This morning I go to my friend Rainbow’s house to pick up a CD she has made with her “old man” Donovan. Rainbow is an old hippie who has basically tie-dyed her hair purple and green recently. We get to talking about all sorts of things and then she says, “We’re both the sensitive type. And sometimes that’s hard when life gets really dark.”
I nod my head agreeing, and give her arm a squeeze, wondering what she’s been going through lately.
“But I think that sensitivity is also a gift,” she adds. Yeah, I think. I forget this, but it’s true. “We feel things so deeply, don’t you think? And others! Real empaths.” I nod again. “Sometimes I feel I don’t have any skin.” “Yes, yes!,” she says enthusiastically. She can become easily excited. “That’s it exactly! But that sensitivity gives you the ability to write poetry. And the free hugs you used to give at Mariposa.”
I consider this. “I guess you’re right. That sensitivity we share has a positive side, although when things become really difficult, I forget that.” “I know! I know!” She’s almost jumping up and down. “Me too! But we can’t forget the flip side! Energy is energy! Sometimes we name it “anxiety,” other times we can name it – oh I don’t know – “The buzz of creativity.” We can’t forget that buzz! It’s magic!” Rainbow has a unique way of putting things. “Like you and your music and your big heart,” I say.
She ducks her head momentarily embarrassed, then says, “When we feel other folks’ pain, that can be draining sometimes. But it also means we can offer folks a lot of love.
“You’re right,” I say. I’m glad to hear these words from her right now. Lately, I have only seen the downside of sensitivity: The inability to use computers for too long because how it affects my nervous system, how I get almost every flu and cold in the winter because of a compromised immune system from too little sleep over too many years, and anxiety that shows up too frequently as far as I’m concerned. Not to mention epilepsy.
“Plus,” she goes on, “It seems like other folks don’t experience deeply the sweetness of the world. Like dew: It’s fantastic how it sparkles! Or how the sun can pierce through the dark clouds and right into your heart. They see it, they feel something, but it’s not a Big Event, you know? They’re on to the next thing.”
“I get what you mean. I often wonder what it’s like to be other people. To feel not what they feel, but how. Often, they seem to me – oh, I don’t know – not hardened exactly – but… more protected somehow. Some people hardly ever cry.”
“I know,” Rainbow says, “Can you imagine?” Her eyes widen in wonder.
I think about my mother whom I could count on one hand the number of times I saw her cry. And I never saw her sob. I remember her saying once, “Why do people have to talk about their feelings all the time?” She wasn’t a cold person. Warmth emanated from her. She just had thick skin – she was born that way.
We go on to other things: her upcoming gig, what movies we’ve seen lately, our very different upbringings: hers Catholic and strict, mine, unorthodox with few boundaries.
I then tell her I need to get back home and we hug and say goodbye.
When I reach my car, she yells, “I love you!”
I blow her a kiss.
“Keep writing poetry,” she adds as I’m about to open the car door, “The universe needs us!”
I toss the CD into the car and turn towards her, fashioning my hands into the shape of a heart.
Sometimes things come together: I sleep well enough to enjoy my day, and, after checking my daily to-do list, see that there is nothing that really needs to get done. It suddenly occurs to me that I could visit my friends Jesse and Shay, who live a little more than an hour north from me, and have my caregiver Jenna drive me.
When she arrives, I tell her my idea and find out she’s up for it. Let’s get out of town!
The day is perfect for an outing. It’s nearly the end of August and there’s a bit of coolness in the air, the heaviness of summer lifting for a bit.
We leave town and immediately get on the highway. We pass steep hills full of leaning redwoods and pines and I feel my senses awaken. Traveling – even a short trip out of town, always opens up my world, reminding me there’s more to life than the inside of my mind and the confines of my home.
Jenna and I converse on the way there. She’s only been working for me for a short time and this gives me a chance to get to know her better. She tells me a little about her unhappy childhood – growing up as an only child in a small town outside of Madison, Wisconsin and how she tended to her lonely spirit by climbing trees and watching all kinds of critters. I learn that she has moved around a lot since an adult, until she arrived in Mendocino County ten years ago and realized she had finally found her home.
I tell Jenna I need a break from conversing, knowing that when we arrive at Jesse and Shay’s, there’ll be plenty of it. I don’t want my brain to go on over-load before we get there and spoil the visit.
I turn and look out the window. We are passing through the tiny town of Laytonville, which holds not a whole lot more than a gas station, a general store and a few small restaurants. Old hippies live here side-by-side with rednecks pretty much amiably, it seems to me.
The road flattens out as does the scenery – there are less trees here, revealing gentle hills that are golden brown from parched grasses.
