Life was what I would call good. I lived in a beautiful tropical rainforest in Hawaii. I had a supportive and loving circle of friends, a healthy lifestyle, and lots of music, my precious cat, Ruby, and a beautiful and bountiful garden. Most of all, I was at peace. Things were flowing smoothly, and there was little drama in my life as the chaos and confusion of the world seemed to take a detour around me.
In April, 1997 I discovered a large lump in my right breast. Sleep escaped me that night. Instead I wanted answers to all the questions that flooded my brain. What was this lump.....cancer? Was I going to die? Would I die alone? Would I lose my hair? Who would take care of me? When I finally got an answer about the lump some six weeks later, the irony was that there was cancer in my breast, but it was the opposite one from where I had found the lump. What I had felt was a cyst that had just appeared. The cancer, on the other side, was widespread but early stage, and as research shows had probably been there for at least five years before it was detected. I was fortunate.
I knew my diagnosis was not life threatening. On the other hand, it was a pretty sure thing that it would at least be life-changing. My friends rallied around me with love and support. My family did the best they could. The physical distance of 6,000 miles was not the only distance between us, and we all knew it. My diagnosis was a wake-up call for many who knew me. I was open and conversational about my process. I felt it was important for me and for others to discuss options, feelings, disappointments, needs, etc. Cancer is a scary word. People hear it and think "death". Some people self selected to disappear from my life. I didn't want that energy around anyway, so I became vigilant about who I let into my circle. Others looked the dragon in the eye with me, and I drew them even closer into my circle.
I had always had a very shapely body with nice perky breasts. I was devastated about the possibility of losing a breast. I knew it would change not only the look of my body, but since I had always wrestled with my self-image, the struggle for self-love became even more intensified.
I spent time preparing for the passage I knew I was about to make. A dear friend offered to take photographs of my body before the surgery. I found that gesture to be tender and supportive, and very beneficial in my process. Now, as I look back, I am so thankful to have beautiful pictures of me bare-breasted surrounded by lush tropical flowers. In the few weeks before the surgery, friends sang to me, danced with me, took me on walks and picnics at the beach, and accompanied me to the movies, strangers prayed with me and wished me well. Thirteen of my close friends joined me in a healing circle to honor the passage from two-breasted woman to Amazon woman. Each one came that beautiful Sunday afternoon and honored their love for me. What a blessed experience it was, and I felt so full. They gifted me with something eternal through their poems, songs, dances, jokes, flowers, food, and hugs--all symbols of their love for me and for themselves. It was such a beautiful honoring of our friendship.
Just after my forty-second birthday I let two wonderful doctors remove my left breast and make a new one from the tissue in my belly. I had been thirty-seven when my uterus was removed because of hemorrhaging from a large fibroid (benign) tumor. I felt as though one by one the parts that identified me as a woman were being taken from me. A victim? Yes, that was me.
I prepared myself with music, lots of music. People made all kinds of tapes of their favorite music and poems for me to listen to. A former client of mine from many years before in Cleveland had become quite well known by that time through his beautiful piano compositions. I wrote to Jim Brickman and told him I was going to use his music during surgery because I found it so soothing. It was a powerful symbol for me to allow his beautiful music to help me, just as I had helped him many years before when he was just beginning his musical career. Several days after surgery I received a call from Jim wishing me well, and telling me how delighted he was that his music could be used in such a wonderful way.
The surgery was scheduled on the Island of Oahu at Queens Medical Center in Honolulu. I arranged to have Healing Touch before and after the surgery as help in calming my body and spirit through the trauma of such a surgery. I brought my own sheets and pillows and made a beautiful altar with my bare-breasted picture on it so I could see it from my bed. A wonderful friend traveled to Honolulu and sat with me to be my "life-line". When I could open my eyes and focus, there she was sitting at the foot of my bed ready to help in any way she could. Other friends flew to Honolulu to visit me, others who lived on Oahu came and took my sheets home to be washed and supported me in so many ways.
I have dear friends who have been like my adopted mom and dad and they were there for me in ways I couldn't even imagine. They flew to Honolulu to accompany me home. I was barely able to walk much less negotiate the airport and plane ride. Their support in that next six weeks was what I always imagined family life could be like. Every need I had was met with grace and love. I know that my experience would have been much different had it not been for the tremendous amount of support I received from them and so many other dear ones.
Six weeks after the mastectomy and reconstructive surgery I attended a weekend seminar by Caroline Myss. I had listened to her tape series, Energy Anatomy, while I was preparing for surgery. The power and wisdom in her teachings alerted me to old habits and ways in which I had let life just happen to me. I had become a storehouse for vast amounts of negative energy from traumatic experiences that would have served me better by flowing through me instead of lodging in my cells.
