Three Deer (A Meditation)

The sun rode low in the sky, about an hour from sunset on an unseasonably warm end-of-September day. I enjoyed it with a walk, making my way out past the farm buildings and the calf hutches, down the dirt path leading through the grove and out into the back pasture and cornfields. Every tree, every leaf, every detail was noticed and appreciated, as though hyper-aware while completely calm and centered.

Had I been walking with my awareness on my thoughts, I would have missed the three deer, a mother and her two nearly-grown fawns, standing not 100 feet from where I had stopped short. The moment I spotted them, I expected them to dart away, but they stayed. I stood motionless, even being careful not to breath too heavily for fear that they might bolt. But instead they come closer, step by step, slowly but steadily, occasionally stopping to munch on the clover and grass beneath their hooves. When they had come to within about 50 feet of me, they slowed and stopped, watching me carefully. I stared back, transfixed, unwilling to move because I knew that it would cost me this scene.

This was the essence of living in the moment. (Funny, isn’t it, that I’m talking about living in the moment by using the past tense?) All else had left my mind, so enamored was I of these three deer. Awareness of pain or discomfort in my body had gone. The calculations and concepts about healing or not healing had gone. My identity, even, had fled. The stillness was intense and healing and beautiful. I was almost breathless.

I stood there for a long time, the deer inching closer between bites. The one I took to be the mother began to step with a certain fascinating, feminine confidence: lifting high then very deliberately and firmly dropping each hoof, as if to say, ‘What you’re seeing here is mine, and that you’re seeing it is a gift, not something to be taken lightly.” Or maybe, “I’m in control here. These little ones are mine, and I will protect them.”

At one point a car passed on the road, and the mother deer made a warning noise in her throat. The white tails of all three deer rose like flags as they sprinted away down the pasture. But instead of fleeing into the fields, they stopped, and even started back toward me. I cautiously began to sit down, but the slight movement prompted them to make their exit. They disappeared into the fields, and I was left sitting in the descending dusk feeling as though an angel had just passed. I took several minutes to stand up and go back inside.

Healing comes out of that sort of stillness, that space where the mind is too much in awe to think or produce commentary. We’ve forgotten what that’s like, and it’s been to our own detriment. Being in that space of stillness and beauty -- which is to be found

anywhere, not just in the kind of magic I witnessed tonight -- is healing, cleansing, purifying. Nothing else can exist there, much less make trouble for you. But to never be in that place means that we’re trapped always in the frenetic wheel of action our minds have perpetuated, never finding any real peace until we’re drugged into sleep.

So make time for stillness. You don’t have to be ill to benefit from it. This kind of meditation on stillness doesn’t take a certain amount of time -- there’s no 30-minute minimum requirement. Time has no hold in this place, so even a minute can feel have a profound impact, and 10 minutes can feel like an infinity.

Go outside and just be: feel the trees and wind, smell the air, hear the bugs and birds (or whatever sounds exist in the season), see every color and every detail. And if you don’t have time to go outside, just take a moment to focus on the in and out of your breath. In through the nose, deeply and slowly, then gently out through the mouth. Thank your body for giving you breath and life.

You will be amazed what you may find.

Time Logic

I adore NPR (National Public Radio) for its variety of great radio programs, but also for its blogs, like this one:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/13.7/2011/09/27/140818962/beyond-the-punch-clock-life-the-tyranny-of-modern-time-ii

In this post, author Adam Frank talks about time logic and how it has over-stressed us while diminishing the value of our lives. This is the best evidence for why the world should NOT be run by purely left-brained, logic-driven people, and why taking some time for stillness -- for doing NOTHING -- is so vital.

Although he doesn't discuss it in this blog, I think Mr. Frank would do well to also write about the effect our insanely overbooked schedules contribute to stress-related health problems (perhaps even homicide rates).

The "Real" Perspective

I was talking last week with a high school senior who was about to enter her last season of competitive speech. As an alumnus of that same speech program, I was curious to know how the head coach was doing.

“He’s, like, never frickin’ there,” she informed me, explaining that he missed a lot of practices with students because of his health. “He should just quit. It’s pretty selfish of him to keep coaching when he can hardly do anything.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think he sees it that way,” I replied. “I bet he can’t imagine life without teaching and coaching, since he doesn’t have any family. He needs it.”