Finally, we reach Bells Springs Road and I direct Jenna to turn right onto it. The car immediately climbs, pavement turning to dirt and gravel. The washboard road jostles our bodies as we drive up and up, rounding one curve after another, a cloud of dust following. Occasionally, there is a break between madrone and manzanita on the right, revealing spectacular views of ridges spreading out for miles, with no houses in sight.
Eventually, just as I am becoming impatient, the road straightens out and we arrive at their driveway, which is steep but short, guarded by a large gargoyle leering at us at the base. We park at the top at level ground and get out.
I am always struck by the quiet here. I pause and take a moment, breathing in the stillness, which is settling after such a long and bumpy ride.
We stretch our legs and look around before nearing the house. Two large goddess statues line the pathway, almost as tall as full-grown women. Flat rocks nearby them have been carefully stacked creating a natural tower.
The house is unusual – what I would call a Northern California home, probably built back in the 70’s. It is weathered and rambling with two stories and sits amongst trees. Two decks are connected by a narrow walkway, which leads to the front door. As we walk in that direction, we pass potted plants and a large stack of wood, forcing us to walk single-file.
I hear voices call out and see Jesse and Shay out on the front deck. When Jenna and I reach them, I introduce everybody, then hug my friends hard – it’s been too long since we’ve gotten together.
A big oak tree bends over the deck, one of its huge branches almost touching it. Beside us is a carefully and lovingly constructed ornamental terraced garden. There are small, meandering pathways and a tiny pond with a run-off that’s gently burbling. It’s truly a thing of beauty.
Gardening has always been one of Jesse’s passions and has kept her busy over the years, but now that she’s in a wheelchair, she can no longer tend to this incredible creation of hers and has taken to making what she calls “faerie gardens”, that line the deck. These miniature gardens that she has worked on meticulously are made up of tiny plants made to look like trees, with elfin bridges, houses, and even people, and not one of them is the same.
They reveal the patience Jesse has, which is one of her most admirable traits, along with her great intelligence.
We take our seats and immediately launch into deep conversation. I have known these women for a very long time, so there is no need for small talk and pleasantries. Although I haven’t seen them for months, in many ways it feels like yesterday.
Inevitably, the conversation turns to health. Last year, Jesse was diagnosed with cancer. Surgery became necessary and she has recently finished rounds of chemo. Her hair has just started coming back and when I rub my hand across her head, I’m surprised with how soft it is. She talks about frequent doctor visits, anticipating test results, and the hardship of having to go to Ukiah for appointments, almost 2 hours away. As she talks, I check out her appearance more closely and realize she’s lost a lot of weight, which concerns me. Nevertheless, she seems cheerful and talkative, and my concern, at least for her emotional well-being, begins to wane.
It’s Shay, really, that worries me more. She has suffered from depression since she was a teenager. Her voice is often flat, and she sleeps a lot and has little vital energy. Jesse’s cancer has certainly added to her mental state, and so our talk turns to her struggles.
She has been on antidepressants for some time. At first, she had a hard time adjusting to one medication, but then they gave her some relief. But not long after, the effects abated then stopped working altogether. The doctors wanted to increase her dosage, which she did, and that helped briefly, but then again, stopped working. Discouraged, she cut back, but found it difficult on her body and even though she’d like to go off altogether, it became too hard to do, so she has given up and stayed on them, even though she no longer feels any relief.
She has also gone to therapy, read countless books on depression, quit sugar altogether and changed her diet. But all this has had no effect on her body/mind.
“The only thing that really helps”, she says, “That really gets me out of my head is being creative.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I can get in this zone and it takes me away from everything and into this other world.”
Shay is an incredible artist, with many interests. Her main focuses have been jewelry, painting and drawing. Her studio is a work of art itself: Sketches are set up here and there. Cups and cases hold pens, colored pencils and brushes in various shapes and sizes. Tiny drawers hold all sorts of beads, necklaces, chains and clasps. Easels lean against walls. There are leather-bound journals with her creations in them, reams of paper for watercolors, as well as others’ artwork – from small sculptures to paintings to help inspire her.
After Shay speaks, Jesse adds, her voice becoming soft, “What’s hard for me is seeing how her depression affects her self-esteem. She’s so damn hard on herself!” Tears spring to her eyes.
I know this to be true. Shay constantly puts herself down, downplays her artistic abilities, compares herself to others in many areas of her life, and often, in her mind, coming up short. It’s painful for me to see this in her. I love my friend dearly and know her not only to be talented, but extremely kind, sensitive and thoughtful. I only wish she could turn those qualities towards herself.
Jenna chimes in, “Well, I’m not clinically depressed, but I have my days and my cycles with it. When the days turn into weeks, I start to microdose myself with magic mushrooms. It works for me. It interrupts the cycle.”
We’re all interested in what she has to say, and barrage her with questions. What kind of mushrooms? How much do you take? Do you get high? Can you take it with antidepressants and other medications?