Halfway through the second day of sitting in a lecture/presentation by Caroline, I was physically worn out. My body had been cut open and re-arranged from my collarbone to my pubic bone only a few weeks earlier. I was still wearing the brace that literally held my insides together since my abdominal muscles now were being used to shape my new breast. What was interesting was that the brace couldn't hold in all the other parts of me that were falling away. I was physically and emotionally uncomfortable indeed. I began to notice my level of emotional discomfort as she began to talk about how someone becomes a healer. Caroline asked for a show of hands from those in the audience of about 500 who believed themselves to be healers. I looked around and would estimate that 80% of the men and women in the audience raised their hands. My first thought, as my hands remained firmly in my lap, was "how arrogant...how does someone just call themselves a healer?"
Caroline acknowledged those who raised their hands and asked if anyone wanted to share their thoughts about how they knew they were healers. People were eager to tell about experiences they felt while doing bodywork or counseling people, or helping animals. I remembered some of the times people had called me at all hours of the day and night for support; I recalled a mystical experience of healing a cat's bleeding paw just by placing it between my hands; when someone had told me how hot my hands were and how they just felt better being near me. But I didn't believe that any of these things qualified me as a healer.
Caroline again acknowledged people's experiences, but boldly said, "That's NOT how you know you are a healer." A gasp and then an unmistakable hush came over the audience. I know I was not the only one affected by her verbal lashing.
During the next few minutes, I was unable to control the tears as Caroline basically told the story of my life. Her words laid me open emotionally and energetically. She told the story of a woman who had gone through a tremendous amount of suffering, and who had become a healer instead of a victim. She put her hands on her hips and said; "Now that's how you become a compassionate healer." I was feeling more uncomfortable than before, and began shifting my body to find a more comfortable position in the chair. I placed my arms around my middle in order to give my aching stomach a little comfort and support. Almost immediately Caroline zeroed in on me like a hawk on a mouse and gave me a look. If you have ever seen Caroline in person you know the look I am talking about. She pointed at me and said sternly, "Open Up!"
I felt as though she were Luke Skywalker, and had just blasted me with her phaser gun. My first reaction was to run out of the room, the next was to defend myself. I did neither of these because, as is Caroline's style, she just went on with her lecture as though nothing had happened. I, on the other hand, was left stunned and shaking in my seat. She went on to talk about woundology, and how many people stay stuck in their stories. I knew she was talking about me. After all, I had been a drama queen my whole life. Even when I was a child my mother would call me "Sarah Heartburn" as she made fun of the pain I was feeling and my method of trying to express it to her.
As I tried to recover from this seeming assault during the next break from Caroline's lecture, I carefully stood up. There were over 500 people in the room, but at that moment, all I was interested in was protecting myself from any additional pain. I felt like the proverbial hermit crab who wanted to pull inside my shell and hide in the dark and the silence, away from the eyes and energy of others. However, that was not possible, since there were so many people around me. So what would I do next, since I seemed frozen in my pain? I asked Spirit to guide me and bring me comfort. Just as I made my request from the corner where I was hiding, I looked across the large hotel meeting room to see Ron Roth, Caroline's dear friend who accompanied her on this tour.
Ron, author of, The Healing Path of Prayer and Prayer and the Five Stages of Healing, had led a beautiful healing meditation and prayer session the evening before. I had stayed the previous evening because I felt as though I needed all the healing energy I could get. He had guided those who participated in a sweet and warm healing meditation, and I had felt a real connection to his tender energy.
When I looked in his direction during this break time, he was surrounded by many people who wanted to talk with him or have him autograph the books they had purchased. I felt guided to move in his direction, and possibly talk with him. I seemed to float across the large room, and found myself standing just outside of the circle of people waiting to talk to him. He looked at me, and motioned me over to him. Those who were waiting to talk with him just seemed to move out of the way. When I approached him, he asked if he could touch me. I said yes, and he put his hand over my breast (actually over my heart) and looked into my eyes. He said with the gentlest and sweetest voice, "You are fine." Three simple words, but that was all I needed to hear. A moment of compassion and loving kindness helped me to integrate the intense transmission of information that Caroline delivered. I was able to take a deep breath and relax into the process of accepting that Spirit had taken me into and through a large initiation of healing which would take a little time to integrate.
Caroline says in her book Why People Don't Heal and How They Can, "We are not meant to stay wounded. We are supposed to move though our tragedies and challenges and to help each other move through the many painful episodes of our lives. By remaining stuck in the power of our wounds, we block our own transformation. We overlook the greater gifts inherent in our wounds--the strength to overcome them and the lessons that we are meant to receive through them. Wounds are the means through which we enter the hearts of other people. They are meant to teach us to become compassionate and wise."
