Radical Vulnerability and Love...

Today I finished cancer treatments that began on July 1st 2011. I had already been through a lion’s share of intense experience in my 43 years on the planet; and I couldn’t help but ask myself why I needed cancer on top of the other challenges.

In asking “why”, I chose to enter a conscious, personal conversation. My question was indeed: “why” ... not “why me”. It had more to do with alignment, than being martyred in any way by the “ailment” our culture calls cancer.

In July of 2010, I was aware of an energetic shift in the tissues on the left of my sternum. I knew the moment it happened on a microscopic level.

One night, just as I was about asleep, I felt a twinge in my cells. I thought to myself, as I rubbed the left side of my sternum into my left breast: “I want to check out what that point is on an acupuncture chart, there is something going on there.”

In five months time, it grew to the point I could feel something the size of a dried up pea. My two sisters that are home health nurses, referred to their training and asked me: “Is it tender?” and informed me that cancer isn’t tender to the touch. This little bump was tender; and I had no family history of breast cancer to think of, I ate fairly healthy (occasional dalliances with pastries notwithstanding), no smoking or drinking, wasn’t overweight and didn’t seem to fit the profile.

As I sat in meditation at Bodhi Yoga, playing the deep tones of my crystal bowl, the tiny, tender bump in my left breast over my heart would almost dissipate completely and be gone for a day or two.

A few more months went by, and I continued my yoga lifestyle, eating well, mothering Tom, teaching certifications, and working through the grieving process of Rex’s passing, on June 27th, 2010.

March rolled around, and the tiny bump was hurting when I laid in a twist over the flat bolster in Yin Yoga, so I soon met with a doctor who preformed an ultrasound and told me: “It’s just a fluid filled cyst...I could drain it, but it’ll just come back...I’d just let it be.” At the time, my body knew his advice to me was less than optimal, but I let it be.

By June it was bigger and uncomfortable. I could also feel a change in my armpit, which I knew full well to be a danger sign.

Between March and May, I had been distracted with someone who I knew was invasively profiting from my ideas and image. I tried (without real success) to call them to some sense of accountability, and was saddened by the outcome.

I had repeatedly tried to forgive, but realized that my role in the relationship was wasted, without helping this person I care about come to awareness of how they were enriching them-self off of my energy, as well as the integrity of my emotional and intellectual capital.

My hope and intention was that conversation between us would offer them the chance to clear the energy of infringement, (the idea that just because you can get away with something legally, doesn't make it ethical). The potential was there, but not fully realized through the outcome; yet I knew I had accomplished my role in our time together and I felt sad that It was at an end.

The end of June 2011, marked a year since Rex’s passing. In the days, weeks and months since his passing, I blogged about him as a way of processing my grief and to let his many friends at Bodhi Yoga, and several clients, know that he, (as well as the love he shared), was still very close. My blogging entries were intended to share my deep belief that what our society calls death, is such a scam; and that those we truly know deep love through, never really leave us.

On my bike rides up the canyon along the Provo River during Spring and early Summer, I was trying to map out a future that would be drastically different from what I had assumed. I peddled my bike in meditative prayer, asking God to give me a mantra that would open me to a new life and bring my grieving full circle.

I could feel both Rex and God close on those rides, and in a short time, the mantra came into my mind crystal clear:

“I surrender my life to thy love in store for me”

On my ride back home, in the sky above appeared a rainless rainbow, a beautiful sign to me that God was listening.

When we loose someone close, that we love (by death or the end of a relationship) we sometimes, for a while, can loose our faith in life. I was aware of this, and wanted to use my grief on growth, rather than giving up or getting stuck.

I wanted the one year date of Rex’s passing to be a private time I spent just with myself. Like so many others, I was processing the loss of a huge presence in my life. I didn’t want to blog about it; yet that evening his presence was nudging me to again write down my experience with him and in the end I did. (click her to read)

The following week, I could tell that the tenderness I felt in my chest, was the pressure of the bump pushing into my muscle. The bump itself was big enough now I could tell that it did feel “numb” to my touch, and I knew it was time to act.

I went into see Dr. James Woodmanse, who owns CottonTree Family medical (the office where Rex and I worked). When he looked at it, palpating carefully, he asked: “Remind me about the history of this?”

I replied: “Well, I’d have to call it a little piece of granite headstone” (meaning Rex’s) and we both chuckled. It was July 1st, one year to the day of his funeral.

On the surface of my skin, it showed none of the normal signs of cancer. When James tried to drain it and nothing came out, I saw the concern on his face. He scheduled the ultrasound revealing a tear-shaped, invasive (fast-spreading) tumor, and there I was, in the odyssey of the past eight months.

As I have reflected back on THE MOST, of my collection of intense life experiences, I marvel at my own radical vulnerability, and the immense outpouring of love and kindness coming to me from all directions.

I have reflected often on last summer’s new life mantra:

“I surrender my life to thy love in store for me.”

I have come to know more about true love and true friendship than I ever thought I had the capacity to experience. I have joked often, that I believe I am being prepared to win the lottery because:

The depth of love, and felt prayers, and faith, and homemade Jam, and veggies from the garden, and banana muffins, and bread, and t-shirts, and hats, and dancing monkeys, and DVDs, and Books, and Christmas gifts, and dinners, and head scratchers, and cookies, and love notes left with a knock on my doorstep has been monumental.

