nonfiction – Page 4 – One Woman's Quest

Meditating

“There are several steps to this meditation,” Dora Kunz began, “and with each one, if you hit an obstacle, just set it aside.”

I had come, as had those around me, to learn more from this enlightened soul. Having experienced the sense of renewal that meditation could bring, I was excited to be learning from such an expert. Dora Kunz, co-founder of Therapeutic Touch, had practiced meditation from the age of five, she’d told us. Now in her nineties, she had endless wisdom to impart.

“Take a deep breath in,” she started, “and as you exhale, release any tension in your body.”

I breathed in, noticing that the area between my shoulder blades was knotted in tension. I tried to envision it breaking up with my breath, but it wouldn’t let go.

“If your tension won’t release, just acknowledge it and set it aside.”

I could do that.

“Now, without speaking, affirm to yourself: I am at peace with myself; and allow yourself to feel it.”

Breathe in. I am at peace with myself. Breathe out. A niggling in the pit of stomach said, No you’re not. I knew it wasn’t true. I was not at peace with myself.

“If you feel doubts, set them aside. If you are unable to do that, than act as if you are at peace with yourself.”

It is as if I am at peace with myself. Ah, that felt better. I could imagine as if.

“Now allow yourself to become aware of the person on either side of you, and beyond them to the circle gathered here, and affirm: I am in harmony with those gathered here.”

This was easier to do. We’d come together with a common goal. I inhaled the warmth of our kinship, and felt myself relax a little deeper.

“Continuing to breath deeply, allow your awareness to expand beyond these walls and connect with the nature that surrounds us. State: I am at one with Nature.”

The meditation room was surrounded by nature on all sides. Following her instructions, I imagined myself breathing in the fresh country air, the vivid green of the trees vibrating around me, and the trickling sound of the brook flowing through me. I am at one with Nature, I repeated to myself. With each breath, I felt as if my body and my heart pulsed with the rhythm of nature; everything interconnected. I was now deeply relaxed, surrendering.

“Now pull your awareness back into your own center.”

Focusing on my center, I drew my breath in, the sensation of relaxation filling my belly with a calm strength.

“From this center of calm and strong, connect beyond this room, beyond nature and the world, beyond the galaxy, to a universe of order and compassion.”

Slowly, she spoke her command, and my awareness obliged, expanding and reaching beyond the beyond, feeling that connection, as if a silver cord of consciousness tied me to an eternal, omnipotent intelligence. I connected with order and compassion; and the presence of unconditional love, and in that moment knew that all was as it was supposed to be: life has reason, and purpose, and meaning. I wanted to remain suspended in this realm of knowing: free.

“Now bring your awareness back to your center, maintaining the essence of your experience.”

I felt stronger, somehow, and very calm.

“When you are ready, let your breath bring you back into this room, to the awareness of your body in the chair. Gently move your fingers and toes, allowing yourself to return to full consciousness, renewed and restored, and at your own pace, opening your eyes.”

Reluctantly, I became aware of the room around me, and ever so slightly moved my fingers. With a yawn, I let my body wake up, breathing life back into it and stretching. I felt so good, so alive!

A universe of order and compassion, I thought to myself. What a wonderful idea! If only I could remember it in my day-to-day living.

“Exactly Right”

Thor and I have a favourite game: fantasizing about what we’ll do when we win the Lottery. We like to play it Friday nights, before the draw. “What’s the first thing we’ll do when we win?” Thor will ask. We’ve spent countless hours indulging this dream.

Recently, we won a different lottery: Thor has been diagnosed with Stage III cancer. I can safely say we have not speculated about this possibility, and now that it has happened, we no longer have the luxury of speculating about what ifs.

Some say that everything that happens in life is exactly as it should be. I have sat with this idea for weeks now, unable to respond. What could possibly be “exactly right” about cancer?

Coming to terms with the diagnosis and choosing a treatment path has caused many sleepless nights and a whole gamut of unexpected fears. The delusion of a lottery win has been replaced by the cold hard reality of our life situation. ‘Someday’ is now ‘today’ as we find ourselves forced to make tough decisions and clean up our lives. Finances, health, and unresolved issues have a new immediacy.

