Beannacht (Blessings)

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the grey window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the curach of thought
and a strain of ocean
blackens beneath you,

may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

-John O Donohue
Echoes Of Memory

Life before the meteorite was good. My days were filled with seeing patients, writing, teaching, traveling to far away places, reading poetry, loving friends and family, hating the war, working passionately for causes I believed in. I was working on two books, one on the Viet Nam war and the other a series of interviews with ordinary men and woman who have demonstrated remarkable resilience in the face of great obstacles. Certain things relentlessly captured my curiosity like the question of mirror neurons in the cultivation of compassion, the elegance of Asian art, a well placed word, the colour of persimmons, the smile of the Buddha, or the dome of heaven on a starry night.

I was a hopeful romantic who checked her horoscope daily and on occasion consulted with psychics and Vedic astrologers to inspire my imagination about what the day might bring. My biggest worry was the question of how my sister Bellina and I were going to sneak our fierce, fabulous and wildly eccentric mother into a dementia wing in an assisted living center after kit napping 5 of her 7 cats and selling her Manhattan brownstone. Then the meteorite hit. One day I was normal ( or at least as close as I've ever been) and the next day I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of invasive ductal breast cancer and scheduled for surgery. My friend John O Donohue would say, it was " the day when the weight deadens on your shoulders and you stumble". That was two weeks and a thousand years ago.

Love is fierce medicine, a tough contender willing to fight hard against cancer. My ex-husband, Jim, step daughter, Gina and a wonderful circle of friends rallied to care for me in ways I could never have imagined. Beautiful Gina, with her brown soulful eyes cooked every day, took notes at the oncology appointments and claimed me as hers to protect.

The night before surgery a special meditation was held at the Shambala Center in Austin. There were chants in Hebrew, Arabic, Pali, poetry, song and sweet outgrageous humor. Christine Albert, a wonderful singer songwriter and dear friend of many years, Naomi Baran, my best friend of thirty years and Tory Sikes sang and played guitar, while her sister Charlotte led the Sufi blessing. Jake Lorfing led a traditional Tong Len Buddhist meditation. Radhia Gleis , my life long friend since fifth grade sang a poem of Rumi's. Patricia Tolison wove the evening together with gentle grace. Emails, cards, flowers, prayers and poetry came from as far away as Africa and Sri Lanka. Tribal dancers and chiefs from the Lakota prayed for me as they prepared for the Sundance Festival, the most powerful healing ceremony in their tradition. The outpouring of love filled my spirit. I understood the meaning of the expression, "it takes a village". I cannot imagine anything that could have prepared me for surgery more completely. There was no room for fear. And I knew also that when I came out of surgery, my son Eliot would be there, home from Costa Rica with his big blue kind eyes and his cheshire cat grin. The healing circle was complete.

The surgery went well. Our surgeon, Tim Faulkenberry, MD, was very skillful and was able to completely remove the tumor leaving me with clean margins which is very good news. Additionally he removed the sentinel and auxillary nodes and they found no cancer there. Given the size of the tumor and its aggressiveness, this could be in the mini miracle catagory. Connie Ryan, my wonderful nurse praticioner and dear friend says that this is a sign of my body's remarkable strength in walling the tumor off.

Since the surgery I have mostly rested. I have had alot of pain around the area where the port was installed and numbness and tingling down the arm where the nodes were removed. In the mornings I have gone on long walks with Eliot, or meditated alone or with a few friends who have come to the house. I have recently been able to swim again which brings me joy. Many generous friends have stppoed by to offer bodywork which has been very energizing. I have also been listening to a beautiful CD of the Dalai Lama singing Tibetan chants. His voive is so beautiful and deeply soothing. Listening to it, I find my ancient timeless being, beyond suffering.

Finding ways to sooth is important medicine in this journey. The reality of the journey and its difficulty comes in waves but is lived one step at a time. Last thursday we learned that while I have been lucky on many fronts with this, there is one very scary piece. On the Bloom-Richardson Scale from 0-9 on cell differentiation, I have a 9. This means I have the most aggressive form of cancer. We will have to fight very agressively in response. It was tough news. I cried that night, feeling scared and tender. Jim suggeted we go home and watch a comedy on Movies on Demand. I wanted to watch a quirky holocaust movie with Elija Wood. He convinced me that the comedy was the better choice. I surrendered. We laughed throughout most of the "Family Stone" until Diane Keaton, the mother, died of breast cancer. Who knew? Since when is a holocaust movie the easier choice?

Later that evening there was a knock at the door. Our friends Lexi and Mark Perlmutter were stopping by with a surprize. Lexi, a breast cancer survivor herself, had secretly gathered through beautiful yarns from friends from all across the country. Each ball of yarn had been blessed with love and healing from the sender. Lexi worked them all into the most beautiful blanket "to mind my life". The many colours remind me of the words in Johns' poem:

may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

The blanket is awesome! As is the kindness of each of you, putting your arms around me in this way. With all your support, I know I can do this!

I will be posting at least a few times a week with poems and quotes, connecting to what touches and teaches. Feel free to pass this blog on to anyone who is struggling and could use the support.

In gratefullness,

gaea