A dear neighbor who is in her 90s has showed up to keep me with fresh roses on my counter weekly as I went through chemo.

Yogis Karen and Sally and my dear, dear Melanye have cleaned my house, made me herbal tea, and done Thai Yoga on my sore and grieving body.

Lovely Yogi Kim, bringing jars of freshly juiced veggies every few days.

80 year old yogi, Lynn, reading up on and keeping me abreast of natural remedies and safeguards for treatment.

Frank working his magic behind the scenes.

Jamie taking my Thai Partner Yoga clients and shipping online orders out to so many of you.

Michael, Andrea, Frances, Elizabeth, Karen and Christi taking care of the center's yoga classes and assisting me in leading certifications, and all the kindness and prayers from students there.

Energy healing and cranial sessions, and Yogis across the globe sending me distance healing help and love, and Kathy’s once a day (EVERY DAY) email photo of some beautiful landscape to freshen my heart.

Yogis Chanting “The Long Time Sun” mantra for me and dedicating their practices to my healing on the days the IV Chemo infusion dripped into my veins.

My sisters: Jeanie, Twila, Von and Melody, and brothers: Whitney and Lance, and Tom’s dad all watching over me, flying in and out of town, supporting and loving and cheering me on, from close and long distance.

Dear sistahhhh Kathleen Jensen driving Tom to school in the morning, making sure we’re okay at night and so much more, in an endless stream of friendship and sisterhood I never knew I would have in my life.

My church family fasting, praying and loving me like a low drum-beat in the back of my heart; and the young-men-Priests bringing me the Sacrament in my home each week, one of whom lost his own mother to breast cancer not long ago.

Three doctors and surgeon and nurses, including my former students Steph who was there prior to surgery (both times), and Shawna who I found holding my hand as I came out of the anesthesia.

Doctor Woodmanse holding my Thai Partner Yoga office for me, waiting for my return, when I hope soon to take some of the pressure off of him:) and everyone at CottonTree pulling for me.

So many of your listening ears, facebook and blog comments, and love expressed on a endless spectrum.

So much so that there have been countless times when my cup has runneth over, as it is right now in recollection.

I stand amazed and deeply touched amidst your help and support.

During these treatments, people have said over and over that cancer is a lonely condition. And I say with tears in my eyes that I have no idea what they are talking about. I have felt “held” in your love every step of the way.

From here I meet with Doctors once a quarter, and in two years, with no recurrence, I am considered in full remission.

I know without doubt that if it does reoccur, that I have done everything I can, and so have YOU; and that this initial experience has served a worthy purpose of putting things in context.

On my end, I have become acquainted with radical vulnerability and love in it’s truest and purest from.

Above all else I am thankful to Tom. As his mom, I am fully aware that this is an intimate part of his own experience, that will in many ways be a significant marker on the map of the rest of his life too. He has played it close to the vest, and I honor his deep wisdom, quiet resolve and good, kind, dear heart. I know how much he loves me.

So today I looked up what the acupuncture point is that I first felt, as it turns out, it is a point ruling the “sealing of the spirit in the body”, also ruling the health of the milk ducts...and my original medical diagnosis came in as “invasive ductal carcinoma.” ;)

Several acquaintances I shared this experience with are no longer here in body with the rest of us, and to them with whom I shared a chemo room, and witnessed on their worst days, I offer the most sincere thank you I can muster. Your passings taught me gratitude and perspective, and the value of living life from as honest a place as I can muster, even when it has entailed some of my own toughest moments.

So tonight again in gratitude, and on behalf of Tom as well, I Thank You. We are looking forward to this journey of rebuilding my mind/body strength and stamina; an area that is, after all, my specialty.

Sending you Peace and Blessings and a steady stream of Gratitude,

Syl

Life May Be Short...But It's WIDE

During 2011 I found myself facing a prejudice. I remember the first time I saw that word in print. I was pre-teen and living in Virginia, just outside Washington D.C. My English teacher was Mrs. French, interestingly enough.

Mrs. French was a very intelligent, proper, black woman with a thin frame and well pressed clothes to match her meticulous attention to language and literature.

I arrived to class early and sat in my desk looking at this word (Prejudice) she had written on the chalk board. I tried to sound it out: PREE-Ju-DICE? It didn’t sound right. For whatever reason my brain couldn’t get what this word was. I was looking at it, but it wasn’t registering to my mind.

I called her over and asked my black English teacher, Mrs. French, what that word was on the board? I felt the warmth of her kind hand on my shoulder and her whisper in my ear: “Prejudice”. As soon as she said it, I felt flushed with embarrassment. I knew one of the most poignant moments of my life had just come and gone. There was no doubt that she knew the meaning of this word first-hand. No doubt.

We looked at each other for a moment, and I apologized to her; explaining that I don’t think I had ever seen it in print before. She gave me a soft smile and forgiving gaze and said: “That’s okay dear.”

On occasion I have reflected back on that moment, more so of late. During the past year, I have come face to face with my own prejudice as I have experienced breast cancer. I don’t like esteeming anyone or anything my enemy, not even cancer; yet as I entered a barrage of traditional medical treatment I was having to look my own personal prejudice strait in the eyes.



