FEAR and LOVE and NATURAL AWARENESS

As I begin to write this morning, fear is a dark bubble all around and inside me.  Exactly 18 years ago this week, I started the grueling chemo treatment that I endured for 13 weeks in the summer of 2002. Every Tuesday, my husband drove me to New York City to Sloan Kettering, where I was infused with five chemo drugs. I suffered terribly. I rarely think about it these days, but today I am petrified.

In the midst of the terror, I have a miracle to share. The other morning, on Shabbat, I was sitting on my patio near the hummingbird feeder, talking on the phone to my dear friend Kathy Joy.  I was telling her how I received the diagnosis for my lymphoma, on the telephone, the night of my son Noah's Bar Mitzvah.

I was literally half dressed -- I had on the bottom half of a two-piece dress, navy blue with tiny rosebuds on it -- and the phone rang. The doctor said, "You're busy this weekend, why don't you and  your husband come to the office on Monday and..."

I interrupted her. "I want to know right now what's going on," I said. "Please tell me."

And so she did. She told me I had a massive tumor in my chest, the size of a cantaloupe. She told me I would need "chemo and radiation."

And my teenaged daughters were on the staircase and they heard it too.

And you can't know how how how how how how how how how how

God help me. You don't know how hard it is to hear that...

I told Kathy the story how I went up to the Rabbi, Andy Klein, the next morning, and said, "It's OK if I die, but I don't want my son to remember his mother crying at his Bar Mitzvah."

Andy smiled that lightning smile of his. And he said, "You won't cry. I know you won't cry."

And every time I looked across the room during the service, Andy beamed at me. And he was right, I gave my speech and I didn't cry.

As I was telling this story to Kathy -- at that very moment -- this plump little hummingbird landed on the feeder.  And just sat there and sat there. And I got closer and closer and closer to her and took one photo after another and another and finally I was close enough to set my finger on the  bird and I saw her tiny black eyes blinking and I kept thinking I want to touch her right there on her shimmering green back but I was

afraid.

But then I decided the hummingbird was a positive sign, as my friend Connie said, "They are magical healers." I sent the photos to my dear friend Kellie too and she photographed pages from her animal speaks book and sent them to me: "There are 300 species of hummingbirds. This is very significant. In the Hebrew alphabet, the letter "shin" is given the numerical value of 300." And hummingbird's appearances are linked to "the past and future and the laws of cause and effect."

Mary said to me that she thinks the hummingbird is a sign that "the Divine is speaking to you personally." If that's true, I am ever so humbly grateful!

Yesterday Kellie wrote to tell me that my mother's doctor -- the woman who diagnosed my mother's pancreatic cancer on October 9, 2015, just  eight days before she died, passed away this week herself. My mother adored Dr. Sharon Rawlings, who apparently developed cancer this spring and died on July 7th at the age of 48. When I read this news from Kellie (Dr. Rawlings was also her doctor and Kellie also adored her)

somethinginsideofme SNAPPED>>>>>>>>>>>>>

FEAR EXPLODED and SUCKED ME IN>>>>>>>>>>

I have a minor virus my throat is scratchy my tongue is sore my chest is a bit sore too and somehow those feelings and the CANCER memories got all wrapped up  with Dr. Rawlings very suddenly dying of CANCER >>>>>>

I had a PTSD meltdown, a panic attack among the worst I've ever had.  I could hardly catch my breath. It was Sunday but I called my spiritual therapist Mary and she talked me through it and we did tapping together to clear the memories.

She reminded me to surround all difficult situations in violet flames.

Enough. I won't write any more about this fear. Instead I will write about light. About this thing called "NATURAL AWARENESS," which I learned about a few days ago from my meditation and mindfulness teacher and dear friend Greg T.

Most of the time in meditation you focus on the breath and when your focus wanders you keep bringing your attention back to your breath.

Natural awareness is different. It's a form of meditation in which you focus on awareness itself. You think about the fact that you are aware and you dwell there in awareness and all that it feels. I said to Greg in an email that natural awareness feels perfectly wonderful to me, I said I AM WRITING A BOOK ABOUT HEALING AND BEING IN THE NOW, and natural awareness feels exactly like what I am trying to achieve morning, noon and night.