Jenna answers carefully. “I can only speak from my own experience. I take a teeny weeny bit of psilocybin and I don’t get high. But, I feel…” She thinks a bit, “I feel better, is all I can say. Different. Something shifts inside, and my brain resets itself.” She shrugs, as if to say, “That’s the best I can do to explain myself”. “And I want to be clear here: I don’t know if it will work for you. I don’t know if you can take it with your meds. I don’t have all the answers.” She shakes her head with a sad expression on her face. “And unfortunately, I’ve run out of mushrooms myself and don’t know where to get any.”
We’re all quiet, taking in all this information.
“I do think,”, Jenna adds, “That if you ever try it – don’t do it alone. Have someone there with you. I’d be willing to do that with you, if you’d like.”
“But you don’t have any,”, Jesse says, making sure. “No. But I’m looking. I could let you know if I find anything.”
Shay sighs, sounding weary, but says “Well I like the idea of taking something natural…” She drifts off, “I’m not sure if I’m up for something new.”
I understand this reaction. I’ve tried so many other things over the years and got my hopes up: Maybe this will work. Often, I don’t get the results I want, or it makes me feel worse and/or gives me intolerable side effects. Even something as simple and benign like vitamin B-12 to help feed my nervous system, took me a long time to try out. I just did not want to be disappointed yet again.
There’s a lull in the conversation and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, their scraggly black, Noche (with a tiny spot of white on the tip of his tail), shows up demanding attention, putting smiles on our faces. More shadows have moved in on the porch, taking over most of the sun spots. As much as I don’t want to leave, it’s best that we get on the road before it becomes too dark.
We reluctantly say our goodbyes and as we pull out of their driveway, I look back and see Shay holding Noche and waving at us.
We’re quiet as we head home as I process the visit. Seeing these beloved friends always warms my heart, but breaks it, too, if that’s possible. I realize I want to “fix” Shay, as others seem to want to “fix” me, but I know it’s not possible and that hurts. Maybe, if Shay wants to try them, those mushrooms will help, I think, as we whiz by trees and hills. And maybe they won’t.
Microdosing – disclaimer: I am not endorsing the use of illegal or potentially dangerous drugs/medications.The subject of microdosing is only to inform my readers.
“It’s also important to know that not all psychological disorders lend themselves well to psychedelic treatment. While there is no scientific basis for the propaganda that psychedelics can “make you crazy,” it has been suggested that those with latent schizophrenia could have their condition triggered early by a strong psychedelic experience. Keep in mind this is still a new frontier of research, and people with certain medical conditions or on certain medications should absolutely not take certain psychedelics. Any properly run treatment clinic will have a full physical and mental health screening before treatment, and walk you through any contraindications that may be revealed. We do not endorse any illegal behavior, but from a harm reduction perspective, anyone who chooses underground treatment should exercise extreme levels of research, discernment, and safety precautions throughout the process.”
“Finding Integration Support – Beyond the psychedelic journey itself, integration of the experience after the fact plays a critical role in ensuring that the insights, progress, inspiration gained are translated into daily life in a sustainable way. Whether you are fresh out of an underground ayahuasca ceremony that helped you deal with childhood trauma, or a recent outpatient of an iboga center that helped you detox from an opiate addiction; a few weeks or months of integration support from someone who understands psychedelic treatment is immensely beneficial in securing your new goals, perspectives and commitments.” …
“Releasing the Stigma – One of the most insidious aspects of mental illnesses is the stigma that surrounds them. Despite the statistics that show how common these disorders are, our culture still often adopts a “toughen up and go it alone” approach, leading many to isolate themselves and be fearful of speaking up about their condition, much less seek help. Psychotherapy, prescription medications, and conventional rehab centers do help many people stabilize their lives, but sometimes these routes are not enough to fully eradicate the pain, trauma, and stress that lay at the core of the disorder, leading people to simply numb their symptoms without seeking true healing.” “Radical shifts in behavior, self-image, and wellbeing are something that psychedelics excel at when used appropriately, but not everyone is able to travel abroad for psychedelic treatment or willing to find underground options. The single most important thing that anyone suffering from an addiction or mental disorder can do is to speak up about it to their loved ones and seek help. Shame and stigma surrounding these issues should be forever discarded, as these conditions are an integral part of the human condition, and everyone faces stress, challenges, and addictive habits in their own way.”
… “Carina*, a 59-year-old therapist in Oregon, sees the ripple effects of the anxiety and stress of our current cultural climate every day in her work—and in her personal life. She has struggled with depression for much of her career, managing it with regular therapy sessions and movement practices like yoga and dance, but when she found herself struggling with a particularly challenging depressive episode in the wake of the #MeToo movement, she began exploring alternative treatment modalities.”