“Your quality of life will change,” the doctors warned. Even though we haven’t started treatments, it already has. We will be downsizing our living space shortly, and the trip we planned for the upcoming holiday season has been cancelled. We have rid our cupboards of unhealthy foods, and plan to make self-care a priority. The physical trials that Thor will endure are yet to be seen.

Through all of this, one thing has remained constant: our love. Family and friends, who have always mattered, become even more precious.

Now that we have made decisions, and taken actions to support a healthy life, we are both feeling calmer. Is what is happening exactly right? Ask us ten years from now.

As for now, “Don’t be so sure we didn’t win the Lottery,” Thor tells me. “If we didn’t find the cancer, we’d be telling a different story.”

A Diagnosis

My intention in starting this blog was to chronicle my journey through cancer, however; after a lumpectomy and a brief recovery time, the threat was gone. Nothing to write about, really. I kept going anyway.

Yesterday, life as I knew it took an unexpected twist. Thor was diagnosed with cancer.

“High risk,” the doctor informed us. “Your only options are surgery or radiation, but we’ll want to do more tests first to ensure the cancer is contained.”

I felt the room spin. My eyes were fixed on the doctor, hopeful that he would add something else, anything, uplifting. Oh my God, I thought, my poor husband! What must he be feeling? Without shifting my focus, I reached for Thor. He needed to know that I was there for him, no matter what.

“I’m sorry, doctor, but I want to be clear.” I struggled to keep my composure, but the tears were already breaking through. “What do you think is the best option?”

We had arrived with a list of questions, which Thor now thrust at me. Prepared as he was, he couldn’t access them. I glanced at the paper, but nothing was making any sense.

“Well, I really can’t say,” the doctor hedged. “There will be side effects, of course.”

Together, we managed to breath through the consult, but I fell apart outside of the office. Thor remained stoic. Shh! he gestured towards another patient. How can he be so calm?

“I was expecting this,” he told me on the way out.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. “You don’t deserve this. I mean, you are a good person…..”

There are no right words, and mine certainly sounded empty. Truth is, goodness has nothing to do with it. I knew that. I’d seen so many people suffer with cancer; sat with them through their pain and suffering, watched them die. And I’d witnessed others who’d battled and survived. None of them deserved the suffering.

“Even the blackest hole has silver somewhere,” Thor offered.

Damned if I can see it, but I sure hope he’s right.

The Thief Within

It’s time to call a meeting of the troops.

“Gather around, everyone. We need to talk.”

The air is cool in the cave, sheltered from the hot August sun. A small fire provides light and a focus for our gathering. I, Self, am seated where everyone can see me clearly. I want to make my point.

“I have called you here, because there is a thief amongst us, and I am angry.”

“Oh!” the exclamation echoes around the circle, then a mumble of agreement – this is serious.

“I woke up this morning, full of anticipation and plans for a wonderful day – the kids are coming for dinner, and my granddaughter is staying overnight. I planned to make goodies, and soup, and a special dinner. As I made my shopping list, Thor added to my excitement booking a flight for our next big excursion abroad. I couldn’t have been happier, then…..” I paused for effect, “….one of you came in and stole my joy, leaving me in this state of raw anger.”

The nervous shuffle of feet was accompanied by a shifting of eyes and lowering of heads. No one wanted to fess up, I could see.

“We see that you are upset,” a kind old woman stepped forward, “and in the interest of inner harmony, we would like to get to the root of the problem, but we’ll need more information.”

Heads bobbed in agreement.

“When did you first notice that your mood had changed?”

“When I was baking. I noticed that my happy thoughts were missing, and I was ranting inside my head.”

“Just like that, all of a sudden?”

I thought about it. “Well, I did start to feel really tired just before it happened.”

“What do you suppose made you tired?”

“I was up early this morning, getting work done so I could enjoy my family, so I was thinking that was catching up with me, but then I realized I was probably hungry, which……”

“Would effect your mood,” she finished my sentence.

“Well, true. So, that is no one’s fault. But then I started to eat things that weren’t good for me, and I knew I only do that when I’m trying to bury unwanted emotions, so I started to think about that, and then I realized my happy thoughts were gone, and that’s when I got angry and decided to call this meeting.”