Of the kinds of cancer, I was diagnosed with the fastest spreading grade. It was also spreading in ways that were not medically usual (toward my heart, in addition to my lymph nodes). The limited time and concern of my family and friends (especially Tom), left me centered on traditional medical treatment...Thus my prejudice.

Before I knew it, I was in a giant medical labyrinth. Hoping for “healers”, I found mostly medical “technicians”. The Doctors seemed to be more trained in administering drugs, related to statistics; but here I was a living, breathing SOUL, sitting in front of them. I longed for an approach that honored my body, equal to the energy of the condition we call cancer.

The docs were attacking the cancer, but there was not really acknowledgment that they were going through ME to get to it? They were all good men and women, doing the best they could, but my treatment was stirring up a lot. I initially just griped and moaned about how I want to just get out of this “medical wheel” I had stumbled into. I wanted to speak to the cancer in my breast, and make peace with all the deep feelings and energies that had called me into this experience...so it would be over.

After one particularly tough round of chemo, where my dear friend Kathy had checked in everyday and listened to my wallowing, she and I made an agreement. Next round she should still check in on how I was doing, I needed that for sure. But when I responded with my lamentations as to all the challenging side effects and what was happening to my body in the process, she would reply, at my request, with two words: “For now”.

The For Now response would help me remember that all this resistance, this prejudice to my own experience, was only for a moment in the broader scheme of things.



Shortly after we started using the “for now” mantra, I printed out an image of a labyrinth. It had come up for me several times, in dreams, when I was teaching yoga class, and in moments of prayer, retrospection and meditation.



The Labyrinth is a symbol for THE PATH. Walking the Labyrinth is a meditative, spiritual tool for awakening. It is a symbol that is found in many cultures over thousands of years--a universal symbol for the path into truth and self-knowledge that dissolves the ego’s resistance of not knowing the end result from the beginning.

When I would feel my own prejudice to my situation, and think about the prejudice of others and what people may say about a yogi getting cancer, or facing medical treatments, or the thought of passing from my physical opportunity of raising my son, I would print out a copy and draw my way to it’s center and back out again.

In walking (or drawing in this case) the labyrinth, we will find our perspective is constantly changing. Our mind’s tendency to fall into old patterns is interrupted, as we are repeatedly lead into, and away from, the direction we "think" we are supposed to be heading.

In a labyrinth, our vision and body are never facing the same direction for long--a technique to coax the inner-knowing outward, and we begin to let go of our ego's need to anticipate, and start to trust that the path will eventually lead us into our center and back out.


During the journey we will repeatedly head in the four directions of east, west, north, south--a message that the support we need to take us through our journey can come from any direction, person or place.

Once in the labyrinth, we find no dead-ends to block us, nor strategic choices, it is not a maze, but a path to lead us into more of who WE REALLY ARE. It's no mistake that this ancient symbol resembles a cross-section of the human brain.

In a labyrinth, we find that we cannot go in the wrong direction, unless we give up entirely. For me in my journey with cancer, after spending quite some time in the “center”, and now beginning the journey outward into balance, I have felt my prejudices transformed into gratitude. I have a glimpse of what it feels like to relax along the meandering, smooth lines, drawing me back and forth, inward and outward. In this labyrinth of my life I am feeling gently nudged further and further along.

Every time I trace my labyrinth journey, it helps me feel a sense that I will be brought "full-circle", with new insights into who I really am, and the unexpected ways my path can lead me into a more exemplary, honest, and "well-lived" life.


I have a sense now, that what I will most remember about this experience will be your love, prayers, kindness (especially the wonderful yogi teachers that have kept things centered at Bodhi Yoga, Kathy, Frank, Jeanie, Twila and all my siblings that have taken turns keeping watch over me from near and far).

My prejudices are even softening into gratitude, for what we have medically available so far (for now), that give me the chance to continue a while more in this mortal life experience.

I would wish that everyone could experience the massive amounts of kindness, outpouring support and goodness that we all really feel for one another, when faced with the chance that we may not be here all that long. Thank you for having faith and a prayer in your heart that has supported me at a time when I didn’t have the strength to myself...What a powerful lesson I am learning from all this love.

Peace & Blessings

Syl

P.S. Feel free to use the labyrinth tracing to help you learn to relax and enjoy life a little more. In the words of one of my gurus: “Life may be short, but it is WIDE”. 



We may as well: Enjoy the “Wide”

Hidden Gift of the "Little" Loss

The final game of Tom’s football season, at a time in his life when he needed football more than ever. It was the only game I had the privilege of attending between chemo rounds.

I was grateful beyond words to be there, regardless of being physically weak and having vision that has gotten a little bit blurry as a result of cancer treatments.

For the sport of football, the score ended incredibly high, something like 49 to 54. Both teams played their heart out. The Timpview Quarterback, Britain, ended up running the ball into the end-zone for a touchdown at least five times, before the night was through (three of which were recalled, instilling gasps, moans and yells from the crowd). It was clear that this young man was exhausted. Yet the whole offensive line were not going to give in, regardless of the challenges of the night. This was the final game.