“That’s when she was introduced to microdosing for depression. “So much of depression is feeling stuck,” says Carina. “Microdosing has helped me get out of preservation mode; it helped me get out of the stuck places and see that there are options.”
“Shrooms (aka psychedelic mushrooms) and LSD have a rich résumé of providing a hallucinatory high, and we’re in the midst of a psychedelic resurgence. The recent interest in psychedelics isn’t a throwback to the ’60s so much as it is the potential future of mental health treatment—especially for depression and anxiety.”
“The goal of microdosing is not to get you high. As the name implies, the practice involves taking a small amount—a microdose—of psilocybin (in the form of mushrooms) or LSD every few days. Unlike higher doses of psychedelics, which typically produce the “trip” experience these substances are most known for, the effect of microdosing is much more subtle. Most people start with “around 10ug of LSD (around a tenth of a tab) or 0.1g of dried psilocybin mushrooms,” according to The Third Wave, a psychedelic education resource. (The “right” dose varies from person to person. You should never take any substance without consulting your doctor first.)”
“Psychedelics aren’t legal—they’re currently classified as Schedule I drugs by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration, meaning there’s “no currently accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse.” (For the record, cannabis is also classified as a Schedule I drug by the DEA.) That poses some considerable risks. Because psychedelics aren’t legal, they aren’t regulated. There’s no way of knowing what you’re getting, where it’s coming from, or how strong it is, which can put your safety in jeopardy.”
Medical News Today “Psychedelics: Risks and benefits of microdosing revealed: New research, published in the journal ACS Chemical Neuroscience, finds both potential benefits and risks of using psychedelic microdosing to treat mental health problems. The study reveals effects on cognitive skills and sociability, as well as metabolic and neuronal consequences.” By Ana Sandoiu on March 4, 2019 https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/324609.php#1
“An emerging body of research is making a case for using psychedelic drugs to treat mental health issues.”
“For instance, two studies published last year showed that psilocybin, the active psychedelic compound in magic mushrooms, alleviated symptoms of treatment-resistant depression.”
“Moreover, the psilocybin did so without causing any side effects of conventional antidepressants. Such side effects typically include emotional blunting or apathy.”
“People who use psychedelics to improve their mental health and boost their overall well-being tend to do so with a technique called microdosing. Taking microdoses of a psychedelic drug means taking only a fraction of a dose that is required to have a full-blown psychedelic experience, or “trip.”…
“The lead researcher is David Olson, Ph.D., an assistant professor in the departments of Chemistry and Biochemistry and Molecular Medicine at the University of California, Davis.”
… “conflicting results may suggest that an acute dose of psychedelic substances affects the brain differently from intermittent microdoses.”
“Side effects notwithstanding, say the authors, the current results are promising because they suggest that researchers can separate the psychedelic effects from the therapeutic ones.”
“Our study demonstrates that psychedelics can produce beneficial behavioral effects without drastically altering perception, which is a critical step towards producing viable medicines inspired by these compounds,” says Olson.”
“This is the first time anyone has demonstrated in animals that psychedelic microdosing might actually have some beneficial effects, particularly for depression or anxiety. It’s exciting, but the potentially adverse changes in neuronal structure and metabolism that we observe emphasize the need for additional studies.” David Olson, Ph.D.”
“Microdosing, or taking tiny amounts of a drug daily, does more than just get people mildly high. Specifically, psychedelics such as LSD (which is very similar to psilocybin, pharmacologically speaking) act on the neurotransmitter system, serotonin, which is widely used in traditional antidepressant drugs, says Harriet De Wit, PhD, founder and primary investigator in the Human Behavioral Pharmacology Laboratory at the University of Chicago. “So, there is some neurochemical rationale for the possibility that it improves mood,” she says. Compared to traditional antidepressants, which can take weeks to take effect, microdoses of LSD have been shown to have marginal subjective effects after just one administration”, she adds.”
“All of this points to the greater need for research into promising drugs like psilocybin. Most experts agree that psychedelic drugs have a lot of potential — either taken in microdoses or in combination with psychotherapy with psychological guidance. “This is an exciting new chapter in psychiatric research,” Dr. De Wit says.”
“All of my teachers have had a great sense of humor and have valued humor as an important part of the spiritual path. It is a key part of being friendly to ourselves. Many of us go through our days haunted by imperfection. We think there is something fundamentally wrong with us… when we laugh at ourselves… all our terrible flaws become less solid and serious.” ~ Pema Chodron
The other day, I went to a book sale at my local library and picked up the newest David Sedaris’ Calypso. I bought it, figuring I would like it since I enjoyed his others. Plus, I had been depressed lately and thought this could be just the thing to lift my spirits, as I have found his books to be funny. And by funny I mean hilarious.