“Was anyone else present when all this was happening?”

“I was,” a little voice piped up. “I was excited that we would get to play with the granddaughter. She’s so cute and fun and makes me happy. But then Mae called, and she called again, and again, and someone started pushing me out of the way.”

“Really?” The women turned towards the others. “Does someone have a problem with Mae?”

“No! Well, yes,” said a shadowy figure huddled in the back. “She can’t help it that she is mentally ill, I know, but she stirs me up.”

“How does she stir you up?”

“She reminds me of all the times I was pushed aside for the others.” I recognize her now; it’s my twelve-year-old self. “My parents only had time for those who were broken, never for me. They never helped her; they encouraged her to be that way. They liked their children to be victims so that they could rescue them over and over again. It makes me angry.”

“So you stole my joy?”

My question seemed to jolt her out of her self-indulgence. “No! I mean, I had to protect you. You’ll just get hurt again. You should know better. Just when it seems that everything is good, and going our way, someone will destroy it. You know it! That’s how it always is.”

“Oh dear,” the little one plopped down, head on her hands. “Here we go again.”

“What! Why are you all looking at me that way. You all know it’s true. Why won’t you admit it!” Twelve was getting hostile, almost hysterical. “I hate it that life is unfair. I hate it that we work hard, and try hard and always get the short end of the deal! I hate that other people don’t have to work hard and life just gets handed to them and everyone caters to them. I hate it that my sister wasn’t strong enough to fight them, like we did.”

“Amen to that,” said a large, blob of a character, who didn’t look very bright, but was happily stuffing his face. Ah, I thought, you’re the one I feed when I feeling emotional. If I’m not careful, I’ll start looking like you.

“Can I say something,” a slighter older teen spoke up. I recognized my independent self. “I don’t mean to sound cold and radical here, but if you keep venting over what you can’t change, you are going to die an unhappy soul.”

“What do you know about it?” Twelve was on the defensive.

“I know that life is full of many opportunities beyond the limitations you experienced in your home life, and I believe that while we can’t change where we’ve come from, we can make new choices for the present and the future. Do you want to be unhappy all your life?”

“Well….no, but don’t I have the right to be heard? Don’t I deserve justice?”

“We all deserve to be heard, and while we’d all like justice, it doesn’t always work out that way. I’m just suggesting that you are robbing yourself of the joy of life.”

I could see Twelve wrestling with herself.

“Twelve,” I offered, as kindly as I could. “You say you hate victims, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you are kind of acting like a victim yourself, no offence.”

“What do you mean?” her fists balled up instinctively.

“I just mean that while you rage and wait for someone else to deliver justice, you are like a victim – giving the power to someone else.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

The Wise Woman stepped up, putting her hand on Twelve’s shoulder. “Express your feelings, certainly, because we all care. Can I ask you something Twelve?”

“Fire away.”

“What would help ease your rage? What do you need?”

Twelve fell silent. I don’t think she’d ever thought of that. She shrugged.

“What could anyone possibly do to make you feel better?” the young woman asked. “Do you think everyone is suddenly going stop being themselves, see the predicament, and apologize?”

“Maybe they’ll stop being nice to your sisters and spoil you!” the little one chirped in.

“That’s absurd!” Twelve scolded.

“Is it? Isn’t that what you want?”

Twelve thought about this. We all thought about it. Then one of us started to giggle. I’m not sure who, but soon the whole room felt the relief. It was a ludicrous thought.

“I feel like a fool,” said Twelve.

“No hard feelings – you’re only a kid!” said the slightly older one.

“And you always look out for me,” said Little.

“None of us blame you,” another added. “We all went through it, you’re just the one who held out for justice.”

“Is there never any justice, then?” Twelve asked, confused.

“Oh there is justice: but you need to look for it in other ways,” Wise Woman offered.

“Like embracing life’s blessings despite the strains of the past,” Independent Self offered.

“What she’s trying to say, I think,” I added, “Is that if you continually refuse to be happy because you don’t like what happened long ago, then you rob all of us of the joy of the present. Can you see that?”