“Yeah, but the real perspective is, it’s selfish.”

Ah, the “real” perspective -- that magical, elusive, objective truth by which everything is judged.

News flash: it doesn’t exist! Whether we’re talking about people, current events, or the condition of someone’s health, there is no one “real” perspective, no one truth that we need to figure out. The truth depends on your point of view. You determine the identity of a thing by naming it, labeling it, and assigning attributes to it -- or in some cases, by accepting someone else’s ideas for those things. So why not go with something that serves you?

For example, instead of believing that the condition of your health is stuck as it is, and that it’s a bad thing, why not believe that it’s a sign that your being is experiencing incredible shifts and changes, that you’re about to crawl out of your cocoon? Just because someone else has told you something is true, or because you think it’s true, doesn’t mean that it is. Choose your own terms. You may not be able to control what is happening to you, but you have the power to define it.

"I Don't Have Time to Eat Healthy," She Says (And the Bullshit Meter Goes Crazy)

There’s a widely held belief in this country that it’s difficult to eat healthy if you’re busy. This is not only untrue, it’s damaging to our health, because we have accepted poorer and poorer quality food in our diets.

But where did this notion come from? From the moneymen in the food industry, of course. Their advertisements have hammered into our heads the same idea, over and over: you’re busy, you don’t have time to cook, you don’t have time to prepare healthy food without our help. Watch TV around mealtime and you’re bound to see several commercials trying to sell you a “quick and easy” family dinner that claims to be healthy “while saving you time,” or a gas station pizza, or fast food.

Bullshit. I don’t buy it -- neither the concept nor the products they’re selling.

One of my two younger brothers, a senior in high school, has a rigorous schedule. He takes three college classes while keeping a part-time job, participating in band and cross country, and making time for his girlfriend. My mom works as a teacher and, for about 10 months out of the year, puts in 16- 18-hour days when you factor in her duties at church, with the 4-H club my brothers are members of, and at home.

You could say these two are perfect candidates for the quick, crappy meals, fast food, and the like. And yes, unfortunately, they do eat them sometimes, despite my gentle nudges to get them away from that kind of crap. They say it’s because they just don’t have time to get anything else ready.

But consider this. Today my brother and I ate lunch at the same time. While he ate chips, a processed chicken patty on a “honey wheat” bun (translation: full of preservatives and tree pulp, no joke), a glass of over-processed milk, and a few carrots, I opted for a plum, some raw almonds and spinach leaves, and a piece of raw pepper. Guess whose meal was quicker? His took about 4-5 minutes to be ready to eat; mine took less than 2. Perhaps just as curious is that my much healthier meal was far more portable than his -- all I would have needed to take it in the car with me was a single plastic bag and a paper towel.

Granted, there are times when eating healthy does take more time. For example, chopping up a bunch of vegetables for a rice-and-bean stir fry would take longer than microwaving a hot pocket. But remember, just because it’s healthy doesn’t mean it requires too much of your time. And even when it does, don’t you think that you’re valuable enough to treat with self-respect? I think so.

For more information on eating healthy and unraveling the truth about the food you're eating, check out “NakedFood” on Facebook, or friend its founder, the lovely Jaqui Karr. (I will be mentioning Jaqui again in future posts.)

Crappy Food

The story this link brings you to exposes one of the scores of reasons not to eat processed and fast foods. For example, bread made with wood pulp (code word: "cellulose") sound good to you?

http://www.mainstreet.com/slideshow/lifestyle/food-drink/10-brands-put-wood-their-food?cm_ven=outbrain&psv=outbrainselectedarticle&obref=obnetwork

Even if you don't have a chronic illness, eating well is the most important thing you can do for your health.

I See the Pattern(s)

Each one of us has certain ingrained patterns in our being. Sometimes they’re as major as a crippling fear or a chronic illness, and sometimes it’s less significant, like an emotional trigger that makes us get angry at a certain action, or a tendency to be tense and uptight.

These patterns exist because all us have lived unconsciously. They come from the time when we were still controlled by the thoughts in our heads and the circumstances around us. Those of us have awoken to the truth of it, who’ve realized that this entire life is just a grand play, have stopped creating these patterns by the simple fact of their awareness. Others are still building them in their unconsciousness.