And by hilarious I mean hysterical!
This book was no exception. I laughed out loud often, then afterwards realized I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed like that. That got me thinking about humor and its role in our lives. Living with chronic illness can make us feel sad, lonely, and depressed, and oftentimes, humor gets kicked to the side of the road without our realizing it. It seems to me that humor is an important human trait, perhaps as necessary to our health as the remedies we may take to make us feel better.
Have you ever seen pictures or videos of the Dalai Lama or met a Tibetan lama? You’ll notice that often they are smiling, and their eyes are twinkling. They seem to have an inside joke that the rest of us don’t know about, which leads me to think that humor is a natural, intrinsic part of our very being. When we lose our sense of humor, we are losing something essential; something we actually need in order to experience the wholeness of our being. So, how do we bring back our sense of humor? How do we cultivate it? How do we encourage it? Can we even include humor and lightness into our spiritual practice? Fun, even?
Everyone has their own sense of humor and every culture has their own sense of humor. What I find funny may leave you dry and vice versa.
I once had a friend over who is from Scotland. She brought with her a Monty Python movie, which we popped into the DVD player. While watching it, she laughed uproariously, in a way I’d never seen before. And although I found the movie somewhat amusing, it was not my thing. I got more amusement out of watching her.
Another time, I went to an international deaf conference. At one point, I decided to go to a large gathering where people would get on stage and share jokes. Although I am not fluent in American Sign Language (ASL), I knew enough that I understood the jokes, but didn’t find them particularly funny, but all, and I mean all of the deaf folks there could barely keep it together.
One thing that always works for me is to watch comedies. As I said, I know we all have different senses of humor, but just in case our tastes are similar and you could use a laugh, here’s a list of movies and actors that might work for you:
– I love Robin Williams. Two of my favorites are The Birdcage and Nine Months.
– All Marx Brothers movies
– Meet the Parents and Meet the Fockers
– Whoopi Goldberg in Sister Act and Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit
– Steve Martin
– Chris Rock – especially his stand-up
– Larry David (if you’re looking for politically incorrect humor)
– Lily Tomlin
– Hugh Grant (if you’re looking for dry humor)
– Margaret Cho, stand-up routines (if you’re looking for irreverent humor)
And I don’t particularly like her movies, but I love Ellen DeGeneres. She’s a goofball.
Of course, there’s always YouTube: Giggling babies
I don’t know about you, but there have been times when I have become too solemn in my spiritual practices. When meditating, for example, I have sometimes gotten too rigid in my approach, chastising myself when my mind wanders a lot during a session. Or, once, I took up a practice that required chanting a mantra for 103 times, and I found myself obsessing about whether I did it 108 times, or 107, or maybe even less. Maybe it’s just my Virgo personality, but I think there can be a tendency to get too strict and heavy about these things. Spiritual practices after all, are supposed to bring us to an open and warm-hearted place, not a demanding and austere one.
The following is a story my teacher told me that speaks to this:
There was once a very dedicated spiritual practitioner. However, try as she may, the enlightenment she sought seemed to escape her. She meditated diligently, and yet felt little or no reward. She decided she needed a new spiritual teacher and through word-of-mouth, set an appointment with one that came highly recommended.
“Oh venerated teacher”, she said, bowing before the master, “I follow the teachings religiously, and yet, I can’t seem to make any progress. Can you help me?”
The teacher looked at her for a while, pondering, then smiled. “I know just the practice”, he said.
“Yes?”, said the student, eagerly awaiting his wise counsel. “What is it?”
“For the next week, I want you to chant all day, using the mantra “Sensa”, then come back to me.”
After repeating the word several times to make sure she had it right, she said, “Thank you, thank you”, and made sure she bowed again. She rushed back to the meditation room and immediately began chanting.
The following week she returned, looking dejected. “Well”?, said the teacher, “What happened?”
The student hung her head. “I did as you instructed, venerated teacher, but nothing happened.”
“Hmmm…” thought the teacher. Then he smiled. “This week, I want you to say the mantra “huma”, then report back to me.”
The student was happy to receive new guidance, and felt sure that this time she would succeed.
But, one week later she returned feeling yet again dejected.
“Teacher”, she said, “I did what you instructed and yet I still didn’t make any progress. Isn’t there anything you can do to help me?”
The teacher’s eyes sparkled. “This week I want you to put the two together, saying the first mantra and then the second mantra right after it.”
The student nodded, happy there was still something she could do. She bowed deeply and left the room eager to start the next practice. She sat on her cushion, positioned herself correctly and began anew.
“Sen- sa hu-ma. Sen- sa hu-ma. Sense a huma. Sense a Humah.” Then, suddenly she got it. “Sense of humor!” The old teacher had been playing with her all along! Didn’t he know she was serious about her practice? All this time wasted! A fury rose up inside her. She picked up her few belongings and stormed out of the monastery.