“I can, but I just feel so angry sometimes.”

“I know, I know, so do I, obviously. That’s why I called this meeting. And Twelve, I suspect you’ve been hanging out with someone else, who is the real thief here.”

I could tell by the look on her face, that Twelve knew exactly who I was talking about.

“Jealousy is not a friend to any of us,” I addressed the crowd. “I suggest we do our best to keep her out of our circle.”

“Here! Here!” came the cry of approval.

“What about me?” said Emotional Eater, pausing mid-bite.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to eat a little less” came the unanimous response.

“You should try therapy,” added Little. Everyone laughed.

“Thanks for talking this through,” I concluded the meeting. “I hope we all feel better. Little, Twelve, we got some things to get ready, our guests will be here soon!”

(Image: dymir.org)

A Cup of Tea

My husband and I recently returned from a trip to the US, and as usual, the first thing I wanted on return was a cup of tea. It is the one thing – next to my own bed- that I miss the most when I am away.

What is it about a cup of tea?

Raised by a Brit, tea is part of my heritage. Growing up, we started every day with a cup of tea, and quite often ended each day with one also. I especially remember that as teenagers, my siblings and I would convene at the end of a night out and share stories over a late night cup of tea. Every dinner would end with someone putting the kettle on.

My children’s father was also a Brit, and he introduced me to tea time – a ritual cup every day at four o’clock, always accompanied by a sweet or biscuit.

The secret, not practiced in many restaurants, is in the preparation: the pot must be warmed first, and the boiling water added to the tea and not the other way around. In our family, the milk went in the cup first, with just the right amount of sweetener to offset any bitterness.

Special tea, a concoction of mostly warm milk and honey, with a splash of tea, is a family recipe for curing childhood ailments.

I don’t drink tea in the afternoon anymore as the caffeine keeps me up at night, and I have replaced the milk with non-dairy alternatives, but I still have a sense that all is not well unless I’ve started the day with that one lingering cup of tea, prepared just the way I like it.

Ahhh, the simple luxuries of home.

(Image: officemum.blogspot.com)

A Call To The Quest

My friend Andi’s insatiable craving for knowledge has her signing up for all kinds of workshops and lectures. I am more selective in how and where I spend my time and money, so when she called up and asked if I was interested in a private audience with a medicine woman, I said I’d pass.

“Will you at least go with me?” she pleaded. “I’m a little nervous.”

So, book in hand, I accompanied Andi to meet her newest guru. “Come inside,” she insisted, when I indicated I’d wait in the car. Grudgingly, I obliged.

The woman of honour was visiting from New Mexico, and was being housed in a bungalow belonging to a friend. The house was small, and unassuming. As we stepped through the front door, we were confronted by a wall, which opened on either side to reveal either the main sitting area, or a hallway leading to bedrooms. But all of that immediately became a blur to me, as my attention was captured by a large portrait hanging in front of me.

Pictured was a man poised majestically, with feathers adorning silver hair that was pulled back from his face. Intense dark eyes peered out from the portrait and seemed to penetrate me to the core. A chill ran through me as I felt an onslaught of tears overtake me.

“Do you know Bartholomew?” a voice asked to my left.

“No. I’m sorry……I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t apologize. Go with it. What are you feeling?”

The voice was calm, and soothing, and I seemed unable to tear myself away from the image long enough to see who was speaking.

“It’s sounds crazy,” I blurted between sobs, “but I feel as if I’ve been lost for a long, long time, only I didn’t know it until just this moment, and now I am home.”

“Well then, welcome home.”

This was absurd. How could an image cause such a reaction? What was happening to me?

The woman gently ushered me into a room.

“I only came to keep my friend company,” I panicked. “I don’t have an appointment.”

“Not to worry.” The woman had long flowing hair, and her face glowed with a soft light that defied any telltale signs of age. She was not what I expected.

She began to run her hands just above my body, as if searching for something. The flow of tears continued, and by now my nose was running, and I felt an urge to use the toilet.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized as I quickly exited in search of the bathroom.

“No problem, Running Water,” she joked, and added, “That is surely your Indian name.”

After what felt like an uncomfortable length of time, I finally got ahold of myself.

