Sunday, 1-18-09

I'm feeling great today. No pain, just a touch of fatigue. I share this darker moment with you; easily shared when I'm strong.

Joyfully,
Sharon


Journal entry 1-10-09 (five days after first chemo treatment)

My life flows on in endless song
Amid my body's lamentations,
I hear the sweet though far off hymn
That hails a new creation:
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing? (Robert Lowery, adapted by Sharon)


With out warning at midnight, in the midst of feeling upbeat and strong, I slid into darkness. An unexpected hole opened up and swallowed me. My mind, my heart, whatever part of me that is too deep for senses fell into a chasm of total obscurity, bewilderment, fear, loneliness. Like a flash of lightening dividing a dark sky, my sky, my hope ripped in two. My world split apart and in that instant, I switched sides, one moment enjoying peace and optimism, next moment cowering in the unknown.

Where am I; how did I get here? Did I stay up to late, tire myself, make myself too physically vulnerable? Am I responsible for this free fall? Why am I suddenly so keenly aware of the throbbing pain in my hand? I look at my hand; feel the pain near my IV site, notice pain moving up my arm. I’m afraid; am I getting nerve damage from all the IVs, or is it an infection? BD, before diagnosis, I trusted my body, my immune system. Now, infections terrify me.

What is my body telling me? There is too much pain. Too much that I’m asked to notice, separate, listen to, or ignore. Nerve pain under my arm from the biopsy incision, is best ignored, a temporary condition after surgery. Is this hand pain also for ignoring? My mind scans my whole body, so much hurt comes into awareness, aching back, sore joints, hurting throat, thick, hairy, aching tongue. My tender insides cry ‘congestion, sluggish’. Are my intestines hinting of another blockage? I remember no bowel movement happened today and worry settles around me like bone-chilling fog. Have I eaten too much, too fast? Am I responsible for this wave of discomfort, despair?

I am abruptly flattened by a tidal wave of clarity. This is my journey; no one can make this journey for me. I am alone in it. I alone will walk it. I know the greeting cards will slowly dwindle, the thoughts and prayers will wane, and life will go on for others in my life, no matter how much they care for me; life for them will go on rather normally, while I will continue to walk this difficult journey. I feel overwhelmed, shy, afraid, bewildered - yet none of these words describe my emotions. I am pure, naked being, vulnerable, weak, like a newborn, dependent, powerless, unable to control or truly know my own body. My body seems a foreigner; sending many mixed messages. I can’t sort them all out. I feel betrayed by my own body! I had begun seeing my body as friend; now I just want to disconnect, disown it.

Another wave of fear rises, crashes over me. What if my mental affirmations, my embracing my cancerous lymph system with love, my loving God and this wonderful planet earth doesn’t make any difference in my healing? I’m appalled at such a thought. Is that why I love so much? Do I hope such loving heals me? Could I still love while surrendering to greater and more complete illness, if that is where my journey goes? Is my love, my prayer, my positive attitude ultimately selfish? Oh my God!

Dear “Em”-Immanuel, my Beloved, my Sweet Sacred Life Giving Spirit, I feel so lost, so naked, exposed, puny, reduced to ulterior motives, unholy. I know little, I sense even less, yet my whole soul longs to be gathered up in Love. For Love alone is my food, my chosen cup, my birthright. Famine, war, dis-ease can not take away Love. No matter what is ahead, I do want to surrender only to Love. God, help me.

Desperate, I pick up a book, Seven Sacred Pauses, by Macrina Wielderkehr and read:

In this sacred darkness
I sit in silence.
Open in this moment, I trust in the darkness.
Waiting in trust, growing in trust.
Waiting and trusting the sacred darkness.
I surrender.

It is truly dark in the room where I sit, dawn is coming too slowly. The candle light is my only hope. How can I possible pray such a prayer? God of my very breath, help me surrender.

Macrina Wielderkehr writes: Take me down deep to the holy darkness of Love's roots. Let me be one with the One I love. Draw me into the depths. Night prayer is deep prayer. Let me go deep. Teach me the art of waiting with patience. That I may grow strong, loving, wise. Let me borrow your eyes, O Beloved. Then I shall see in the dark.

God, thanks for others who write words for me when I have none.

Tiny shards of light are beginning to etch into the dark eastern horizon. How I long for light! My soul cries, each tear feels like a shard cutting away the useless within me. Just as abruptly as the waves of despair, comes a different feeling, a feather soft stroke inside. I sit up, pay attention. Intensely focusing; time stops. There it is again, a warming, a tingling, so subtle, faint. This warmth seems to be waiting, asking. I recognize Peace, Joy, Presence. Come! Beloved Intelligence of the Universe, I’m open and waiting! Tears fall freely now with a deeper knowing that I’ve never been alone. The creator, sustainer, redeemer of the galaxies, the one who dwells in every cell of my being is always with me, crying with me, living through me, experiencing my life with me. The air vibrates, energy swirls around me. I look at the plants I’ve pulled into a circle around me, notice the candle light, the stars and angel figures on the window sill; I feel the rocking chair supporting me, the prayer shawl warm around my neck, the floor under my feet. I am lost in intense vibration and complete stillness, not able to tell where I end and the other begins. We are all one, all vibrating, all alive with the One, and the One is experiencing the world through each. Amazing! Astounding!

In a joyous fog, I think of the song we sing at school, Kairos School of Spiritual Formation, “Christ above me, Christ below me, Christ within me, Christ around me…” The song never made much sense to me.

I’m weeping, soundlessly. I can’t fathom this Intelligence, this God who would so willingly be diminished, a God willing to live and experience life through the eyes and the experience of those who live what they were created to live, surrendered to Love. This kind of Christ shares my sorrow, my anguish and sees the world through my eyes, through all our eyes, the eyes of the loving and hopeful. God shattered God's Self at the creation of the universe, each God-particle crystal being, of love-faith-potential-possibility expanded into the expanse, hovering there, waiting, suspended in the cosmos ready to infiltrate, become one with any and all whose mind and heart is ready to be created, respond to Love. The Christ fragments tingle and vibrate in us, alive, yet subtly, softly waiting for permission to enflame us with knowledge of Spirit. Could it be God's awareness waiting to look out into the world of creation through each being, waiting to set the world on fire with love through those who fan the spark and bring love into full flame? Oh that I could be wholly fire, to allow the Light to burn within me so brightly that even the trees around me also burn! Imagine what the world would be if all become fully alive, living with passion and purpose and possibility! My spirit sings!

Coming easily into normal awareness, I look out the window. There is enough light now to see a dusting of white snow on the walks, yard, some white on the road. No sun rise, the clouds are too thick, sky too gray. I smile, suddenly realizing the darkness did somehow nourish me, quietly, desperately, deeply. I’m grateful for the darkness. I’m grateful for this dawning morning with its quiet beauty. The white, gentle softness is a good break from riotous sunrises of the past week.

I change one of Macrina’s beautiful poems to fit my own experience. I pray she knows my heart and isn’t offended:

I can't see the moon, that golden cradle in the sky;
birds are still quiet.
Dawn's light not enough to awaken the earth.
Silence reigns the world outside my window.

This moment after dawn, new day so untouched,
draws me out of my darkness.
Hope arises with the dawning, the light seeping;
my soul breathes hope at dawn.