewalk. I see it in the cover-plate of the local sewer access. My beautiful world is one block long – the length that I can walk. Much of the block has a rugged stone retaining wall at the perfect height for sitting and the sun-warmed stones sooth the pain in my legs. As an exercise in seeing the diversity of beauty in my world, I started photographing ordinary details within the single block that is now my short tether. Every feature and aspect of the interwoven tapestry of life that connects us all one to the other is beautiful just as it is. 

detail of stone retaining wall

Beauty is a state of mind, a quality of our attention and intention, and can be cultivated and nurtured as a habit of mind. In the midst of suffering and despair beauty calls to us, pulls us from the claustrophobic confines of our private agonies and deepest fears. Despite the ubiquitous herbicide that one of our neighbors annually sprays in the cracks of the sidewalk, the lovely weeds and wild growing things will again be back next year. Beauty is impermanent, changing, fleeting and unceasing. It is beyond our control, akin to kindness and compassion, to know beauty in its variety is certainly to be touched by grace.

WWBD

May 17 according to the Tsurluk Tibetan calendar was Saga Dawa Duchen, the day on which the birth, enlightenment and death of the Buddha is celebrated. For that reason it’s believed to be a day on which karma, or the consequences of our actions, is greatly magnified. The day started for me as most do with breakfast followed by meditation practice with special prayers to celebrate the occasion. Well before noon, however, things took a nosedive. Ten years of practice seemed to evaporate as I was engulfed by an overwhelming wave of anger.

For several hours I carried the anger, painfully aware that it was Saga Dawa, painfully aware of my previous post, “Let It Go,” but still unable to do so. It was with me as I went about the grueling business of going to a medical appointment, two pharmacies and the grocery story. The unexpected need to do so many chores was the spark that ignited my angry state of mind. It flared upon discovery that I was out of vegetables. It sounds silly. But for those of us with chronic illness there’s no such thing as a quick trip to the market. Every outing is planned to account for my energy level and an extra stop was more than I could manage. 

This past year I’ve relied upon my mother to do most of my shopping and, uncharacteristically, she’d forgotten some things. Mom offered to go for me but by then I was beyond reason and stubbornly insisted on going myself. Anger is a common response to the many losses and dependencies of chronic illness. It’s a challenge to maintain patience when one is exhausted, in pain, and dependent upon others. I know better than to let anger take control but on this day it got the better of me. It’s an emotion even healthy people can’t afford. Anger depletes energy, undermines the immune system and leaves a buildup of toxic chemicals in the body.

Driving to the grocery store I was mindful of traffic knowing how dangerously distracted I was. Ahead of me written in large letters on a bumper sticker was the acronym WWBD. At a stoplight I was able to read the small print: “what would Buddha do?” My mind froze as a wave of shame washed over me. It’s not pleasant to look at our shortcomings under the microscope of comparison to historical and contemporary figures that embody loving kindness, compassion, patience, and a host of other virtues. But when we falter it’s a chance to assess our behavior, renew our commitment to doing the best we can, then forgive ourselves and move on. Years ago a Christian friend sang me these lines from a song:

We fall down and we get up,

We fall down and we get up,

For a saint is just a sinner

Who fell down and then got up.

In a recent conversation the same friend, Joe Greer, observed, “It’s in our own failures that we have the compassion to see that other people’s failures are the same [as our own].” It’s encouraging to know that our shortcomings, failures, and mistakes can be a cause of compassion for others and ourselves. Even an emotion as volatile as anger can be used to inspire kindness.

According to the Buddhist view anger is the most destructive of our emotions. It can destroy in an instant all of our previous positive deeds like a blazing fire can destroy an entire forest. It’s an emotional state of mind that we have to work skillfully with. Fortunately I’d not said anything pointedly unkind to my mother although I had been noticeably surly. Of course the anger had taken a physical toll, worse yet it had undermined my confidence – the confidence that I can walk my chosen spiritual path. What would Buddha do? The Buddha failed many times on his path towards enlightenment but kept on going. This Saga Dawa I tripped and fell and then got up. The next morning I mediated again and with renewed confidence vowed to do better at mastering my mind.