At the end of one of the last plays of the game, Britain was sacked and the ball turned over. You could feel the cringe of every mother in the stands as this young man began again to hobble off the field; having pushed far beyond his edges, wholeheartedly, for quite some time.

About half way off the field I watched, with tears welling in my eyes, as two of the offensive line players spontaneously came up behind him and lifted him the rest of the way off the field. This gesture of comradery and compassion touched me so deeply. I know first-hand how feeling like you are spent, having reached the limit of what you think you can take feels. I was living it that night, and the image of these two players, recognizing his plight and assisting him was so inspiring to me in that moment.



Going into this diagnosis last summer, I was already at a low ebb, grieving the passing of my dear friend, and co-worker Rex. I assumed my decreased energy was part of the natural grieving process, and wasn’t paying attention to other signs that something may be off. So at a time when most gear up to muster a “fight”, I had none. It was all already spent. 

Yet throughout this experience I have felt myself sustained by the faith, prayers and healing energy of others on my behalf, not unlike the struggles on the football field that evening this past fall.



So many spontaneous acts of kindness, support and strength: Loved ones watching over me, Hats sown and knitted for my head, food left at my door, kind words of encouragement on these posts and FB page, and love expressed in more ways than I would have ever expected.



At times my mind has dropped into worry at how much loss I will be asked to bear. What side-effects may end up permanent, how long I will have to be with my son; how much sacrifice will be required of me?

All these normal questions were stirring in my mind recently as I fell into a bit of a brooding sleep; and there in my dream I found myself visiting with my old friend Rex. Holding me tight in his usual way, he reminded me of something I already knew that woke me straight out of my sleep. He said: “Syl, whatever is lost in form is always gained in essence”. His demeanor was encouraging, like he could read all the layers of my worry, and answered strait into my heart. I know this concept of balance between “form and essence” to be true from what I teach others through yoga, but I had never thought of it, as he was telling me.

When I think of something lost in “form”, I think of the completeness of death. But in this context he was telling me not to worry about what feel like losses strewn along the way. That each “little loss” is expanding my spirit. He was sharing with me his vantage point. Each disappointment, disability, or limitation that comes as part of the mortal experience evolves the soul (Essence-Self) beyond where it would otherwise be. The essential perspectives that result from each incremental "loss" are one of the main purposes of what we are doing here.

What we call death is only the culmination of all that our lives have caused us to become. A shedding of all the resistance of mortality, and in laying down our frame the spirit experiences an expansion that surpasses comprehension. Yet all the little losses along the way expand that potential as well--whether it’s normal aging, injury, loss of loved ones, or circumstance.


It’s our nature to grieve these “little” losses (compared to the big final letting go each of us will do); to focus on them from only one side. Based on my experience in my dream, I think we would rejoice if we could see what each one was doing for the essence of who we are; and how sensitive, responsive and magnified our essence (or spirit) becomes as a result.



After the final football game, driving home with Tom, I shared with him how inspiring that moment was, as Britain was helped off the field...Tom replied: “Mom, that was ME on his right”.



I can’t express the gratitude that filled my heart that this would be my son’s “knee-jerk" reaction. That he would see it, and act, just because that’s the kind of person he is. That it would be his nature to help someone make up for a little loss...If I learn nothing else from my life, the fact that I get to spend my time as this young man’s mom is better than any other experience or success I could ever be blessed with.



Though I don’t feel it every moment and still find ways to focus on the “little” loss compared to the blessing of each day, I echo the sentiments Tom posted on his FaceBook page on Thanksgiving Morning, (also echoed in the quiet dream-time visit with my dear Rex):



“Be thankful for all your trials, obstacles, and yes even your discouragements. It's easy to be thankful for the happy moments and experiences. It's those hard times, hard moments that make you the person you are. So be thankful for those even though at times it may be difficult. Happy Thanksgiving everybody. --Tom”

So as this year wains to it’s close, I want to thank you all for the ways you have been sustaining Tom and I. Treatments are working, and we feel your support. Our faith for our future is strengthened in your prayers & kindness on our behalf. They are playing such important role amidst this lovely, greater balance that truly supports us all!

Noel & Namaste

Living the Lessons We Learn Next

I got a text message in the early days of my journey with what our culture calls: “aggressive breast cancer”. It was someone in a very small group that I had shared the diagnosis with. He was texting to see how I was handling it. All I could say in response was:

“I’m just living the lesson I will learn next”.

There is nothing more to say. I already understand many of the deeper reasons that have brought me to this experience; they are all are very specific to me, and the path of learning that I have chose in this life to evolve my soul.

As I face my final round of chemo tomorrow on 11-11-11, I have to muse a bit. The irony of Armistice Day, a day celebrating the battle’s end, a “cease fire”, is not lost on me. For me now, it is a symbol of the end of the first phase in a difficult, three-tiered treatment that will reach full completion in early 2012.



The experience of working at the brink of life, and the conversation between what I want and what God wants for me is really advanced work. The times when there is nothing to do but stay present, without trying to explain it, to justify it, to blame it, but just to “live in the lesson” is a huge challenge.