The article Greg sent to me is by a long-time mindfulness teacher at UCLA named Diana Winston. She says that natural awareness is an invitation to notice or become aware of the sensory awareness "that already exists and is available to you at any moment."

Like right at this moment, with my darling puppy dog Poco sitting on my lap making me feel so soft and warm and the birds making a sweet racket everywhere around my ears and the sun warming the meadow and my heart open and full of love and I'm smiling and relaxed and hummingbirds keep coming to dive-bomb the feeder.

I am feeling not a bit of fear right now.

Over on the wooden nesting box at the edge of the meadow, a tree swallow is resting. Or is it a house wren? No matter.

The purple cone flower is in shadow in the garden as is the bright orange tiger lily and the brilliant red Bee Balm.

I am not fearful when I am calmly sitting in the present moment, the awareness of awareness all around and inside me. I feel the breath come in and slide out and the swallow is back to the nesting box and the tweeting of the birds is the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

And my husband just walked in and he said, "Hello darling," and he told me he wants to go for a walk at 9:30 and so I am going to stop now and I will go slowly through the day being aware of awareness. And being grateful that I am writing a book about my healing.

LEAH IN THE FROZEN LAWN

EDITOR'S NOTE: This is the chapter that first began Pearly Everlasting. I wrote it sometime in February of 2020.

Yesterday as Leah gazed out the front door across the brown lawn

She happened to see a horde of robins bobbing,

 Their rust colored breasts were the brightest color

of the gray day.

But these robins didn’t bring her the loving joy of spring.

They were honestly kind of frightening.

Because it’s February for heaven’s sake and 

there hasn’t been any snow since December.

Where did the winter go?

And while we’re at it,

Where the hell did the birds go this year?

A few minutes later she put the dog on the leash and walked

down to the country store, for eggs. And the day’s mail.

And there behind the counter was the wife of the owner. Joanna.

Who used to make meatball grinders and turkey sandwiches daily. 

About a year ago, Joanna disappeared and no one knew why or was brave enough to ask.

Yesterday, Joanna was back. She aged twenty years in the one since she disappeared.

 Shrunken. Grey. Her once vibrant red hair now the color of the robins’ breast.

Leah was so frightened she wasn’t sure what to say so she asked

“How is your dog?”

And Joanna said fine. 

They talked about dogs a bit. Leah’s. Joanna’s.

And as soon as she could, Leah exited the store.

Terrified, she walked home.

******

Now here it is the next morning.

Leah is gazing once again out the front door.

Here it izzzzzz 34 degrees.

Here it is. Still. Frozzzzzzen. 

Here she is. Still. Terrified.

No matter.

No matter that she is still in her powder blue bathrobe.

Trembling, she steps outside without her emerald parka on.

The dog barks and follows her.

She scuffs her slippers through the crusty brown lawn.

She wants to rip up the grass

And set fire to the trees.

Please God, melt this frozen heart of mine.

Help me tell the story of my healing.

The next thing she knows she is actually lying on the ground. She does a spread eagle. She feels the icy cold wetness.  She holds that position and stares into the grey clouds. In a moment, she is up she is back in the house and still trembling, she sits down at her computer. She pulls up a file at random. It’s called “Silver River.” It gives her chills to sit and read what she wrote exactly ten years ago.

Moon.

To start, Leah is lying there, a fallen angel in a foot of fresh snow.  It is deep in the middle of the night.  She has wandered out to the darkest reaches of the backyard, out to the furthest row of white pines.  

Parked as she is in her emerald parka, in the white snow, she is almost invisible.  She is watching the sky. Waiting.  There are stars galore, the sky is splattered.  But she is waiting for something more. 

That email she got early this morning was clear: “Tonight will see the first full moon to coincide with the winter solstice in 6000 years.  The last time this happened, Moses went up to Mount Sinai for the Ten Commandment stones.  Don’t miss this once-in-ten-thousand-lifetime event.  The moon will be so gigantic, so bright you won’t even need car headlights tonight.”

She is watching the horizon, just above the pines.  

Her attention is drawn by the soft glow of light gathering above the dark curtain of trees a few feet away.  The top edge of the tallest pine has a halo.