And before the day was finished I apologized to my mother – who gently reminded me to let it go.

For further contemplation, two wisdom quotes posted on Twitter by Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, http://twitter.com/#!/ponlop:

“Erring and erring we walk down the unerring path.” - the contemporary Buddhist master Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche

“So, I learn from my mistakes.” – Johnny Cash

Let it Go

Years ago I worked with a woman who used acronyms when speaking as a way to code conversation that our supervisor might overhear. One of her favorites was LIG – let it go. I learned many things in that job, among them that the only and best response in a situation is often none at all. Rather than react or respond – especially when under the influence of a powerful emotion – it’s more useful to look directly inward at our own mind, watch carefully and cautiously, and then as the energy begins to dissipate let it go. Whatever emotion or negative thought that manifests don’t grab onto it or use it to build resentments, feel self-righteous or victimized (two of my old favorites), or manufacture stories and additional painful emotions. Just LIG!

As a child my family went to church every Sunday morning where we sat in an austere Lutheran chapel and listened to a minister who – aware that adults tend to make things more complicated than necessary – wisely geared his sermons to the children among his parishioners. One Sunday, as we waited sitting on the hard wooden pews, it seemed that our pastor had gone missing when the doors suddenly flew opened and he came stomping up the aisle wearing hiking boots and a heavy backpack. The lesson that morning: leave your burdens with the Lord. In other words, LIG!

We all carry burdens. If we take an honest inventory we might discover most of them are unnecessary. We can lighten our load and the earth won’t tilt off axis, which is good news. It means we can take our problems and ourselves less seriously and give ourselves a break. When we genuinely let go of something we’ve been holding onto (sometimes for years) there’s a great sense of relief, we can breath easier and our hearts feel lighter. In fact, our whole body feels more relaxed. It’s no secret that stress is bad for our health. Whether we now enjoy good health or happen to have a chronic or degenerative illness we benefit from being able to let go of unhealthy habits, including unhealthy habits of mind. It’s a terrible stress to our bodies and minds when we hold onto poisonous emotions, resentments, or negative thoughts of any kind.

Here are two key points to letting go: first, you have to want to; second, you need some degree of mindfulness and awareness. As soon as you notice that you’re holding onto a negative emotion or thought let it go. It may come back immediately, if so, drop it again. The next time you become aware that you’re holding on let go again. Don’t judge yourself, just notice and let go. As we get better at letting go we might catch ourselves trying to justify or rationalize holding on to a negative emotion or thought – don’t! That’s the time to let go.

Letting go is something that we have to practice over and over until it becomes a positive habit. The good news is: we all know how to let go because it’s what we do every time we go to bed and fall asleep. However, when letting go of negative thoughts or emotions instead of staying asleep and following the same old pattern, use it as an opportunity to wake up. Notice what’s happening in your mind and in your body, notice the anger or fear or resentment and let it go. When you truly let go your mind and body settle back into a natural state of relaxation and peace. And what a relief that is!

Contemplations

A pithy quote from the Book of Mathew in the Bible:

Mathew 6:27

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?

To paraphrase a wonderful teaching I've heard many times:

If you have a problem, or something is troubling you, and you can do something about it then there’s no need to worry because you can do something. If something is troubling you, or you have a problem, and you can’t do anything about it then there’s no point in worrying because you can’t do anything about it. In short, there’s never a need to worry.

From Bobby McFerrin’s famous song, Don’t Worry, Be Happy:

In every life we have some trouble 
When you worry you make it double 

If you’re not sure how to let go try this exercise, or visualize it well:

Hold a baseball tightly in your hand just long enough that it starts to feel uncomfortable but without hurting yourself. Then turn your hand over and drop the ball. Now observe how your hand feels. Your fingers are probably curled as if they’re still holding on and the muscles may hurt. It’s a similar process when dropping a negative thought or emotion. In order to let go you have to intentionally loosen your hold – just like opening your hand from around the baseball but instead of relaxing your finger muscles, you relax your mind. At first it can be uncomfortable and you might feel a strong urge to grab back onto the thought or emotion. With practice it gets easier. When we learn to let go it frees our mind, our energy, our body, and our heart.