At first I just wanted to bow out of the whole experience and say to God: “Father, thy will be done.”, but God wasn’t going for that. Turning this experience back to God, like a hot potato, wasn’t going to teach me anything. In truth, over the course of the first nine weeks of treatment, this way of thinking put me MORE out of alignment, until my ego could admit that in this conversation God was nudging me to choose. God’s will for me was to magnify my own agency, and choose for myself, and to ask it out loud of Him.

I am able, through dancing on the brink of life, to gain a clear sense of what I really want and to tell God so. Once I chose, the treatments, though no less intense, became miraculously more manageable, and my body began responding differently. I could feel a sense of contentment within my own physical sorrow (we call cancer). Once I chose, I could feel God’s contentment in me as well.

I had to roll my eyes a bit at the "Zen" of it all, when God also let me know that in reality He still holds all the cards, and will have the final say; yet it has been a vital and important part of my path to exercise the agency of my heart, and my will in this intense experience...To work in tandem with my Source and have a say, in God's say for me is a worthy experience. As I play with this delicate balance, I have realized at a depth not prior, that together we make a lovely team.

As human beings, we often resist having to actually “Live” the lessons in life, because they can get really, really, really tough. It’s our nature to try to either skip over it all or get mired in them as a way of ennobling our ego, because it feels like otherwise, we are unjustifiably out of synch with the status quo of health and balance, be it a physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual "cancers" we may be dealing with.



For me, I have found that this experience, at it’s core, seems to be, yet again, a re-alignment. It is placing everything in order. It is revealing the truth of who every person around me really is at their essence, it is holding me in a place of attention and receptivity, it is protecting me from things I cannot understand in this moment, that I may otherwise be experiencing if I was not dealing with this. It is refining me.

During this process, I have considered often, the popular attitude of seeking a life of “grace and ease” with the intention of immunity to the greater edges of what we think we can handle. The popular suggestion that we don’t really need to experience the tougher side of things, in truth, limits our ability to fully understand and realize our potential and what it can teach us. One of my favorite poems, by David Whyte, sums it up beautifully:

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief

turning down to its black water
to the place that we can not breathe

will never know
the source from which we drink
the secret water cold and clear

nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else

David Whyte, Where Many Rivers Meet
Copyright © 1990 by David Whyte. All Rights Reserved
Many Rivers Press (www.davidwhtye.com)

Though the coins of my grief have been many and there have been moments I have wished it would all just stop, even for just a while, I know this lesson in which I find myself is, at the very least, a great and deep opportunity...and that, I can say for sure.

For now, I am still just living the lesson I learn next.

Thank you for your prayers, kind words and tender gestures on mine and Tom’s behalf, be it spiritually or physically, each one is known to us; and they are teaching all of us on this path so much more than we may have the capacity to know right now.

Something I Want Him to Know for Sure

I met my son, Tom, five years before his actual birth.

I was cleaning my apartment, and as I walked through my bedroom, I was enlightened to the presence of a delightful, happy, young spirit that I could clearly feel to next me. I knew him to be my future son and could feel him letting me know how excited he was to be my boy and that he was ready and waiting to come to me. I had many years and lessons to learn before I would feel ready to be a mom on my end.

The encounter eventually faded completely from my mind, until eight years later when I was watching my three year old boy playing in front of me. He looked up and I smiled at him, and the experience from my small apartment so long ago came back to mind in an instant. I marveled at what an exact match this little brilliant, fun, happy, boy was to the little spirit I had felt many years before.

It has been a pleasure to play the role of mother to such a valiant soul. I love each moment and cherish my relationship with him above all else.

Tom wanted to join me in the doctor’s office this past summer, as we began to map out an invasive breast cancer diagnosis (with no family history or understandable cause). An unexpected turn that had set us both back off our heels, to say the least.

It was on the way home, both of us in deep contemplation at the enormity of our situation, that I held his hand and let him know that there is no way to know how this will all pan out; but something I do want him to know for sure is that I love him and that life (as fleeting as it can be) doesn’t end with death, regardless of any outcome concerning me.

I explained to Tom that if it is not my time, then everything we do will work, and the right treatments will fall into place for a full recovery, on what would be a very intense journey for him to witness as my son and for me to experience as his mom.

I also told him that if it is my time, then nothing we do will work, and in nearly the same breath, I explained to Tom that I have no fear of death.

We held hands tight as I told him that, if my passing were to be the outcome, I would simply move from my body and wrap my spirit around his for the rest of his days. I would be there no matter what, no matter where.

My heart burst with sorrow as I explained to my boy, that the only sadness I do feel at the idea of passing from my body, is that he may not be able to feel me, or be able to trust that I was still caring for him in more ways than he could ever know.

I experienced a depth of sadness I had never felt at the chance that he may not recognize that when something great happens during his day, that it was because I had a hand in it on his behalf. Or that when life gets tough, it was because I went to God and asked for just the right experience to make my son a better man; that there may be times in Tom’s life that he may not be able to feel me cheering him on and comforting him when in need of it.

In this moment of speaking one of my most cherished truths to my son, I gained an understanding of God, I had never fully known for myself.

So many traditions teach us to praise and acknowledge the universal hand of God in all things, even at the times that push us to our brink. And in this conversation, on one of the most tender days of my life, I told my son, that my love for him is how I know beyond a shadow of doubt, that God feels the same.

