Nothing.
No thing.
Nothing is holding me back!
Not back. Nothing is holding me.
Holding me, as a mother holds her child.
This poem begins Chapter 7 in Passage: Illness as Initiation. A psychotherapy session with Sharry Lachman brings forward and heals childhood hurts. The second chemo session brings issues with the doctor and staff. An energy healing session with Bob Goings soothes. I sleep and dream of how my tumors are dissolving.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Friend's Transition
This morning I got word that Fred Lanphear, (http://elderfred.wordpress.com/) breathed his last difficult breath last night after 3 years of having A.L.S. Saying goodbye to friends has been a major feature of being in my 70's. Fred was husband of my dear friend Nancy. My love and thoughts are with her today
I used to make fun of 20th century Christians who still believed in the 3-story heaven-earth-hell universe. Now I find great comfort in the thought of Suzanne and her dad, "my" Fred, waiting for me "on the far-side banks of Jordan." when I get there. I now believe in infinite universes, coming into being as we imagine them.
About 15 years ago, my Fred (d.2008) and I visited Joyce (d.1998) and David (d.2009) Reese in Chickasha, OK.They showed us the beautiful garden Fred L.(d.last night) had designed and helped them build. Fred L. had a Ph.D. in agronomy and did wonderful things with plants on many continents.
My fantasy this morning was of Joyce and David, Fred McGuire and daughter Suzanne greeting Fred Lanphear with great joy. A gospel song came to mind. "Won't it be wonderful there?"
I used to make fun of 20th century Christians who still believed in the 3-story heaven-earth-hell universe. Now I find great comfort in the thought of Suzanne and her dad, "my" Fred, waiting for me "on the far-side banks of Jordan." when I get there. I now believe in infinite universes, coming into being as we imagine them.
About 15 years ago, my Fred (d.2008) and I visited Joyce (d.1998) and David (d.2009) Reese in Chickasha, OK.They showed us the beautiful garden Fred L.(d.last night) had designed and helped them build. Fred L. had a Ph.D. in agronomy and did wonderful things with plants on many continents.
My fantasy this morning was of Joyce and David, Fred McGuire and daughter Suzanne greeting Fred Lanphear with great joy. A gospel song came to mind. "Won't it be wonderful there?"
Thursday, September 9, 2010
FUNNY ABOUT FEAR
I find fascination at the center of fear,
A thrill in the knotted stomach, the sweaty palms.
I think, “Aha! I knew this was going to happen to me someday.”
And that strikes me as funny.
Laughter pulls my mind back from irrationality.
Blood pumps into my paralyzed limbs.
I draw upon what I know, what I can do to respond to the crisis,
And that strikes me as wonderful.
Thus begins Chapter 6 of Passage: Illness as Initiation. It's ready. I'm ready.
The quote in the poem is from a Gilda Radner movie, when she and Gene Wilder's character were flying over the Grand Canyon in a small plane and the pilot dies of a heart attack. First came adamant denial, "He's not dead." When G.W. said, "I knew this was going to happen to me someday," I laughed till I hurt. And the thing about humor: it is, like God, at the heart of everything.
A thrill in the knotted stomach, the sweaty palms.
I think, “Aha! I knew this was going to happen to me someday.”
And that strikes me as funny.
Laughter pulls my mind back from irrationality.
Blood pumps into my paralyzed limbs.
I draw upon what I know, what I can do to respond to the crisis,
And that strikes me as wonderful.
Thus begins Chapter 6 of Passage: Illness as Initiation. It's ready. I'm ready.
The quote in the poem is from a Gilda Radner movie, when she and Gene Wilder's character were flying over the Grand Canyon in a small plane and the pilot dies of a heart attack. First came adamant denial, "He's not dead." When G.W. said, "I knew this was going to happen to me someday," I laughed till I hurt. And the thing about humor: it is, like God, at the heart of everything.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Call, the Battle, the Retreat
Nestled near the Sierra's upward thrust,
Safe in our dream home,
Our four young ones were secure,
Our childhood fantasies fulfilled.
Each image on the news made a crack in our fortress:
Young ones bombed in Sunday school, fire hoses turned on innocents,
Our leader's riderless horse and fatherless children,
A little girl burned by our bombs, running naked, trying to escape her pain.
After the mule cart pulled a peaceful warrior to his resting place
And we saw Bobby dying on the kitchen floor,
Our dream ended.
When one dream ends, Life affords another to take its place
Called to action, we left without a backward glance.
Finding comrades-in-arms, we waged war on old images.
We labored for a future when all children, not just ours, would be safe and secure,
But an enemy lurked within.
Grandiosity feeds addiction; addictions defeated this dream.
We retreated to await another,
Once again near the Sierra's upward thrust.
Do you remember the 60's? This poem, with which Chapter 5 in my book begins, is an attempt to explain why my husband Fred and I pulled up stakes, moved to Brazil in 1968, then joined the staff of the Ecumenical Institute in 1970. We ran from the devastating tv images, hoping our response would make a difference in history. The addictions were both personal and in the culture of our community, as addictions always are. But that's another story. The community we found in the Ecumenical Institute, later also incorporated as the Institute of Cultural Affairs, has educated, nurtured and sustained me for 40 years in sickness and in health. What a gift. I also want to express gratitude for A.A. and AlAnon. The 12 Steps saved our family life.
Safe in our dream home,
Our four young ones were secure,
Our childhood fantasies fulfilled.