Learn basic mindfulness practice:

Simple, guided mindful meditation instructions are offered on line by the UCLA Mindful Awareness Research Center: http://marc.ucla.edu/body.cfm?id=22

Stories we tell

Chronic illness and pain have a rough and rugged quality like so many of the backcountry places I’ve been. Sometimes that’s because I’m physically worn down by pain, just like I was physically exhausted at the end of a long day of backpacking. But other times my experience of illness is like a rugged adventure, an exciting discovery of new terrain – an exploration of someplace I’ve never seen or been before. Living with chronic illness or pain takes tenacity and perseverance; paradoxically, it can demand the patience and endurance of a world-class athlete.

At the same time there’s a choiceless quality about living with chronic illness – it’s something beyond our control. How we deal with it, however, is where we have a choice. It’s a choice we make each day, every hour, in each minute and moment. We can decide: “This is hell. I can’t take it any more.” That’s certainly something I’ve said and thought more times than I can count. Or, we might choose instead to have an attitude that says: “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, may no one ever suffer like this.” That’s a great thought of compassion: “May no one ever suffer this illness and this pain.” That way of thinking – which is a kind of prayer or aspiration – enables us to see beyond our own pain and develop genuine empathy and compassion. Paradoxically, it helps us to deal with our own suffering because we start to care more about other people. Instead of focusing on ourselves we are able to wish the best for other people, even complete strangers whom we’ll never meet.

When, however, we tell a story about our illness that says, “this is a hell,” then the experience becomes more intense and unbearable. When we stick to that storyline our world becomes very claustrophobic. There’s not a lot of room or space to work with what’s happening. It’s like being in a frozen world where everything is stuck and there’s no movement or possibility except this on-going experience that we’ve labeled “hell.” The story we tell becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If we have a tendency to perceive and label illness and pain in a strongly negative way then that will be our reality. Our experience will become more powerfully negative and more difficult to work with and live with. However, when we’re aware of the stories we tell they don’t have the power to lead us down deeply rutted tracks that leave us lost and stuck. It’s up to us how we deal with chronic illness, pain, or any type of suffering. We can shut down and withdraw or we can take the opportunity to open our heart to our own experience and to the people and world around us.

A recent tweet on DailyZen quoted the Austrian philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, who apparently once said (or wrote), “Don’t think, look!” That playful tweet is a pithy three-word philosophy for how to live life in a genuine and openhearted way. Without even knowing it, we limit ourselves all the time through our use of language and the stories we construct. When, however, we don’t tell a story about our illness or pain, or any aspect of our life, we have a chance to look directly and nakedly at our experience with an open mind – we have a chance to look with a fresh eye without our preconceived ideas. We can never step outside of language completely, but we can look at our stories, beliefs, values and preconceived ideas with an open questioning mind. By doing that we have the opportunity to touch our experience more deeply without so many layers of language and words leading us around like a bull with a ring in its nose. When we let go of our storyline we can instead just be with what’s happening – we can look and see what’s actually there. Who knows, we might discover something completely new.

Equanimity

In response to my first two posts a friend, who also has Lyme disease, sent me an email: “Nice, Cara. Not sure that I'll find the degree of equanimity that you've found, however. Love the snowdrops!!” To which I replied: “Equanimity! Hahaha! Equanimity is something I keep having to come back to hence the title of the blog: ‘Coming back to peace.’ I have to practice it – over and over and over again.”

With a quick google search I found the following definition of equanimity on miriam-webster.com: “evenness of mind especially under stress.” It describes nicely the point of meditation practice, which is to become familiar with our minds so that we can ride the roller coaster of thoughts and emotions without freaking out. Contrary to what some might think meditation is not about getting rid of thoughts – good luck with that! The point of meditation is to develop mindfulness and awareness so that we aren’t jerked this way and that by our habitual emotional tendencies, concepts, and endless internal dialogue.