It’s not about giving credit to God so I can get to Heaven some day later on, or feel good about myself now, it’s about love. It’s always just about love, one Godly moment at a time, when Heaven spontaneously reveals itself, so pure and simple, to the heart.

In the months since being diagnosed, I have been at the brink many times (as I will continue to be for a while yet). This conversation in trying to teach Tom, (where I was being taught myself), to help him understand one of the most important things he will ever know, continues to be an important reflecting point on my own journey.

Much of the road still lies before us, but what I know so far is that regardless of when I pass from this life, I have to trust that if I could feel my son before he came, then he will certainly be able to feel me after I go, whenever that time may be, at whatever the stage in Tom's life...and in this I feel true peace.

From the day he was born, Tom has been a motivating strength in my life in so many ways. Being his mom continues to teach me many of life’s most important lessons, and as always, I love him for it.

In the course of treatments so far, and to the astonishment of my many doctors, the tumor has dissipated down to near nothing and prognosis is looking good. It gives us strength to continue trusting that we are on the right path. I know this initial outcome is a result of much of the prayer, faith, fasting and support of so many of you, and Tom and I want to thank you. As it stands now, we have reason to expect nothing less than full recovery by early 2012.

It has been important for me to pay attention to the fact that this journey has not been an easy, quick fix. No miraculous snap of my yogi fingers and “poof” it’s gone, no immunity from life experience that pulls me up by the roots, just because I’ve tried to do my best to create optimal health in body, mind and spirit. Only a deep and increased capacity to fully experience it all first-hand, and for that I am grateful on many levels.

As the path of necessary treatment regimens have scrolled their way out before me, the message that has shown up is: that for now I am to labor at the “brink” of things. For now this is where I am, and this is where I will understand love in ways not possible otherwise.

Tom and I know we are not on our own in this experience. We thank you, thank you, for every kindness, and we continue to lean on them with gratitude that surpasses words.

Here I Raise My Ebenezer

Lately in the evenings, as I have the strength to do so, I make my way quietly into Bodhi Yoga, after all the yogis have gone for the day, and the CottonTree offices are all closed.

With the doors open, the most lovely cross breeze caresses my brow. In this sacred space, with my left hand, I roll my mallet around my crystal bowl. The Heart chakra tone expands up my arm and into my left breast, where there is a mass in the shape of a tear. It has spread to a small duct just below my sternum next to the left border of my heart and into the lymph nodes of my left armpit.

There are so many things I love about being in my physical body. One of my favorite, is honoring my natural rhythms. Learning yoga has brought me into an intimate appreciation for these rhythms at the cellular level... Such an unexpected and precious gift in my life.

As I begin my first rounds of necessary treatment, my heart, (both grateful and sorrowed), is in a place of surrender to the enormity of ways and methods required to restore my health. I marvel at the chaotic effects that paradoxically serve to help me eventually recover, while for a time, reeking havoc on my beloved body and her cherished rhythms.

Seated with my bowl, in my sacred space, the chant I begin calling is: “Om Shreim”, a mantra for bringing chaos into harmony. The tones of the bowl soon fill the room, spilling over onto the empty streets below.

Between the deep sound of my voice, and the resonant tone of the bowl, I can feel the molecules of my body vibrating into a better place, if only momentarily.



As my meditation continues, I am pleasantly surprised to feel my chanting evolve from traditional Sanskrit, into one of my favorite old English hymns. I hear my voice begin to slowly sing, long, resonant tones of “Come Though Fount of Every Blessing”.

I knew before I heard the words, that my body had hand-picked this song to call in the grace from all your prayers and positive energy, to more fully implant into the tissues of my body.

The lyrics of Robert Robinson (1735-1790), a fellow searcher for spiritual truths, begins with the words:

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.”

I clearly feel the mass over my heart taking in the prayers of so many of you, who have fixed your love and prayers upon this place in my body. With my exhale, I breathe out gratitude, sending back to each of you individually, my deep humility and appreciation.

Each expression of gratitude on my part makes room for blessings beyond measure to work within me. The gratitude I feel for all the love you're sending me is also a universal acknowledgement that, whether we like to think so or not, all of us here are intimately connected, taking turns feeding one another. Personally, I have felt angelic help directing your individual prayers through me so specifically...There are no words to describe it.

As I begin to softly roll my voice through the second verse, the message I was meant to glean on this particular evening becomes clear, with the words:

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.

When you hear the word “Ebenezer”, most of us think of Scrooge. The disgruntled old man, created by Charles Dickens in his beloved classic “A Christmas Carol”. What most don’t realize is that Dickens choose this name, because it would tell the whole story of a man's change of heart in one word, start to finish.

Dickens knew the word Ebenezer comes from the bible story of Samuel; a man who helped a whole culture change their ways. In this story, everyone in the village would let go of all the stories they had been telling themselves, release their destructive habits and forsake their collective ego. Through their shedding, they were able to start fresh, healed and alive again, with a new consciousness on all levels, that freed them from past failings.

In this bible story, Samuel erected a large stone at the place where this collective change of heart occurred and called the stone: "Ebenezer", the Hebrew word for "Stone of Help". He publicly dedicated it as a monument to God's help, faithfulness, and unending commitment to lighten our care, as we learn to become willing to let go.

