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.