She goes up onto her elbows.  Steadies her gaze.  Suddenly the crisp edge of the moon is sliding up behind the tallest pine, the branches outlined.  Black fingers.  She falls back into the snow.  The flood of silvery moonlight is even more exquisite than she had imagined it would be.  She takes in one slow breath and holds it and suddenly sadness overtakes her and her eyes close. 

Leah’s breath comes blowing out in one long explosion.  She sits up.  Peels the gloves off.  Sets her hands flat in the snow, lets her fingers go numb, squeezes the snow into a freezing mess in each hand.  Warm tears pool and now the moon is almost fully visible and now, holy cow, it is a mighty white disc showering light onto the snow. 

“Leah?  Are you out here honey?”

And that’s where she stops. 

She is still trembling.

No matter, she can see her way forward.

GINA's VOICE IS BORN OUT OF PRAYERS AND THIN AIR

Editor's note: GINA's voice is so old inside me I can't even recall when it was born. Gina was an answer to my prayers! 

I am trying to be positive and confident this morning. After meditating

I take a walk to boost my spirits and start reciting the P words:

Peaceful

Positive

Playful

Patient

Poppy

Productive

PRAYER

Here is my Prayer: that I may wake up every single day saying “Hear I AM, Here I AM,” greeting the day with wonder and joy, the way Thich Nhat Hanh suggests in Peace is Every Step.

I am accomplished in so many ways, it’s just a matter of feeling that accomplishment and not the terrible fear and criticism and other harsh emotions I grew up with.

Caring

Competent

(Claudia)

Content

And now along comes

Gina, who I am asking for help:

Grace

Gratitude

Gay

God-like

Good at smiling and enjoying life

Greets each day with joy and positivity.

Gumption

How do I find a voice for myself that is authentic and also, strong? How do I step up to this PTSD and say not me, not anymore? Maybe I need a character and a story to help me do this. 

EDITOR'S INTERRUPTION, July 10, 2020: GINA IS THE CHARACTER, Silly girl, AND SISTER MYSTERIES IS THE STORY, or at least the first story!)

So once again I am asking Gina for help!! Help me get in touch with my anger towards my father and mother so that I can then plunge into the extraordinary love I have for

both of them.

Observing Miracles

On a morning when I wake up                                                           

wanting some kind of miracle

to happen and nothing

in particular 

happens

that's when I try just

to watch that desire

and breathe it away. 

And then this

thought occurs to me:

Maybe you are asking

for the wrong sort.

Maybe you don’t need the

flashy miracles where some

glowing angel appears or

you suddenly can fly or

you can speak to the dead

or predict the future

with or without tea leaves.

No.

Maybe the point is

that miracles

are right here in these

fingers creating meaning

out of little black squiggles

tapped onto a white screen.

Or in a sunflower bigger

than a dinner plate.

Or in a smiling baby

with toes like tiny pink pearls.

Feel the gentle air

expanding your lungs.

Smell the pine trees on a mountain –

just because I write the words.

All of it, every single thing

is miraculous

if you take the time to notice.

Light in My Mouth

As I am preparing to send Sister Mysteries to the printer, I find myself writing about light.

This morning, as I meditated,

I had this sensation: light was resting on my tongue like a glowing lozenge.

I opened my mouth and chanted

gate gate para gate para sam gate bodhi svaha

(gone gone gone beyond utterly beyond)

The words lifted off my tongue

and as they did they pulled

light from

my

heart.

I love the way

occasionally

I

can

see 

light

fill

me

up.

Starting the day this way

is

just

wonderful

oh and

also

I

drank

a

cup

of

coffee.

*gate gate is the mantra at the end of the heart sutra:

Hopelessly addicted..

I vowed this week I would leave the TV off.

That's because I was going absolutely crazy watching the White House crackpot try to lay the Russia probe in Hillary's lap.

Every time I saw dump appear on the screen I would shudder. I kept wanting something terribly violent to happen to him.

Similarly, every time Sarah Huckabee Sanders appeared on the screen, I wanted either to strangle her, or worse.

These impulses scared me.

I wrote a post last week, quoting NYTimes columnist David Brooks, who advocated that we should love the fanatics that we want to hate.

I plan to reread that post as soon as I finish exploding here.

Back to the TV...I was doing pretty well keeping it off all weekend.