For several weeks afterward she was still angry. Then, little by little, she went over the scenario in her mind and her perspective began to change. After a while she began to chuckle, thinking of what the teacher had done and then came to understand that he was a great teacher, after all, and had passed down some great wisdom, allowing a lightness in her practice she’d never been able to have before.
For those of you who want to add some fun to your spiritual practice, Dr. Madan Kataria, from India, developed a type of yoga called “Laughter yoga.” By including breath exercises, chanting “ho, ho, ha, ha”, playing silly exercises, participants begin to laugh, releasing built-up tensions.
Besides feeling lighter afterwards, Kataria says that laughter boosts the immune system and fights depression. It can also reduce high blood pressure and is a good workout for the muscles, improves circulation, and increases the production of endorphins.
Finding out about this type of yoga reminded me of a children’s game I used to play. Although I haven’t played it since I was a kid, I’m sure I would get just as much pleasure from it now as I did then. Perhaps you’ve played it too. Gather some friends and lie in a circle, each person placing their head on the belly of the person next to them. One person starts out by saying “ha”. The next person says, “ha, ha”, and so on, each person adding an extra “ha” to the last one. Pretty soon, of course, everyone is laughing hysterically until your belly hurts and you think you might pee your pants.
“Being able to laugh at ourselves connects us with our humanness. This in turn helps us connect to and have empathy with other people. We realize how all of us are fundamentally equal.” ~ Pema Chodron
I must admit that because I have epilepsy, my favorite jokes are epileptic ones. Some might consider this type of joke politically incorrect and therefore off limits, but for me, it gives me a chance to make light of my condition that I can take all too seriously.
Did you hear about the guy that got trampled to death at Disneyland? He had an epileptic fit, and everyone jumped on him because they thought it was a new ride.
What do you call an epileptic on a bed of lettuce? A seizure salad.
What’s blue and doesn’t fit? A dead epileptic.
That last riddle is my favorite. Maybe my humor is a bit twisted at times, but I also think what this does for me is to exorcise my fear and release the power that fear can have over me at times.
Here’s another example of someone laughing at themselves, in particular, their disability. This guy cracks me up.
The other day, I was hanging out with Cari (my partner who also lives with chronic illness). I don’t know what got into us, but we started singing “The Star Spangled Banner”, as loudly as we could and completely off-key. We sounded like donkeys who had a little too much to drink. And then we laughed so hard, tears ran down our cheeks. Her face, usually drawn from pain, brightened and she grinned from ear-to-ear. I realized I hadn’t seen her smile in ages.
Every once in a while, when our lives feel too difficult, I’ll grab this juggler hat I have and walk into her room. It never fails to get a chuckle from her.
So, what makes you laugh? How can you lighten your day?
BBC. (1969-1974) Monty Python [television show]. Westminster, London, England: The British Broadcasting Corporation.
Barnathan, M. (Producer), & Columbus, C. (Director). (1995). Nine months [Motion Picture]. United States: Twentieth Century Fox.
Chodron, P. “All of my teachers have had a great sense of humor…” Quote. “Being able to laugh at ourselves connects us with our humanness…” Quote.
Hafiz (14th cent.). Landinsky, D. (2006). I heard God laughing: Poems of hope and joy: Renderings of Hafiz (Landinsky, D., Trans.). Walnut Creek, CA: Penguin.
Harris, B. “Two Nuns Laughing”. Photograph.
De Niro, R. (Producer), & Roach, J. (Director). (2004). Meet the Fockers [Motion Picture]. United States: Universal Pictures.
De Niro, R. (Producer), & Roach, J. (Director). (2000). Meet the parents [Motion Picture]. United States: Universal Pictures
Gilmore, A. (Producer), & Ardolino, E. (Director). (1992). Sister act [Motion Picture]. United States: Touchstone Pictures.
There are times when dealing with our health concerns that surrendering comes into the picture and becomes a quality that would serve us well to cultivate. When we are waiting for our test results from the laboratory or wake up with a migraine on a day we planned to get a lot done, we learn to give up control and let go. We have learned from the past that pushing ourselves in this state only increases our pain and that worrying about the outcome of our test results only causes us more distress. Often, excruciating symptoms can bring us to our knees and give us no choice but to relinquish control and surrender.
The act of surrendering is a humbling one. We are reminded that something bigger than ourselves is holding the reins and that by recognizing this, we find a way to allow our life to unfold, instead of forcing our will onto it. Twelve-step programs have developed the slogan “Let go and let God” and turning it over to a higher power greater than oneself, when we end up getting too much in our own way to do us any good. For those uncomfortable with the word “God”, they can exchange it with the concept that we are not always completely in charge of our circumstances and may have to put into place a different way of handling our present challenges, than worry and agitation.