Equanimity takes practice, it’s the ability to be with whatever’s happening and not lose our cool. When we do lose our cool – which is certain to happen at some point – then equanimity is the ability to notice that we just lost it and climb back on the surfboard, skateboard, horse – you choose – and finish the ride. Then we use that as inspiration for next time so that when another big wave comes our way we have a chance to catch it before we’re slammed. 

Being sick is a lot like being slammed again and again by a huge wave. I never seem to get any ground beneath my feet. Some days I think to myself: “I am so fucked!” Sometimes I shout it out loud and that’s when I’m being most honest with myself because there’s nothing I can do. My situation can’t be fixed, changed, or solved. I’ve hit bottom. There’s no ground beneath my feet, there never has been any ground, the ground is only an illusion and all I can do is watch and be with whatever is happening in the moment – that’s equanimity in practice.

There’s tremendous wisdom in hitting bottom. In some ways it’s similar to what Zen practitioners refer to as “beginner’s mind.”[i] Beginner’s mind is fresh, open and without any concepts or preconceived ideas. Realizing that we’ve hit bottom is when we finally know that none of our concepts work. It’s when we know that no amount of effort on our part can change what we’re going through. Suddenly we can’t hold on any longer. We have no choice but to let go and when we do we discover that there is actually tremendous space in our situation. Like an eagle we might, for a brief moment, catch an updraft and realize that we can actually soar and then it all changes again. 

When we let go of our concepts and at the same time continue to hold our seat, not moving from that spot but continuing to look and stay with it, there’s an opportunity to see the basic sanity in our situation, the basic health that’s always there no matter how sick we are. Working with illness and pain in a productive way is, among other things, a practice of patience and equanimity. We come back to peace each time we let go of our concepts, internal dialogue and destructive emotional habits long enough to relax and enjoy the space that’s always there.

Note: From the Buddhist view sickness is sometimes considered a powerful path for practice. Why? First, there is no greater motivation for meditation practice than our own suffering and awareness of mortality. Second, touching our own pain at a deep level enables us to develop compassion and the motivation and aspiration to free other beings from suffering. Such an aspiration has tremendous benefit for oneself and others. It changes our whole intention and mindset toward other sentient beings and our world.

Learning basic mindfulness practice: There’s been a lot written lately about the benefits of mindfulness meditation for people living with pain and chronic or terminal illness. Scientific studies of the brain using imaging techniques such as MRI scans show that meditation alters the brain in significant and positive ways. Changes to the brain’s structure can happen relatively quickly even for beginning meditators who practice only a few minutes a day – consistency, however, is an important part of the practice. Anyone can learn to meditate. Simple, guided mindful meditation instructions are offered on line by the UCLA Mindful Awareness Research Center: http://marc.ucla.edu/body.cfm?id=22

For more information about mindfulness meditation, its benefits and positive effects on the human brain:

Washington Post – Monday, February 14, 2011

Meditation and mindfulness may give your brain a boost

Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction Program

http://www.mindfullivingprograms.com/whatMBSR.php

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[i] “In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few.”

- Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind

The life we have

It’s tempting to think of illness as an interruption of our “real life,” as if we’ll get back to living once our health has returned. With a long-term or chronic illness, however, we may not know when or even if our health will return. Even if it does, we may never again experience the same level of physical strength and stamina that we once enjoyed. In that situation it can feel as if life is on hold, as if we cannot fully live or be happy without our previous level of health. However, as a friend once told me, “while you’re grieving for the life you used to have life is still going on. So live that life.”

In order to live well with illness we must figure out how to whole-heartedly embrace our experience rather than resent it. Resentment only compounds our suffering. And why resent our life just because we have an illness?  After years of being sick I’ve come to realize that illness is like the weather, we may not like that we’re sick, or that it’s raining, but neither illness nor rain are personal insults. Sure, being sick feels personal because it’s happening to our bodies but we make it worse when we take it personally, as in: “Why is this happening to me?”

Illness is simply a part of life; it’s an experience of life. How we choose to live with it, however, is up to us. Life doesn’t stop just because we’re sick. Our life may take a slightly or significantly different form as a consequence of illness but it continues. Even if we have a disease from which we won’t recover, life continues until the very moment of our death. How we live those moments makes all the difference in both the quality of our life and, eventually, the quality of our death.

