The Journey

The journey of life itself  travels through the winding mountains that ascend ever higher, through the lush valleys ripe with the fruits of hope and over fierce, stormy seas and in my experience, is rarely more personal than when one is seeking health. It is the most intimate kind of returning--a journey back to something familiar and yet, new and almost always through unchartered territory.  A physician or practitioner may be able to direct one to modalities that have helped others to heal, but ultimately the task of healing can only be performed by the person himself or herself. Sometimes, it requires effort and specific change. Other times, it requires active surrender and stepping out of one's own way. The path to the light is only as direct as the willingness to dive into--and through-- the shadow.

It happened without warning. For all of the ways I had strived to be self-aware and in tune with my body, mind and spirit, life has managed to stay a step ahead and keep me surprised by my own life. A year ago at this time, I believed that if I just ate well, did enough yoga, surrounded myself with good people, followed my passion, and attended to my well-being with vigilence and freedom, I would be fine. I had yet to learn how fully and deeply grace plays a role in being and staying healthy. It is a concept that I didn't think much about in terms of my health. Health was something to be gained through effort, a battle to be won, a reward to be achieved, rather than what I now see it as: a blessing to be embraced, a teacher to be learned from and ultimately, a gift that allows the freedom to move through the world as you wish.  Interestingly, illness can bear many of these same fruits.  Even while longing for the sun, I have been finding ways to discover the silver linings in the dark clouds of illness.

On the path to healing, I have been fortunate to have crossed paths  in recent months with three practitioners who are gifted in their crafts.  All are intelligent, knowledgeable and strikingly kind, but there is something more that each possesses: energetic integrity. After appointments my inner resources to mobilize healing within have been recharged, my desire to live my highest purpose, to bring forth love and beauty into the world is strengthened and I am reminded that true healing is so much more vast than what we often believe it to be. By being in the presence of such gifted healers, I am able to call forth my own powers of healing and I am left not merely wanting to be healthy, but accepting of the moment as it is, open to change for the better and hungry to be an even stronger conduit of love in the world.

When I was thirteen, my eighth grade teacher assigned our first term paper. I chose a topic that had not yet even been included in books very much. I vividly remember going to my local library and browsing through the card catalog and coming up empty. My fervent search for information about psychoneuroimmunology only yielded a handful of magazine articles. It was a field that was just emerging and I'm not sure why I chose it, as it was months before my journey into "the stillness," the years of illness had begun. But, the connection between the mind, body and spirit has always captured my attention.

Even as a child, I was aware of my spirit, aware that there was more to life than just the physical.  Sensitive to animals and the rhythms of nature and the emotions of others, I moved through the world distinctly engaged in a rich inner life and at times, a puzzling external one. Years later, a level of "exquisite sensitivity,"  as my doctor called it, remains with me and has manifested in different physical ways that make being in the world quite challenging at times. But, on the way home from an appointment this past week, I  began to wonder if this level of reacting to the physical world on a physical level could have offered gifts that I may not have received otherwise. As the highway rapidly passed before me, I noticed the green trees off to the side. And, what I saw was not just the edge of a forest, but about ten different shades of lush green, each different from the next. The colors of the leaves varied from the grass and the small plants and it all was vividly vibrant to me.

When I'm photographing flowers in nature, the hues are bold and inviting. I'm drawn to colors, shapes, images and to the way light falls upon a scene and for a moment, changes it. And, in these moments, much like when I am writing, I am reminded that medicine comes in many forms and from many sources.

Courage

I've been thinking about the concept of courage a lot in recent days. Last week, another medical-related experience required me to dig deep into my well-spring of courage, gather it up and inhale its breath into me. I embarked upon a test that could either yield helpful knowledge or push me into another potentially dangerous situation. In the end, all went pretty smoothly, but the echo of travelling down those long halls within-- the ones with a thousand doors I don't enter, remains with me.  Life consistently brings new opportunities not to test the existence of one's strength, but to remind of its constant presence.

In recent months, there have been times with the distance between my life and my health seemed so infinite that I wondered if it were even possible to traverse it. But, often our most worthy travels begin without the knowledge of how or if we will reach our destination and with only the willingness to take one step forward at a time-- just one step and then, the next and the next. For the first time in a long time, I have allowed-- and needed-- other people to help me. Only being cast into utter vulnerability would allow me to receive what I now realize are huge gifts.

When I was three years old, my preschool teacher sent a note home to my parents stating that they didn't know what to do with me (if only they had known they were merely at the start of a very long line of people who would feel that way...). Apparently, instead of doing whatever I was supposed to be doing, I would go around teaching and mothering the other children. It seemed like a better use of my time than doing something stupid like taking a nap.  Even when I was sick as a teenager, I devoted my time to helping other people, to running support groups for people with chronic illnesses, to teaching people what I had learned about how to heal. With the exception of the help of my mother, whose ability to give selflessly is infinitely greater than anyone I have ever known,  I haven't always allowed others to help me as much as I have needed.

But when I got very sick very unexpectedly at the end of last summer, I suddenly needed more help than before. And, my friends stepped up to the plate without missing a beat. Some who lived close to me did things like go to the grocery store for me when I was unable or have helped me with my home in other ways, like getting my mail when I haven't been there. Those who lived far offered to help me find information about my condition, to find doctors, to connect me with others who have experienced similiar ailments. Many people offered their good thoughts and prayers. Some have been my ever-present cheerleaders. Others consistently have reminded that out of sight isn't always out of mind, a huge gift to me that has allowed me to feel connected to a home and group of friends I haven't seen in person in over six too long months.

During a particularly dark time at the end of January before I had been given a concrete diagnosis that made sense, a friend sent me one word, literally: courage. On a single piece of paper was written the word-- beautifully. It had been passed on to her and then, was passed on to me. I look forward to the day when I can pass it along to whomever I cross paths with who will need it more than I do at the time, but for now I keep it close at hand and remember that true courage is not only knowing how to be strong and to endure, sometimes, it is allowing others to be strong for you.