The act of surrendering doesn’t mean we roll over and give up and do nothing. It means we allow energy to move through us and not manipulate it, thereby allowing The Great Mystery to unfold and leaving room for spirit to come into our life. When we become open like this, our intuition can be tapped, new solutions can come to us or just the understanding that for now, maybe all we need to “do”, is rest or putter around in the garden that day or get some support from a friend.
Surrendering control may be something we have to do over and over again, if we are particularly anxious; like waiting for those test results. Surrendering takes practice like any other spiritual discipline and we may need constant reminders. We may notice that the way we are going about finding an answer to resolve our health issue has become too obsessive, i.e., going from one practitioner to the next without taking time to reflect on why this might be happening in the first place. It may be better for us in this case, to slow down a little and recognize that underneath this behavior is fear, and we might be better off to explore that fear and see what that has to teach us, rather than go about our health care in a frantic, grasping way. When fear rises again and again, surrendering can become the anecdote that calms us down.
Story on Surrendering
When I was in my twenties, I lived communally on land, with a small group, during the 70’s. I loved living there at the time, but for various reasons, the community was breaking up and individuals were moving on. I was unhappy with this idea, but I had no choice but to move on, too. I realized I relied on the others to be there in case of a seizure, but who could I rely on now? On top of that, with the stress of the dissolvement of the group and the stimulation that came from living communally, I had had a few seizures and came to the conclusion that I couldn’t take care of myself. Appallingly, it seemed to me, my only option was to pack up all my things and go stay with my parents – the very people whose way of living I felt estranged from and who I felt lived the opposite to what we had been trying to create on land, where I had been living. Not only that, but I needed help packing and couldn’t fly on my own – my mother had to come and get me! For a young woman out in the world on her own, developing new ideologies with others that branched away from the norm (with a lot of judgement towards others, I might add), this was beyond humiliating!
Once at my parents’ house, it took months for me to fully recover. Not only did I have to put aside my youthful ideals, but I had to let go of the elemental independent way of living we all usually take for granted. Most of the time, I couldn’t prepare meals for myself; my mother did. I couldn’t drive, so I had to rely on my father to get anywhere. Some part of me knew I was fortunate; that I had loving parents who could take me in, but my false pride wouldn’t allow a full appreciation of this fact. I chafed against their ways that I perceived as outdated and steeped in sexism, but felt I had to keep my mouth closed, because I was reliant on them for my basic needs. At times, I resented this, making it easy to resent them.
Although I wasn’t very good at it, I was forced to surrender. I had to put aside my beliefs and my prized independence in order to get my needs taken care of. I felt ashamed and humiliated to be in this position, and because of this, couldn’t fully give in to the feeling of surrendering, which made everything that much harder.
More than twenty years later, things have changed a great deal. I am more apt to be honest with myself about my limitations and needs, although, there often seems a layer of resistance before I let go and accept my circumstances. I no longer carry around the arrogance I used to have in my twenties that made me feel I was somehow more evolved than others. Having had to, time and time again, ask for help over the years, has led me to replace humiliation with humility and a letting in of others in my life I may not have otherwise, which expands my spiritual path that much more. When we only let in those who have the same ideology and lifestyle as ours, we develop a narrow way of being and living. I believe I have a more developed sense of gratitude in general, because of having to let others in, by way of caregiving for me. All this I’ve gotten from the gift and act of surrendering.
I wrote the following as a writing exercise, and ended up liking it. I realized, too, that it is based very loosely on my partner, who deals with chronic pain.
Life would be much easier if I were a cartoon character. Let me explain: I’ve been disabled ever since a car accident in 1972. A drunk driver slammed into me, and I haven’t been the same since. My right leg got crushed and I have to walk with a cane. I’m always in pain. Plus, I ended up with some brain damage, (my girlfriend Ellie teases me – friendly like, that I’m not right in the head) so I can’t carry on long conversations or I get overwhelmed, and my memory is for shit. So, I’ve more or less become a hermit. People tire me.
I spend most of my time watching cartoons and sometimes I get so involved, I think I’m part of the show. I like Sponge Bob a lot – but mostly, I like the old ones, like the Flintstones or The Jetsons. So, if I were a cartoon character, I wouldn’t feel like I had to fit in the way people expect you to. I could go beneath the sea like Sponge Bob, or soar through space in my space mobile, like George Jetson.
Of course, I like all those super heroes too, because they can do whatever they want, whenever they want, and people look up to them. They can save the day instead of waiting around to be saved. Ellie asked me once if I could have one super power, what would it be. I didn’t have to think about it – I’d have the power to be invisible. That way, nobody would bother me, and I wouldn’t have to answer to no one. Ellie told me she thought I’d say being able to fly, and I could see her point. If I could fly, I wouldn’t have to drag this shriveled old leg around anymore.
