"If a Schmuck Like Me Can Do It..."

In the early seventies a friend kept telling me, “Whatever you do, don’t try to make those feelings go away.” His advice went on: “Anything you can learn about working with your sense of discouragement or your sense of fear or your sense of bewilderment or your sense of feeling inferior or your sense of resentment—anything you can do to work with those things—do it, please, because it will be such an inspiration to other people.” 

That was really good advice. So when I would start to become depressed, I would remember, “Now wait a minute. Maybe I just have to figure out how to rouse myself genuinely, because there are a lot of people suffering like this, and if I can do it, they can do it.” I felt a sense of interconnectedness. “If a schmuck like me can do it, anybody can do it.” That’s what I used to say, that if a miserable person like me—who’s completely caught up in anger and depression and betrayal—if I can do it, then anyone can do it, so I’m going to try.  - The Wisdom of No Escape by Pema Chödrön (pages 100–101)

I'm grateful that Pema Chodron persevered in this. Her writings have inspired me.

Have you ever thought of your own journey in this way? Has it occurred to you that what you have been through - whatever it is that has been an occasion for your perseverance - might give others hope in their own times of trial or darkness?

A number of bloggers and other writers have provided this kind of inspiration for me. Many of them are featured on my blog's sidebar; some of them have written books which I've shared here. Some have served as a kind of "lifeline" for me in the depths of my grief, or during times of betrayal, or losing sight of the next step in the way forward.

If you are enduring a dark time, I hope you will consider that honoring your own inner journey might just be the way through to the light for you. Write down your feelings, draw them, dance, or walk, or paint, plant a garden, write music - whatever comes to you creatively - do it. You needn't share publicly unless you are moved to do so, but do honor your feelings; don't bury or ignore them. Your journey matters, your life matters, and the fact that you find your way through the darkness to the light (and how you do it) may someday instill hope in someone who has lost sight of how to find their way. Remember Pema's words, "If a schmuck like me can do it, anyone can do it."

My mom sent me this glass dish with butterflies in it in honor of Katie's 20th birthday. I filled it with treasures found on the beach on that day. Do you see the "angel's wing" shell on top?

Isn't that a "heavenly" gift?

Pema Chödrön on Buddhism | BillMoyers.com

Pema Chödrön on Buddhism | BillMoyers.com
Pema Chodron is one of my favorite Buddhist authors. Her book, "When Things Fall Apart" is a great one. The link above will take you to an enlightening interview between Bill Moyers and Ani Pema; it is worth every minute of your time to watch (if you prefer to read, the transcript is also available on the website).

A few of my favorite quotes from the piece:
PEMA CHÖDRÖN: "The thing is, what we find if we're not used to sitting quietly with ourselves, not used to meditation, not used to having any inner solitude in our lives, we find that we're very threatened by nothing happening."
"...someone once said to me, 'The best in that spiritual instruction is when you wake up in the morning and you say, "I wonder what's going to happen today?" ' And then carry that kind of curiosity through your life."
"...one of the principle teachings of the Buddha was that he said, 'I teach only two things. Suffering and the end of suffering.' So this conviction that sentient beings could be free of suffering, they could end their suffering. That doesn't mean physical pain. It doesn't mean outer circumstances being unpleasant. It means what you do with the things that happen."
BILL MOYERS: "What do you think he meant by suffering? And what do you Buddhists mean by suffering?"
PEMA CHÖDRÖN: "Suffering?...Well, that's a complex question, but it doesn't mean that we could be free of that, if fire burns you, it won't hurt. If you get cut, it won't hurt. It also doesn't mean that if someone you love very dear, deeply, dies you won't feel sadness. And it doesn't mean that bad things won't happen to you anymore, you know? It doesn't mean that you won't have your personal tragedies and catastrophes and crisis. And it also certainly doesn't mean that you could avoid planes flying into the towers...the end of suffering has to do with how you relate with pain. Let's distinguish just for semantics, the difference between, let's call pain the unavoidable and let's call suffering what could what could lessen and dissolve in our lives."

SHANTIDEVA: "We shrink from suffering, but we love its causes."

DALAI LAMA: "Religion is not outside. Religion is here. I think essential, essential in a religion is good heart. Something I call love and compassion is the universal religion. That's my religion."

Simple, brilliant, ancient wisdom...not easy to practice, but something tells me it is worth the effort.

My Bad

I have just done something so obviously awful that I have to write about it here.

I received a beautiful meditation today from Pema Chodron, the Buddhist teacher. I receive them via email now and then. I signed up for them because I love her writings, and today's topic just hit the nail on the head with me and one of my friends, so I forwarded it to my friend, along with a very sarcastic comment, to the effect of "Oh, bleep her and all of her Buddhist bleep! I'm just kidding. But what about the timing of all of these reminders? It seems as if Someone is listening to our prayers..."