“What happened?” I asked the woman.

“Your soul made a connection to something that is obviously of importance to you.”

“And what is that?” I was stilling feeling somewhat vulnerable.

“I like to call it the Great Mystery,” she replied. “Some call it The Way.”

It was definitely a defining moment for me, from which I would be forever transformed.

(Image: storify.com)

Independence

“Take the train into the city, Mom. It would be so much easier.”

“No,” I insisted. “I like the independence of having my car.”

So, I arrived at my daughter’s Monday morning to find there were no parking spaces on her street. I texted her to meet me outside. It was close to lunch time, so I suggested we go for some lunch and then, hopefully, find a place for my car afterwards. I parked near the restaurant, which was just blocks away from her home.

“I can leave my car here.”

“No, parking here is only one hour. We’ll have to move it after lunch.”

We lingered on the patio, enjoying the day and catching up on each other’s lives.

After lunch, we drove around again, searching in vain. I parked in the one hour zone again, hoping something would come up later.

We rested for a while, then drove the car to get some groceries from the store that was, also, just around the corner. On our return, I found a spot across from their townhouse.

“I won’t want to move my car any time soon,” I joked.

And, in fact, I didn’t. My daughter’s home is situated in a trendy neighbourhood close to shops and restaurants – really anything you need is in walking distance. My car, it turned out was just a burden.

My need for “independence”, on my terms, really only complicated things for me.

I wonder how many other routines or habits complicate my life.

Simplifying my life means being willing to let go of some of the beliefs that I cling to, and being open to another way of doing things.

Growing Wings

“Thank you for being here, Mom.” The exhaustion in my daughter’s voice was echoed in her face. The epidural had finally kicked in, and we were all feeling a sense of relief. It was 5 a.m. Her first contraction had hit at 1:20 the day before, as we were walking home from a lunch out.

I didn’t know what to say.

So many feelings were flooding me. It didn’t seem like that long ago that I had laboured with her, pacing the hospital hallways, seeking relief in any way that I could. Now my baby was having a baby. It was a miracle to behold.

So I was feeling sentimental, and at the same time, wishing I could do it for her – taking her pain away.

I was in awe of the strength and courage she was showing, this young woman who as a child feared everything. She cursed a few times, and moaned as the pain wrapped around her and squeezed relentlessly, but not once did she complain, or wish it away. From somewhere inside her she had harnessed a determination to see this trial through, and her focus was admirable. I could not be more proud.

I knew what awaited her at the end of this journey. I knew all about the indescribable bliss and wonder that fills you the moment that baby emerges and is placed in your arms. I understood how in that moment there is an instantaneous shift of realization that this new little being is totally dependent on you. I couldn’t tell her, but she would experience it soon enough.

And I couldn’t tell her that my presence on this sacred occasion was no burden to me, but an incredible gift. She could never know how grateful I was to her, and especially the baby’s father, that they had invited me here to witness this sacred event.

So, I smiled and squeezed her hand, and stroked her face, and reassured her that it would all be over soon, and bit the inside of my cheek to stop my own flood of emotion from pouring forth.

Somewhere along the way, my baby had become a woman, and as I bore witness, she grew wings and took on her mission with grace and dignity: ascending to motherhood without looking back.

When Looking for Answers

The call came just as I was falling into a deep sleep, which didn’t help my mood. Neither my husband nor I recognized the number. After the usual formalities, Thor handed me the phone. It was a man who had tracked me down earlier in the year, looking for psychic counselling. Although I don’t practice anymore, I had made an exception for him.

“I need your advice,” he started. “I feel like things are shifting, and I have a new woman in my life. I think she is my soulmate.”

“You are not going to like what I have to say,” I interrupted. “I don’t believe in ‘soul mates’.”

“You don’t believe in reincarnation?”

“Yes, but not that there is only one person for us.” I really didn’t want to get into this right now.

“I think I have been downloaded several times.”

“Are you still there?”

“I don’t know what that means.” The conversation was becoming very irritating. ‘Downloaded’ was a new one to me, but I had heard lots – ‘walk-ins’, ‘star children’, among others.

“I am very pragmatic.” I warned. “If the idea or information is not practical, I avoid it.”