I used to live a profoundly dark and unconscious life; I was perpetually miserable. One of the patterns carried over from that time is my fear of rejection, especially with women. It is such a deeply ingrained fear that even now, the right circumstances can cause my muscles to get tighter, my heart to race, and my adrenal glands to exhaust themselves, even as the psychological symptoms are more and more diminished.

Awareness is the key to unraveling every pattern, because every pattern is a product of unconsciousness, of a lack of awareness. Awareness of a pattern means realizing that it’s not real, that it’s just part of a fantasy your mind has concocted (and which, in many cases, your body may have bought into).

The next step is to take inspired action to undo it.

For my crippling fear of rejection, the solution seemed obvious: at the next available opportunity, I had to face my fear and approach a woman to ask her out, without allowing myself to get caught up in the frenetic chatter of my mind as it screamed its warnings. By remaining centered and self-aware, I have allowed my mind and body to gradually establish new connections, new points of reference to replace the old ones that have caused so much drama and anxiety.

There is no difference between what I have described and a chronic illness. Becoming aware and allowing yourself to experience the condition differently, with new points of reference, can shift a seemingly physical pattern just as easily as an emotional one. Holistic medicine teaches us that there is really no separation between the two -- they are directly connected. The only separation, in truth, happens in the way we think and talk about them.

The anxiety pattern I have surrounding women hasn’t completely dissolved yet. Talking to one woman and getting rejected was not enough to break a long cycle of fear. But it is, without question, on its way out. My physical condition, too, has dramatically improved as I’ve become more and more self-aware and got rid of all my ideas about what was happening in my body and what was or wasn’t possible. Where once I was in constant pain and seemingly always in a state of depression or on the verge of a panic attack, I’m now exercising, doing volunteer work, spending time with friends, and almost always feeling at peace.

So remember that no matter what may be happening in your body and mind, no matter how severe or crippling it may seem, it can be overcome. All it takes is your awareness and your willingness to heal. Sometimes no action need follow, because awareness will take care of it -- darkness cannot survive when exposed to the light -- and even when action does result, it’s natural. You may still need outside therapies of some sort, but being aware will allow them to finally work.

Images of Mayo Clinic

Though I tend to be positive and upbeat most of the time, there are days when it's hard to be that way. In the past this was especially true, during the days when I had no idea what was going on and I seemed to be getting worse and worse, going from doctor to doctor, and even to the Mayo Clinic, as I write about in this modernist poem from about two years ago. Though it no longer reflects the way I feel most of the time, I'm sure many of you can relate to these experiences.

IMAGES OF MAYO CLINIC

[1 - introduction]

the place strives for a calming vibe

sculptures paintings aesthetics considered

volunteer musicians on a sleek new piano

but I’m not calm

I see the swans trapped in the rafters

in the paintings in the elevators and waiting

rooms and I want to burst back into what

I was

[2 - the nalgene jug]

it smells of ammonia and piss

(the latter of which I add carefully

each time, to avoid getting

any on my hands)

I carry it in a massive and (fittingly)

puke-colored plastic bag with a long

drawstring—essential to providing a

more comfortable separation between

me and It

growing heavier and more

foul-smelling with each addition

I make, each of the 24 hours,

it accompanies me everywhere I go—

except when I’m sleep, and then

it squats in the bathroom of our

hotel room, like a fat troll under a bridge,

waiting and sneering and stinking

[3 - blood tests]

there are thirty-one tests

on order, twelve vials to fill

and I’m deathly afraid of needles

I’m sitting in the sterile white

of a curtain-cubicle trying

to control my heart rate

the band tied around my arm

traps the blood

“it’s not so bad” she says

as she’s about to strike

pulsing faster

and faster

and faster

I look to you with an animal fear

consuming my eyes

(edit—the space of agony and cursing

thoughts as the needle breaks the skin—

[enter PA NIC]

! )

sounds and lights muffling, muffled

I can’t hold up my head

and I decide these must be the moments

just before a loss of consciousness

but it’s done now and I’m still awake

I wait a moment before standing

and even then agree to a wheelchair

the needle’s gone, leaving only a

bandage and a tiny prick mark

but my pallor—scars—admit to

a deeper, older wound

[4 - recommendation]

“I recommend you do this”

“NO.”