As the people in the village got on with their lives, the stone stood there, visible to all who passed that way, as a reminder of their surrender of the old way of thinking and acting, the mercy of God's grace in allowing them to change and renewal of their essential truths and higher way of living.

The Ebenezer stone was a physical reminder of a fresh beginning, a reversal of course for God's village, and the Universal love that allows all of us to choose anew in each moment.

Today, the chip we get in AA programs, or journals we keep, or rocks we carry in our pocket are all simply modern day Ebenezers.

So in chanting these lines, I feel this Tears-shaped tumor lift slightly with my breath, and I know instantly that this mass over my heart is my own personal “Ebenezer”; a very profound gratitude rock within my breast.

The invasive condition I am presently experiencing does not come from outside of me, it is not an invasion into me of anything foreign, these are the cells of my beloved body, currently wandering on paths that stray from my normal rhythms. I choose to hold them in my care without judgement, as best as I can, even as they stray from their dharmic, and healthy way being.

This Ebenezer within my breast is teaching me so many things, but most of all it is deepening my capacity for gratitude, surrender and trust in this journey; and the course God chooses through me to take.

As I sang the last verse accompanied by the tones of my miraculous crystal bowl (that has a story all it’s own), I felt tears streaming from my face down to breast. I could feel all my cells, but particularly those who are straying, respond to my words as I sing:

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for thy courts above.

The measure of these words feels like such an important acknowledgement, a gentle nod to my cells, that for a season in my life have become prone to wander, yet teaching me lessons on a level I could learn in no other way.

Thank You for All Your Prayers... “Lord I Feel it”

Namaste

Syl

Tell it to the Hand

This week I was given a story. A story in the form of what the docs call "diagnosis".

For now, I choose to refer to it as:

"Invasive *&@^#%*!".

As I have begun the journey of meeting with the spectrum of docs and helping my son Tom, as he works through what it feels like for him. I have told a handful of close, enlightened friends (who know how to stream light and love without the ego of doubt, fear & drama interfering), as well as a few members of my family. In doing so, I find I have already gained a plethora of new perspectives.

I could feel right off the bat, my need for sacred sanctuary, where God and I together can heal me in ways we both agree on. I need to be able to be in this sacred space every moment possible. I have all the tools I need already within me to clear and collect the lessons related to what this truly is all about. In order for this to happen I really heard the words when my doc, who is a dear friend said: "You have "Invasive *&@^#%*!", and I want you to know that we are going to get through this together".

I accept that I get to walk a storyline for a while, but I cannot validate the cultural charge to all the language connected to the name of this condition I am currently experiencing.

I heard my body, almost immediately, tell me to soften my surroundings; to create a sacred buffer for my holy place of sanctuary with God, and Tom of course.

Actually, my sister Jeanie heard my body calling first, and followed her intuition that led her to the hospital where I was for tests late last week. A day or so later, while waiting for the final word, she showed up, with laptop in hand, to hang out at my house for a few days, just so I could know that she already knew too, and would be there with me when the docs said it out loud.

Since I was born, Jeanie (who is 10 years older than me), was the sibling that would grab me and snuggle me into her bed with her on a Saturday morning. Her face lit up whenever I saw her, during our growing up years. In a large family, where I was fairly invisible, I knew she esteemed herself my mamma!

I was cool with playing the roll of babydoll to my 12 year old sister. In fact, this past week, I overheard her telling one of the nurses that she just had to come down, she used to change my diapers, and just couldn't miss being there with me.

Even into our adult years, she has taken Tom under her wing, taught him how to ski, cooked him dinners, and cozied up with him on her couch when he was little, just as she did with me. These days, each time I call her, she answers her phone with an ecstatic: "HI SWEETIE!"

So I was clear, as text messages, phone calls and email started to roll in, that Jeanie would be my buffer. Not to keep out love, support or concern; but to allow me to create the quiet space for myself where I could really feel the love coming to me, and use it in my healing, without having to tell my story over and over to my dear family, which would bring in more of the highly charged words describing what I am experiencing and what to expect from it all.

When my tests were complete, and Jeanie and I could feel where It was heading, I called my Bishop (clergy), and asked him to administer to me a blessing of healing. I loved that the oil he used to anoint my head was consecrated in the Garden of Gethsemane, at the foot of the Mount of Olives; an inspired act of forethought on a recent trip to Jerusalem. He told me that my body had been prepared and strengthened in preparation for this experience (I love a good bishop who has watched me on my yogic path with appreciation, rather than suspicion)...and then he blessed my son, a strong young man now, who was already feeling the weight of it all.

In my community, my church family is called a "Ward". In a ward, (like most church communities) everybody eventually knows everything, and rolls out the bandwagon, like pioneers crossing the plains with hands of helpfulness.

One of the truest friends I have ever had is Kathy, she is in my church family. Kathy has shown up on my door with wheatgrass juice in a champagne flute, first thing in the morning. She has called Tom over to help her tinker on her motorcycle, and always helps me find the biggest bang for our buck for Tom on the Fourth of July. Most times Kathy and I are together, we end up in wild laughter over a mixture of something we have observed that is both oblivious, obvious and ridiculous.