Ellie is the only person I want to have anything to do with. She seems to know when to leave me alone (which is most of the time), and when to hang out with me. She puts up with the TV and my cartoons, she laughs at my stupid jokes, and sometimes, I actually think she enjoys my company.
To give you a taste of where I hope to continue with this topic, here’s a wonderful poem by Naomi Shihab Nye and a quote by Pema Chodron, which, with a little tweaking, can fit your own life. And then I add something of my own along those lines.
Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say it is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you every where like a shadow or a friend.
For many (say 4) nights in a row I have slept pretty good, for me. I know if others experienced these nights, would probably have something else to say. But I’m happy with how I feel. Wow. Happy. That’s a miracle to me. I almost feel like a “normie” – what I call an able-bodied person. And yet. There is also a nervousness in me like I’m looking over my shoulder wondering how long this stretch will last. Another night? Please? The rest of my life? Please? I know the last plea is highly unlikely, but I like to hold out for a miracle.
Do you ever have good days? What do they look like? Do you get nervous about another shoe dropping like me?
So today I’ll have a “good” day I imagine. I’ll be more active. I won’t feel this pressure to act “normal” around others like I usually feel.
Which brings be to this topic: “how are you?” I’ve come to hate that question. It makes me feel squirmy. And sometimes resentful. Do people really want to know the answer. Sometimes I bump into others at the local natural food store, people I don’t know really well, but well enough to stop my cart and say hi. And as usual they ask, “How are you?”. Sometimes, because I just don’t feel like getting into it, I’ll say “fine” – it’s easier that way. Sometimes I’ll just shrug my shoulders and make a face which translates into “not so good”. Sometimes I’ll be bold and say “shitty”. Sometimes I’ll say, “Right now, I’m good”, which really means “I’m doing my best to stay present because I know when we do everything is pretty much ok that way.”
But mostly, unless it’s a good friend, I won’t get into the details. I don’t think most people really want to know the details. They don’t want to know I’ve been awake most of the night and that anxiety, dread and self-hate took over.
I have a good story about this kind of thing though. Once I was in Safeway and saw a woman from afar, I knew (not well) who had cancer and was going through treatment. Our eyes met and after that you can’t pretend you didn’t see each other. So, I waved and smiled and proceeded to push my cart up to her and she shook her head vehemently and turned away. I received her message loud and clear, that she did not want to interact whatsoever. I didn’t take it at all personally. I understood. And I appreciated her honesty. Perhaps next time someone I don’t know well asks me how I’m doing and it’s a difficult day for me, I can be just as honest and say something like, “Not well. And I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want to know how you’re doing because I’m too tired to listen to your story, whatever it is. I can’t be polite.” And then walk away.
When I started my “book” many years ago, I offered things I know like meditation techniques which were and are helpful for me, and I hoped, kind of for others. And I guess I’ll include those kinds of things in my blog in the future. But I feel there’s a tone sometimes in the “book” which makes it sound like I have all the answers. I don’t. I have been living with chronic illness for about 50 years, so I certainly have experience of which I’m willing to share. But ultimately, we all have to find our own way.
I don’t like spiritual or self-help books by people who think they have all the answers. It puts me off and makes me feel insecure somehow. I especially don’t like books by doctors or professionals that act like they know what you should do. There’s often good advice there to be sure, but they don’t know what it’s like to be chronically ill. Only we do.
So, I want to be really honest with this blog. I want to share my experiences and what has been helpful for me, in hopes it could be helpful to you. But there are no guarantees.
And now I’m going to jump into another topic: Death. How’s that for a topic? I think death feels more intimate when you suffer from chronic illness. It hangs out with you while you watch TV or garden or pet your cat, or when you eat Cheerios in the morning (or at midnight). Sometimes this feels scary and sometimes it feels like a gift. Sometimes we think of suicide, or at least I do. But I suspect I’m not the only one out there that does. But I also feel more connected with my body because I’m constantly needing to tune into it and attend to it. There’s an understanding too, by seeing how my body responds when, for example, I’m anxious, that it’s easy to see how the body deteriorates. I have developed an ulcer because of the many years of this intense anxiety. It doesn’t take much of a stretch of imagination to see how the body will eventually break down altogether. Maybe some of this understanding comes with age – I’m 64. But I think I’m more aware of death than other 64-year olds who have had little or no health problems. I look up from writing and see my cat Zoe washing herself methodically and my heart feels a soreness that is painful yet beautiful. I think if I took life for granted, I wouldn’t experience this so poignantly. I really do. So, in a way, awareness of death is a gift. So is chronic illness. And yet, if I’m honest, it doesn’t always feel that way.