(my muscles ache with terrible intensity

but there’s the disagreeing in

my face that I’ve nurtured and perfected

over years and years of this and I

verbalize these thoughts in simple terms)

“I disagree

and

I’m not doing it.”

(what I don’t add is that

I don’t trust you

you will not trap me

in your man-oven, witch doctor)

“okay”

(and now she’s gone and I can breathe easier

because I’ve somehow won)

[5 - sleep study]

the irony of a sleep study

is that there’s precious little

sleeping involved:

the electrodes and wires and monitors

and cameras and the strange feeling of

being somewhere I don’t belong—and,

to my exhausted fury and contrary to

the doctors orders, the technician

waking me at 6:00

[6 - results]

found nothing

all’s normal—all’s well, etc.—

this corresponds with the history

of the place, conveniently

chipper smiles

and unsolicited suggestions

without any experiential basis

and “I think”s and “you need to”s

and “I would suggest”s

organized like an

efficient number system

—calling me in,

(breath) and now out—

cattle through a chute

okay?

okay

(pleasantries all around)

okay.

there was no harm in trying,

That. Them.

and yet—an indestructible

YET

more vital than my heart—

I haven’t in years gone

a day without pain,

without the piercing fear

that my bones are deteriorating

and now lightning bolts have entered

the paintings, stirring up the water

and frying all the swans

The Fallacy of Facts

The Fallacy of Facts

Today my youngest brother, an 8th grader, complained to me that his grades would be a lot better if he were better at taking tests.

“You don’t have to be bad at taking tests,” I said.

“But I am. It’s a fact,” he replied.

“Well, facts change.”

Too often with chronic illness we get into a chronic belief cycle -- believing that the present situation is the way things are always going to be. Not only is this belief damaging, it’s completely wrong. The one constant in the universe is that nothing remains constant. All of creation is dynamic. Everything is engaged in a perpetual cycle of change, mostly on levels we’re unaware of, that our conscious minds can’t begin to comprehend. This throws the entire notion of a "chronic" condition into question.

One year ago, the “facts” were that I was underweight (118 pounds at my lowest), in a great deal of pain most of the time, possessed by major anxiety and depression, unable to exercise, and unsure when healing would come -- or if it was going to come at all.

Today, the “facts” are significantly different: I exercise several times each week, I have less pain, I am happy and at peace much of the time, and I have just topped 140 pounds (mostly added muscle from the exercising I never thought I’d ever be able to do).

The main reason for the changes? I shifted my perception and stopped believing that my condition was static, or stuck. Since facts are not objective, but rather relative to our beliefs and mindset, this wasn’t something I caused to happen; it was a natural result of the shifts within myself.

The fact is, facts change. With a little nudge, the facts of your reality can change, too.

Positive Indicators

During the last few days I’ve been a little bit under the weather. I have my first cold in three years, and with all the associated symptoms added to what I feel normally, I certainly don’t feel great. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I’ve taken a step backwards in my recovery.

Yet there is significant reason to believe that the situation continues to improve. Here are just a few reasons:

1) This “cold” period follows a stretch of 8-9 days during which I had more energy than I knew what to do with.

2) Despite more fatigue and muscle pain (and today, a headache, sore throat, stuffy nose, and chest pain), I have continued to work out three times a week at minimum.

3) Thanks in large part to working out, I’ve gained 10 pounds in the last couple months to finally reach a “normal” weight of about 141.

4) Also partly thanks to working out, my spine is going out of place less easily, which means that my reliance on chiropractic care is slowly, slowly diminishing.

5) I’ve begun volunteering at the local elementary school with a Mexican kid who doesn’t speak any English -- a perfect opportunity for me since I speak Spanish, have an ESL certification, and have been in dire need of something substantial to keep me busy.

6) Feeling crappy, whether physically or psychologically, means that there exists an even greater potential for growth. When I had a major seizure in April this year, for example, I was told that it was serious, and the overarching theme was “this is bad.” I chose to eschew that outlook and instead decided it was a catalyst for change. And it was. It was around that time that I began to see steady improvement in the state of my health. (This is a major subject, so I’ll discuss it more in a future post.) I see no reason why this period can’t be in some way the same kind of indicator.