So today in my peeled-open and vulnerable place, she agreed wholeheartedly to be my buffer with my ward family. If anyone at church wants to come squeeze my arm, wink or smile at me, or even high five, feel free, I'd love it! But if anyone wants to come up and tell me about the latest miracle cure, or multi-level marketing company that will surely save my life, or is curious to know the details about what our culture calls: "Invasive *&@^#%*!", or asks me how I am feeling, I will simply say, with love in my heart: "I don't know, you'll have to ask Kathy."

And then there is my life's work and my beloved, enlightened yogis, who come and go from my Thai Office and The Bodhi Yoga Center, (which with all your ongoing support, I lovingly created for us), as well as our valued Online Community of 3500 (or so) long-distance yogis who are like minded, goodhearted souls.

Today, amidst the phone, and text, and facebook posts (I removed until I was ready to put this out there on my own terms). In my gut-check day, I met with Frank, for our weekly Thai Partner Yoga Session. I was grateful for the chance to work on him, and apreciated his willingness to let me be "the giver" for a couple of hours and feel the healing energy, for him, move through me, on such a day. Doing this kind of work for a living blesses me in so many ways as I share with others.

Mid-session, I was doing light acupressure on his hand, and felt Rex's presence enter into the room. Frank's hand that I was holding, felt like Rex's hand, so clearly in its shape, temperature and texture, that I know so well from working on him . In fact I found I had to open my eyes and look. The two hands, I felt at the same time indistinguishable, yet both there together. I felt Rex saying to me: "I am gonna lend you my hand, all the way, my dear." I could also feel Frank's desire to do so too, which he almost immediately verbalized.

So later this evening, when I got home, I called and started to ask him to be my buffer with my beloved yogis, and before I got the sentence out, I heard a resounding "YES! I'll do it. I'll do it." Years ago, Frank was in my Bishopric at church, we have known each other for a longtime, really long in the existential sense. We met up again recently, and I have watched in admiration as this 60 year young man enrolled in the Bodhi Yoga Teacher Certification course and took off on the Yogic path like greased lightening. It was all I could do to get out of his way as he began teaching classes to youth in our local Juvenile Detention Center...delightful.

Frank will be my Yoga family buffer, to update and field concerns and wishes to and from me for members of my local yoga family at frankballard@gmail.com

To my long distance yoga family in 18 countries and nearly all 50 states in the US, I would ask that you just follow this blog for information on how I am ,"bodhi", mind and spirit and continue to support Bodhi Yoga in ways that feel right for you! I may even share a few lessons as we go along, through the online yoga center about to launch. Feel free to post comments that support my intention for full circle healing.

The word buffer that I am using in this post is in no way to keep the love and support out. The three lovely buffers here called Jeanie, Kathy and Frank, (as well as the many teachers at Bodhi Yoga), will be the ones that can talk with you all about what our culture calls: "Invasive *&@^#%*!". To me the name doesn't matter to anyone but me and my docs. Dwelling on the name, and all it presumably means, has nothing to do with the healing, and I need your support with very pure, healing energy, faith and prayers sent my way.

In a note to the Bodhi Yoga Teachers I wrote last night these words: "I plan to continue with Trainings, Yoga Classes, Jamie will handle Bodhi Yoga's private Thai Partner Yoga work. I want everyone at yoga to know that they are free to come share love, hugs, light and strong Prana. I just don't want to repeat updates or stories back and fourth, as that expands energy of what our culture calls: "Invasive *&@^#%*!"

The condition has already told me what it is...It is what we call INVASIVE. So I am trying to hear that right off the bat and negate overload. I am just doing my best to honor the request that my body has already cashed in on.

For me at this point it is to create a parameter of just three people, who fully support my intention, that I have to tell the story to in any way shape or form. They'll pass on anything related back and fourth as necessary to you my "families". This will allow me to, first protect my son from having to hear, read, focus and worry on an endless stream of conversations that describe Invasive *&@^#%*! and second, focus my energy on healing full time, and creating a reality where it is already in place for myself, my son and my families.

Of all the highly charged words related to "Invasive *&@^#%*!", the one I chose to honor is the word: "Invasive". My body has put my life on the line, to help me in no uncertain terms put an end to being invaded upon in any way. No more allowing my ideas, work, energy and image to be invasively profited from without conscience by others. No more quietly accepting condescension combined with vindictiveness. No more saying yes, or that's okay, when I mean no. It is time to set the invasive areas, associations, and expectations free, to be themselves somewhere other than manifesting through the tissues of my body.

I have no doubt, that right now, I am pure and simple, just living the lesson I will learn next. I give no energy to the past, as I set it free, and I worry not for the future, as right now, in this moment, all is incredibly well within my soul.

I send my love and blessing to all of my families and thank you so sincerely for every kindness, prayer-filled and faithful thought.

I remind you that what I know so far is, that the play-by-play, dramatic details, we tend to get sucked into dwelling on in situations like this, though gossip and drama, only serve to expand the energy of disharmony, but the bigger picture, and higher purposes are more vast, and love encompassed than any of us can fully comprehend.

Words cannot express my love for each of you. You have an immeasurable meaning and place in my life. I love you dearly, and will continue to lean on and be supported by the loving breezes you are sending my way. I can feel your glow, and Tom and I thank you for it.

Namaste

Syl