Each image on the news made a crack in our fortress:
Young ones bombed in Sunday school, fire hoses turned on innocents,
Our leader's riderless horse and fatherless children,
A little girl burned by our bombs, running naked, trying to escape her pain.
After the mule cart pulled a peaceful warrior to his resting place
And we saw Bobby dying on the kitchen floor,
Our dream ended.
When one dream ends, Life affords another to take its place
Called to action, we left without a backward glance.
Finding comrades-in-arms, we waged war on old images.
We labored for a future when all children, not just ours, would be safe and secure,
But an enemy lurked within.
Grandiosity feeds addiction; addictions defeated this dream.
We retreated to await another,
Once again near the Sierra's upward thrust.
Do you remember the 60's? This poem, with which Chapter 5 in my book begins, is an attempt to explain why my husband Fred and I pulled up stakes, moved to Brazil in 1968, then joined the staff of the Ecumenical Institute in 1970. We ran from the devastating tv images, hoping our response would make a difference in history. The addictions were both personal and in the culture of our community, as addictions always are. But that's another story. The community we found in the Ecumenical Institute, later also incorporated as the Institute of Cultural Affairs, has educated, nurtured and sustained me for 40 years in sickness and in health. What a gift. I also want to express gratitude for A.A. and AlAnon. The 12 Steps saved our family life.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
MAIDEN FLIGHT
The Night-Sky-Horse comes for me
In broad daylight, barely visible.
I spread my arms, now wings,
And fly with him.
Alone, I could not do it,
But transported by this Vision,
Lifted in a spiral,
I circle high.
Exquisitely sensitive
To the sweet currents that carry me;
Sustained still by the One
Who upholds all.
Time is gone, past and future,
There is only now, this moment of
Release, of freedom from
Hours and history.
Each detail below is mine,
Broad valley and life-giving river,
Borne, not by my power,
But by my powerlessness.
Following an account of a hypnotherapy session that involved a past life healing in Chapter 3, I began Chapter 4 with this poem, based on a shamanic journey to the "upper world." aboard my white Pegasus.The poem can still put me in an altered state. What a lucky girl I am!
In broad daylight, barely visible.
I spread my arms, now wings,
And fly with him.
Alone, I could not do it,
But transported by this Vision,
Lifted in a spiral,
I circle high.
Exquisitely sensitive
To the sweet currents that carry me;
Sustained still by the One
Who upholds all.
Time is gone, past and future,
There is only now, this moment of
Release, of freedom from
Hours and history.
Each detail below is mine,
Broad valley and life-giving river,
Borne, not by my power,
But by my powerlessness.
Following an account of a hypnotherapy session that involved a past life healing in Chapter 3, I began Chapter 4 with this poem, based on a shamanic journey to the "upper world." aboard my white Pegasus.The poem can still put me in an altered state. What a lucky girl I am!
Monday, September 6, 2010
LETTING GO
This is the way we must let go in life.
The terms of surrender are given
And we're obliged to accept them.
Night follows day. We let go of the light
And give thanks for the darkness.
The colors and softness of spring
Brighten into the heat of summer.
We let go of the flowers,
Accepting the radiant heat.
We pass from childhood,
Yielding gladly, embracing our youth.
When it is time to reliquish youth,
We are powerless once again.
Acknowledging the signs of age,
We let go.
It is no wonder we want to stop
This continual surrender,
This unceasing goodbye.
Thus begins Chapter 3 of Passage, Illness as Initiation. This poem makes me feel nostalgic, but I now I choose to welcome the future rather than linger on goodbyes. Perhaps writing the book made this change of perspective possible.
The terms of surrender are given
And we're obliged to accept them.
Night follows day. We let go of the light
And give thanks for the darkness.
The colors and softness of spring
Brighten into the heat of summer.
We let go of the flowers,
Accepting the radiant heat.
We pass from childhood,
Yielding gladly, embracing our youth.
When it is time to reliquish youth,
We are powerless once again.
Acknowledging the signs of age,
We let go.
It is no wonder we want to stop
This continual surrender,
This unceasing goodbye.
Thus begins Chapter 3 of Passage, Illness as Initiation. This poem makes me feel nostalgic, but I now I choose to welcome the future rather than linger on goodbyes. Perhaps writing the book made this change of perspective possible.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Narrow Path
Is there an end to this tunnel?
Is there a way out?
Which direction leads there?
Should I ascend or descend?
From what am I being birthed?
Into what new world?
Am I the mother or the child?
I perceive only the narrow passage.
Now I sense the path spirals: a labyrinth.
What a relief, to know the journey is both inward and outward!
That which draws me in also pushes me out:
Not to know.
Not to do.
Not to be.
But to become.
Thus begins Chapter 2 of Passage: Illness as Initiation, yet to be published. This chapter describes an energy healing session, prayer requests and responses, and biopsy surgery.
Is there a way out?
Which direction leads there?
Should I ascend or descend?
From what am I being birthed?
Into what new world?
Am I the mother or the child?
I perceive only the narrow passage.
Now I sense the path spirals: a labyrinth.
What a relief, to know the journey is both inward and outward!
That which draws me in also pushes me out:
Not to know.
Not to do.
Not to be.
But to become.
Thus begins Chapter 2 of Passage: Illness as Initiation, yet to be published. This chapter describes an energy healing session, prayer requests and responses, and biopsy surgery.
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