This is all to say one thing: a situation and its future potential are defined entirely by the story you give to it. It seems that the silver lining of feeling crappy is that you can create your own silver lining. That's what you do if you want to heal.

Greyhound Breakdown

Below is a column I wrote for the Augustana College Mirror in March of this year:

If being present were merely a spiritually responsible way to live, what would be the attraction? Certainly there would be a group of people who would find egoic pleasure in it the same way they have found pleasure in their more restrictive religious traditions. The rest of us wouldn’t see the point.

But being present—that is, observing your emotions and reserving judgment instead of becoming entangled with the situation and getting upset—provides greater benefits than that. Remember the Staples commercials with the Easy Button? The Easy Button is a great metaphor for the power of being present. No matter what’s happening, even if your body is in a great deal of pain or discomfort, you can observe it and remain at peace, unattached.

My most recent experience of this phenomenon occurred just last week when, because my Greyhound bus was full, the Greyhound manager asked eight of us to ride in a taxi van.

If I had known what would follow, I would never have agreed to the arrangement.

Fifteen minutes into the trip, a tire blew out, and we almost careened off the road. Unfortunately, the spare was worthless because no one had bothered to replace it after it had gone flat. We later learned that the driver had informed the Greyhound manager of this minor detail before he had even agreed to haul us, but the manager had ignored it and demanded the driver take us anyway.

We waited on the side of a busy highway for over two hours. No one stopped for the first hour and a half. Even a cop passed by. Though we were only a few minutes from a tire store where the driver could have purchased a new tire, the manager decided it would be preferable, somehow, to drive a tire in from two hours away.

To explain the benefit of remaining present in this situation, let me back up for a moment to note my circumstances. My health has been less than ideal in the last several years, and traveling is never easy for me. I hadn’t eaten anything that day, and without more than a granola bar in my backpack, it appeared I would be forced to wait until 8:00 that evening to get a meal. I was tired, my muscles were beginning to hurt worse than usual, and the driver drove like he was on speed. Worse still, everyone in the van smoked like an 18th-century factory.

To add to the ordeal, the assortment of characters surrounding me in the van could not have been stranger. In the front passenger seat sat a recovering crack addict, a middle-aged white man with rotted front teeth and gangster apparel who claimed to be tight with the rappers Paul Wall (“Hey, dog, I’mma get my man Paul Wall on da phone so we kin talk ta him, and he get us a ride, my man Paul Wall get us a ride.”) and Snoop Dogg.

Even when everyone began to ignore his ramblings, he would mutter to himself about his two-million dollar mansion and the girls he had waiting at home. The only truth in his rambling, it seemed, was the part about his being a recovering crack addict—with a definite emphasis on the fact that he was still in the process.

Beside me sat a one-eyed, cane-wielding old man named Dominique. He wore a stocking hat and sweats and threatened a class action lawsuit against Greyhound for getting us stuck on the side of the road. “We don’t deserve this shit,” he complained. “Somebody owes me for this.” He even made a few phone calls—allegedly to the Greyhound corporate office and to his lawyer—for effect.

I could have freaked out. Some of the others, like Dominique, did. But I realized that if I allowed myself to act unconsciously—that is, to allow my thoughts and emotions to run away with me—I would end up miserable, pissed off, and probably requesting to be added as a plaintiff in Dominique’s class action lawsuit. Interestingly, though, my remaining present apparently had more effect than I expected: what could have turned into an impressive explosion of tempers remained a few cross-armed men cursing and grumbling. Given the colorful people surrounding me, the situation could have turned dangerous.

So I chose to remain present and reserve judgment. As I observed the situation, “allowing” it to unfold as it would, I quickly realized how ridiculously funny it was.

Speaking to the kid next to me, I commented, “You couldn’t write this shit if you tried!”

“It’s stranger than fiction,” he agreed.

I located my camera and began taking pictures and recording video—of the people, the broken down van, the story—so that later, when removing my laptop from my backpack wouldn’t get me robbed, I could write it all down.

Could it potentially turn into part of a book? Perhaps. If nothing else, that unexpected day provided me with another installment for this column.