I cut the conversation short.

I understand the drive to find answers to life’s mysteries. I myself spent many years exploring different philosophies and theories, looking for one that would help me understand and feel in control. Truth is, none exist. No matter what we believe, or think we know, life is full of uncertainty, and yes, risk.

This caller, like many before him, wants to know that the choices he is making will lead to happiness and a better life. He wants to avoid pain and heartache, and above all, loneliness. He wants to believe in magic over common sense.

Whatever answers we seek, we need to be able to weigh them against some practical form of measurement. We need guidance for living a good life, not a promise that we will meet a ‘soul mate’ who will fulfill us, nor a foolproof plan for ensuring eternal bliss. Sound advice for slogging through the hard stuff, simplifying our lives, and being true to ourselves are the answers we should be seeking.

(Image: macpeanut.wordpress.com)

An Enlightened Life

“What would you like to learn about?”

“Tell us about your life,” one woman called out.

“Well, yes, that,” the tiny woman responded, “but there’s nothing to learn there. What do you want to learn?”

After several protests, our teacher promised that she would fill us in on her ninety plus years at the end of the weekend.

I had anticipated this workshop for months, without really knowing what to expect. Dora Kunz, co-founder of Therapeutic Touch, had published several books about her work, but I found them difficult to read, and hadn’t gained much from them. Unlike her partner, Delores Krieger, Dora did not have a nursing background and so remained somewhat of an enigma to those of us who pursued understanding of this simple, but powerful technique. I had taken several workshops with Delores, each of them long and gruelling, packed with information and experiences, Delores being a tireless lecturer. Krieger’s workshops were always accompanied by an outline of curriculum expectations, and formally conducted. Participants would have to ask for breaks, as Krieger’s passion for the subject matter precluded any need for a break in her presentation. It was immediately apparent that Dora Kunz’s approach was in stark contrast to that of her colleague.

My initial reaction to Kunz’s opening question was disappointment. I had signed up for a workshop on meditation, did she not know that? Was this woman too old and senile to be able to put a program together?

“Well we signed up for a workshop on meditation.” Someone else must have been thinking the same as me.

“Yes, but what about meditation would you like to learn?” I had to admit, the lady was charming. She must have been all of 4’10”, with waves of white hair caressing her gentle face. A warm smile, and twinkling eyes embraced her audience, and an obvious sense of humour set us at ease. “At my age, I don’t plan for these things, you know. I find it’s better to just go with the flow.”

So that’s what we did. For three mesmerizing days, we listening hungrily to the words of this tiny guru, whose vast bank of experience and pragmatic approach to teaching guided us to the deeper understanding we sought. For me, her greatest lesson was yet to come.

At the end of the weekend, as promised, Dora told us about her life.

“I was only five years old,” she began, “when my parents, recognizing there was something different about me, built me a meditation room.” As a young child, Dora had an awareness of energy and other realities that most parents would brush off as an active imagination. Dora’s parents decided to nurture these gifts in their only child. When Dora was eleven, she was invited to study with a man at an institute continents away, where the spoken language was different from her own. Her parents told her to meditate on it, which she did, and decided to accept his offer. “I looked like an eight-year-old boy,” Dora laughed, “when I arrived at this institution full of adults.” Dora stayed and studied with this man for several years and then moved to another foreign country to further her studies. Her work eventually led her to the United States, where I would have the privilege of meeting her.

When asked how she knew which offers to accept, Dora responded: “No was not an option for me. I trusted that this work was my calling, and so I always looked for a way to say yes when opportunity knocked.” It was not always easy, she went on to explain. At one point in her life, she was asked to speak about her spiritual beliefs to a group of convicts. She was just a young woman, and felt incredibly vulnerable and intimidated by the gathering of murderers and hard-core criminals she encountered, but she said that was all soon forgotten when the men found something comforting in her words.

Dora continued her work, and I would encounter her again at another workshop, still teaching, just two weeks before she passed away. She was 95.

Dora Kunz remains for me an icon of someone who has led a complete life. She lived her life inspired by a passion for learning and helping others. She was dedicated to a life of service.

(Image from nancybragin.com)