What  I meant was that the message was so timely that it felt like an answer to prayer.

But I accidentally sent it back to Pema Chodron, instead of to my friend.

I followed this up with my most sincere apologies, explanation of the context, admiration of Pema Chodron and her work...but I think I just stepped into a pile of crap.

Sarcasm is funny, but it can get you into trouble.

I guess I won't be asking Ms. Chodron to endorse my book.

Offerings

My sister gave me a book that I love, called OFFERINGS: Buddhist wisdom for every day. It has sayings, paired with spectacular photographs, for each day of the year. In it, Jack Kornfield (one of my favorite Buddhist teachers), has written,
"Ours is a society of denial that conditions us to protect ourselves from any direct difficulty and discomfort. We expend enormous energy denying our insecurity, fighting pain, death, and loss, and hiding from the basic truths of the natural world and of our own nature."

Is it any wonder that people turn away, or respond awkwardly to us, when we are in the midst of such situations of insecurity, pain, loss and dying? If we are experiencing, right in front of them, the fundamental "truths of the natural world and of our own [mortal] nature," - if we are living out their worst nightmare,- and they are conditioned to protect themselves, how can they not want to look away? Perhaps we have come to represent the pariah, the outcast, the denied one -- the shadow, who lives in each one of us. That is certainly an unwelcome reminder. It isn't personal; I could even say it's universal.

Kornfield also wrote:
"When we let go of our battles and open our heart to things as they are, then we come to rest in the present moment. This is the beginning and the end of spiritual practice."

Let me say here that it didn't feel spiritual to me, at the time, nor did it seem like "rest in the present moment," but it did seem clear to us that we had no choice but to "let go of our battles," to fully face and accept what was, in order to spare Katie additional suffering and to help her through it. I opened my heart as much as I could to let love flow in, through and out, to surround her with a feeling of safety, security and total love. We tried to ease her way, to make her passage as gentle & painless as possible. We wanted her to have the maximum of love and fun that she could in the days she had left on earth. We wanted her to be free from fear, and have her own way as much as she could.

When thinking about the events of this time last year, these Buddhist teachings seem particularly relevant.

When we had time to discuss the situation alone with Nurse S. and Dr. P. on July 20th and the days after, the options that they offered us in the way of help for Katie consisted mostly of medication to ease the pain and inflammation that were part of having tumor present in her bones and on her spinal cord. There were many other contingency medications that were prescribed and that we took home with us, but we didn't understand their purposes until later, and by grace, we didn't need them.

One option that the doctor offered to us was to take Katie to the University of Washington Medical Center (part of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance) for radiation treatment. This would not have cured her tumor, or killed it; it would have been chiefly for the purpose of reducing bone pain. In return for this possible benefit, she would have to endure daily trips from home to Seattle, on the ferry, to a facility that she didn't like, and be subjected to radiation --and all of the preparation and side effects that come with that treatment. We felt that this was, in her case, not a compassionate choice. Katie was weak, and getting weaker each day. She was taking pain medication around the clock, which was supposed to be able to control the bone pain.

The doctors knew, by this time (and contrary to their initial impressions), that this was a very fast-growing tumor, and we decided that spending days in radiation therapy would be days spent in misery...perhaps when Katie did not have many more days to spend on earth; they knew that she was going to die, but they did not know when. Since there was no possibility of cure, we declined the radiation treatment, and we have never regretted it. Acceptance of what was happening before us "in the natural world," that someone we loved was indeed dying of a presently incurable and irreversible disease, helped us to make this decision.

We had a wonderful hospice nurse, who came to our home 2 to 3 times a week to check on Katie's condition, adjust her medications as necessary, provide nursing care (if needed), and to support us as a family. We also had a lovely social worker provided by hospice as part of their services. Our friends and family rallied around us. Meals were offered. Errands were run. Helpful visits were made, and other visits were not made, out of great love and self-restraint on the part of the "non-visitor." Most of the time, Katie did not want to see anyone other than immediate family (and fewer people than you could count on one hand). It was too hard on everyone, and Katie KNEW. She was 12, going on 17, mentally.

Thomas Merton, a 20th Century Catholic monk (and prolific writer) said, "To be grateful is to recognize the Love of God in everything."

I do not always feel grateful.

Many days, I feel shocked, hurt, angry and resentful that Katie is no longer with us, no longer here to enjoy what "should be" the rest of her life, if life were as it "should be." Yet, it is in observing the many things which merit gratitude, and happened during this awful tragedy, that I find some of the greatest comfort. It seems that, for me, looking for/recognizing/observing the Love of God is the only way to make any sense at all of what happened; the only thread, the only life-ring, the only thing holding me above the black waters of "non-sense." Because most of this doesn't make any sense at all.