I am reminded of the symbolism that is conveyed in a very moving story told by Laura Ingalls Wilder in her book On the Banks of Plum Creek. The title of the chapter is very fitting--The Darkest Hour is Just Before the Dawn. Here is my paraphrase of that story:
Laura is a young girl and had just moved to a new house on the prairie. Her father had gone away to find work after their crops had been destroyed by grasshoppers. She missed him terribly, but was making the best of her grief, as was the rest of her family. One day, Mrs. Nelson came by for a visit and brought her young daughter, Anna. Anna was young, a little older than her sister Carrie, and only spoke Norwegian. They played down by the creek in the afternoon, but when it got cold, they went to the house to play. Their mothers asked them to go play nicely with their dolls. Laura had a special box of paper dolls that she and her sister, Mary, played with often. She went to get down the box and Anna was pleased when she saw the paper dolls. Immediately she grabbed one and ripped in in two. Laura and Mary were horrified. They didn't know what to do, and took the dolls away from Anna, but she immediately began to cry. They didn't want to disturb their mothers, so Mary suggested that Laura go upstairs and get Charlotte, Laura's favorite doll.
Charlotte had been Laura's favorite ever since that Christmas morning in Wisconsin many years before. Charlotte was a rag doll with no feet, and her hands were stitched on the ends of her arms. She had bright button eyes, and black wavy yarn hair. As Laura took her from the box beside her bed, she smoothed Charlotte's hair and skirts, and held her tenderly. When she handed Charlotte to Anna, Anna squealed with delight and hugged Charlotte tightly. She banged Charlotte on the floor, but Laura knew that Anna couldn't really hurt Charlotte. Laura had planned that when Anna went home she would smooth Charlotte's hair and skirts again before returning her to the box.
Then the worst thing imaginable happened. When Anna and her mother prepared to leave, Anna wouldn't give Charlotte back to Laura. Laura was shocked and hurt when her mother suggested that she could give Charlotte up to Anna. She cried and was scolded by her mother for being selfish. Ma said that she really didn't even want the doll since she never played with it. What her mother didn't know was that Charlotte was very special, and was kept in a secret place where Laura could give her love in private. Reluctantly, Laura conceded to let Anna have the doll. She wanted to cry, but held back to show that she was a good girl to her mother. That night, as Laura went to bed, she felt very lonely and cold inside.
The days past, and the weather became cold and windy, and the rains began. Laura waited for word from her father, but no letters came. As the days past, she felt more lonely for her beloved Pa. Each day she would bundle up and go to the Nelson's to see if a letter had arrived from her father. She wouldn't go in the house, because she did not want to see Charlotte at Anna's house instead of her own.
One stormy day as she was going to the Nelson's, Laura saw something in a puddle in the barnyard at the Nelson's house. As she looked down, there was Charlotte, laying face down frozen in the puddle. Anna had scalped her, and thrown her away. There Charlotte was with her beautiful wavy hair ripped lose, her smiling yarn mouth was torn and bleeding red on her cheek. One of her bright shoe-button eyes was missing, but Laura knew it was still her beloved Charlotte. Laura pried Charlotte loose from the frozen puddle and hid her beneath her shawl and she ran wildly home in the wind and rain.
When she arrived home, her mother asked her what was wrong, and Laura pulled Charlotte from underneath her shawl. Laura's mother scooped her and Charlotte up in her arms, and sat down in the rocking chair while they talked about it. Laura said that she wasn't sorry that she had stolen Charlotte back from Anna, and Ma agreed. Laura had rescued Charlotte, and her Ma would help her put Charlotte back together as good as new. Ma took off Charlotte's tangled and matted hair, her ripped and smudged mouth, and her remaining shoe-button eye. They washed her and rang her out. They cleaned her clothes, ironed and starched her dress. Then Laura went to the rag box and found some pink material to make a new face for Charlotte. Ma and Laura repaired Charlotte with new golden-brown yarn hair fixed in two braids tied with blue yarn bows. They made a new mouth and found new buttons for her eyes. That night when Laura laid Charlotte in her box beside her bed, she sweetly went to sleep cuddled up next to Mary under their patchwork comforter.
During the night, they woke to a very large crash downstairs. At first they were frightened, until they heard a loud voice say, "I declare! I dropped an armful of wood, didn't I?" It was Pa. He had returned without any warning. Laura and Mary flew from their beds, and hardly a stepped on the ladder, as they landed in their father's arms. At last, Laura's beloved Pa had returned with money to help pay the bills, and love in his heart for all.
The symbology of this story has touched me deeply. I see that no matter what happens to the beloved, health and harmony can be restored with enough love and conscious attention. Often things in life occur that we can't seem to comprehend. Sometimes they are so horrible, we can't believe that they can really happen, especially when they happen to us. But there is always love, deep within us. There is enough love and strength to overcome and repair anything, if we dig deep enough. We must first open ourselves to the possibility of healing, and then it will happen.
Music without words means leaving behind the mind. And leaving behind the mind is meditation.
Meditation returns you to the source. And the source of all is sound. — Kabir
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