It was off until about 8:13 this morning when news of the Manafort arrest and indictment hit the NPR airwaves. It was precisely then when my husband (who is trying to help me with my TV news addiction) walked into my study where I  had been meditating (earlier) and told me.

I felt like an alcoholic who had just been served a sparkling glass of wine.

In two seconds, I was back at it, glued to MSNBC (which btw had much better coverage than CNN).

I was marveling as lawyers, including MSNBC's own Ari Melber, laid out the charges against Manafort, dump's former campaign manager.

But now, now I've shut the TV off again.

Until tonight.

Or...until something else happens.

No, Sister Mysteries is NOT Finished, the Miracles Continue!!!!!!

If you are a reader of this novel-by-blog

You know that I wrote the last chapter

a few days ago. I wrote all about
Sister Renata

finally
being
cleared
of the crime:
they accused her of murdering her cousin
AND SHE DID NOT DO IT AND YOU HAVE TO READ THE BOOK TO FIND OUT WHAT 
REALLY HAPPENED! who the so-called
killer was!

So I wrote the "FINALE" or so I thought
I said Amen Amen

but even then I thought

"How Can I Stop Writing
this book I have been writing]]]]=====FOR TWENTY YEARS======[[[[[

JUST ASK MY WRITER FRIEND PEG WHO HAS READ at least
160,000 pages.
She was the one who all along asked me,
Why are you writing this book?
What is at stake?
and I could never answer her question.

But now I think I understand
Now I have 

started

again

because the novel-by-blog is all about miracles and 

the miracles keep

happening to me

just this morning

I was sitting  

while in 

meditation.

I had been sitting for

about half an hour when

my husband brought the 

puppy downstairs so she could

go outside.

My husband came into

the living room and said a few things to me

I resumed meditation

and then

and then

the puppy came in and sat down

to the right of me  

I looked over my right shoulder

I SAW A COUPLE OF CARDINALS AT THE WINDOW ON THE BLACK BRANCHES

AGAINST THE WHITE SNOW IT WAS A CHRISTMAS CARD FRAMED BY MY

LIVING ROOM WINDOW I GASPED AND COULDN’T LOOK AWAY I WOULD SAY THEY WERE THERE FOR A HALF HOUR BUT ACTUALLY NOT  NEARLY THAT LONG

THE FEMALE DISAPPEARED BUT THE

MALE KEPT KEPT KEPT KEPT KEPT AT THE WINDOW BATTING 

HIS WINGS FLUTTERING MADLY TRYING DESPERATELY TO GET THROUGH THE GLASS AS I WATCHED MY MOUTH HANGING OPEN THE BUSH THE BIRD THE THOUGHT CAME TO ME THE BURNING BUSH AND MOSES SEEING IT AND

ME WATCHING A SMALL MIRACLE RIGHT

THERE

RIGHT HERE NOW NOW NOW AND 

HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY GO BACK TO MEDITATION WHEN

THE BIRDS HAVE TAKEN YOUR BREATH AWAY?

So I stopped 

to write this.

It's a mystery

I needed a camera but didn’t move.

Some miracles

you just can’t photograph

in words.

P.S.

OMG THE RED CARDINAL THE FEMALE JUST RETURNED

SHE IS SITTING OUTSIDE THE WINDOW IN THE ROSE OF SHARON 

HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THESE BIRDS

I HAVE NEVER WITNESSED ANYTHING LIKE THIS NEVER

NOT EVER AT THE BIRD FEEDER I NEED TO GET MY CAMERA

I AM SITTING HERE I WILL TRY TO GET UP TO GET MY CAMERA

I AM CERTAIN SHE WILL FLY AWAY BUT WHAT THE HECK I MIGHT

AS WELL TRY...

AND I ONLY GOT THE WINDOW.

But now that we are on the subject of mysteries I might as well

tell you the candle story again

once again

today a candle won't stop

burning bush

won't stop

won't stop

the wax

the wick

I had a tricky candle once before in my Sister Mysteries blog

That time it wouldn't stop burning

It lasted and lasted and lasted

Way way past a candle should.

A long long long long

time after the wick

just kept burning

and burning and

burning bush.

I am now finished reporting on morning miracles.

(But the candle is still burning and I will time how long 

before it goes out.)

p.s.s. The candle burned for four and a half hours!