Living well with illness is as easy, and as difficult, as simply accepting it. That may seem outrageous. Why, we might ask, should someone with cancer accept it? Because fighting or resenting it does no good. In fact there’s plenty of evidence to suggest that people who accept their illness – which is not the same thing as giving up or discontinuing treatment – actually do better physically and emotionally. Why? Because in the simplest terms they’re able to relax, which frees up energy that the body needs. People who can accept their situation tend to be happier and find more joy in living.

Instead of seeing illness as an interruption, an annoyance, a burden or maybe even a curse, we might think of it instead as an invitation to appreciate the fact that we’re still alive. Being sick presents us with an opportunity to look more deeply at our experience, at how we’re living and how we relate with other people and our world. I think of illness as an adventure and a process of discovery. For me illness is, among other things, a chance to practice being content and happy with what I have, rather than see my situation as one of loss. It’s a chance to explore the full range of my experience: pain, fear, anger, depression, grief, even gratitude and contentment. Whatever arises is basically okay. By bringing a gentle awareness and mindfulness to our situation whatever arises is manageable. When we can greet each moment, whatever that moment brings, however it manifests, with openness and a sense of genuine curiosity we can discover what it means to live the life we have.

Ordinary Blessings

“What do you want to do,” my sister asked when I was released from the hospital. It was a bright blue fall morning the glorious kind of day when the leaves are at their brilliant peak, the sun is shining and the chill on the air makes you feel alive. “First I want to take a bath and then I want to go to a park.”

My entire family was gathered in Bellingham, Washington that week keeping vigil at St. Joseph where I’d been admitted in acute congestive heart failure. Luckily my symptoms had quickly stabilized during a short stay in the ICU, surprising everyone in the hospital. With the advice to “get on a transplant list as soon as possible” I’d been released after only four days. Nothing can quite describe the experience of walking out of a hospital into the light of an ordinary day when one has been close to death. In a sense it’s so simple and ordinary: walking down a hallway into a lobby, through double sliding glass doors and out into the world.

In truth, there’s nothing ordinary at all about any day. There’s nothing ordinary about living in a world that’s full of miracles. On some level we know that each day is a miracle. Unfortunately, it’s easy to forget how precious life is. For the most part we’re simply too busy, too distracted to appreciate the miracle of our own life. So we take it for granted. And contrary to what we might think, illness and misfortune don’t diminish that miracle while fame and money don’t enhance it. Perhaps the only thing that might truly undermine the miracle of our precious human birth is not appreciating it, not being mindful of it, not utilizing it to its fullest capacity according to our ability and the opportunities that come our way – even something as simple as the opportunity to be kind.

Boulevard Park

Boulevard Park sits along the edge of Bellingham Bay with views to the San Juan Islands in the distance. It’s a beautiful and popular destination. On a nice weekend the park is packed with people – ordinary people – and on this sunny fall day people were everywhere. Park benches line the water’s edge and we headed across the grass to claim one of them, dodging a Frisbee game along the way. I was walking slowly, weakened by an enlarged heart and limping with leg muscles stiffened from too many days in bed.

A week earlier I’d finished a solo backpack trip of the northern section of the Pacific Crest Trail. Starting at the Canadian boarder and ending at Rainy Pass on the North Cascade Highway, I’d walked the 70 miles in under a week. I’d planned the trip as an escape from civilization, preferring the solitude of wilderness to the company of people. But on this day that was for me anything but ordinary, as my brother helped me to the bench, and as I took in the sights and sounds of the many people sharing the park, I realized with the suddenness and surety of an epiphany that we bless each other by our very presence.

It isn’t necessary that we know each other, or that we smile at each other, or nod, or recognize one another in any way – although those things are certainly nice. It is simply that our presence, our life, the very miracle of our existence is in itself a blessing. We are, each one of us, a blessing. Every ordinary person is an extraordinary miracle and it is a blessing to be in the presence of another human being.