BROKEN OPEN

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:

The Soul that rises with

us, our life’s Star,

Hath elsewhere had

its setting,

And cometh from afar.

       ~William Wordsworth

I have just finished reading a book called “Broken Open.”  It may save my soul.  It points me back to the Anais Nin quote that I chose for this blog’s header:  “And the time came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.”  It is as though, having chosen this quote, I knew, without consciously knowing, how difficult, but transformative, this process was to be.  I had no idea, when this second cancer journey began, that in addition to having a fierce battle ahead, I was to find myself in dire need of a complete surrender to all that was, is and will be.  Learning, as I did, that most of life, really and truly, is absolutely out of my control has proven to be a hard won but, ultimately, most valuable lesson.  Without complete surrender to this truism, I know that I cannot go forward.  Although many, including me, have frequently reminded themselves that we cannot control everything, I am convinced that most of us still have held tightly to an unacknowledged belief that we can influence most of what happens to us through either good behavior, prayer, a “positive attitude,” superstitious practices, or any number of manipulations we go through to ensure desired outcomes and to banish “bad luck.”  But here is the truth for all of us, I have come to believe:  we control only the most minimal of what occurs in our lives and can take no credit or blame for outcomes.  We do the best we can and hold fast to the hope that all will go well.  And for the most part, it does…until it doesn’t.  Since humans have an inexhaustible capacity for denial, this course seems to hold up well and we can even convince ourselves that such evils as violence, illness and death need not be considered very seriously.  But then, for some of us, something does happen – the other shoe does drop – and we come face-to-face with the reality that life can be almost unbearably painful and, in the end, we will most certainly die.  This, of course, sounds terribly dismal, but it really is not because that isn’t our only lesson.  If we are courageous and open and we listen very closely, we also learn how to live contentedly and joyously.

     A few months into my recovery, as I began to scrape together the pieces of my shattered life, I found myself filled with dark, heavy emotions.  I became excessively fearful of the future and even of the present and felt compelled to isolate, cutting myself off from others and from activities I had previously relished.  The more isolated I became, the sadder and more depressed I felt. I obsessed about aging, physical and mental decline and death, seeking answers to the unknowable, with questions such as what death feels like and whether mine will be painful and lonely.  I grappled with the more existential questions regarding afterlife and post-death consciousness.  All to no avail, of course.  Because what I was actually seeking, in wanting to know these answers, was control over what is to come.  And so, from the most mundane endeavor such as driving and needing assurance that I wouldn’t break down or have an accident, to the weightier issues like wanting to know, without any doubt, that my cancer wouldn’t recur, I cowered in fear and sought a guarantee, an affirmation, that nothing “bad” would ever again befall me.  Until I received that assurance, I felt paralyzed, unable to venture out, to move forward.  I was really stuck. 

     Fortunately, however, two means of salvation appeared.  First, I happened upon the aforementioned book that explores a variety of instances where tragedy in a person’s life triggers great self-discovery and transformation.  The second form of rescue occurred as I became increasingly aware of all the love in my life, as well as the great beauty, compassion and kindness that surrounds all of us, every day.  The people who supported me during my illness did not desert me once I began to recover but, rather, continued to let me know that they love me and are still there for me.  This, at first, surprised me and, then, it brought me much comfort, joy and gratitude. Through past experiences, I had developed an expectation of abandonment, but I came to see that that was merely an empty fear that held no truth. 

     The more that my eyes opened to the love that abounds, the better able I was to see that much of the world’s suffering stems from the inability to accept that every single person, at the core, merely wants to be loved and accepted. It became evident to me that if we each take responsibility for acting on that premise and, therefore, spreading whatever love and compassion we can, our impact can be great and our lives can be made even more worthwhile and meaningful.  Our suffering, then, is a result of our fears and insecurities which cause us to strike first and to wear an impenetrable suit of armor at all times.  We cannot see and accept that we are all part of the giant human mosaic, with no one individual exempt from pain, but also not incapable of giving and receiving love.

     On a more personal level, I came to realize that all of my fears and strong urges to isolate and remain inert stemmed from my feelings of powerlessness.  I had come to realize that I have no control over just about everything and this terrified me.  Yet it was abundantly clear and confronting this nearly paralyzed me.  After all, within only one year, I had lost my job, my oldest sister, my beloved cat, and I was diagnosed with one of the most challenging of cancers.  How much more evidence did I need?  I was, clearly, not in control.

     What does one do in the face of this realization which, I believe, we must all come to if we are to live contented, meaningful lives?  The choice seems apparent:  we either continue fighting, thus tightening our self-imposed noose, or we surrender and accept uncertainty.  I chose the latter.  If this sounds dreary, I’ll argue that it isn’t at all but, rather, this acceptance brings a great sense of relief.  After all, it is the truth I’ve been struggling against my entire life, so giving up that struggle is like being given permission to breathe freely again.  There is an additional truth that is revealed once one accepts life’s constant uncertainty and that is that although other people, events and circumstances are always in flux, our deepest self, our very essence, remains steady and eternal.  That is, once I saw that I had no control over what is outside myself, I could rely upon my deep reserve of self, a reserve that I believe was born of and is always connected to a universal spirit, to guide me.

     As I enter my seventh month of recovery from cancer, I can almost say that it has blessed me.  But, as wise as I seem to be becoming, I am not quite at a point where I can be grateful for every learning opportunity, especially one as brutal and as challenging as this one has been.  Still, however, I cannot truthfully say that I wish I could return to who I was last summer, before I was diagnosed.  Though I may have seemed more innocent and more carefree then, I was, instead, merely holding tight to the naïve hope that nothing would ever radically change in my life, that it would amble along in familiarity and ordinariness, with challenge (and growth) at a minimum.  I can see now that I was remaining “tight in the bud,” terrified of change and of losing control.  No, I don’t think that I would like to return there.  Instead, I’ll take my chances with life as it really is, ever-changing and full of new experiences.  And I’ll listen much more closely to that inner voice when it comes to navigating these experiences.  It is the way of wisdom and truth, rather than the path that is numbing and leaves one cowering in fear and missing out on the all that can bring real joy.

Elizabeth Lesser describes the process and result of being “broken open” this way:

“Everything can change in a moment; we have little control over the outer weather patterns as we make our way through the landscape of a life. But we can become masters of the inner landscape.  We can use what happens on the outside to change the way we function on the inside.  This is the moral of the great teaching myths.  The hero conquers a monster; the heroine completes a quest; the reward at the end was there all along –  the true self, the awakened consciousness…As life progresses and we continue to transform and refine our consciousness, we gain more insight and humility, greater strength of character, and deeper faith in the meaningfulness of life.”

Yes, I’ll take the path that is mine.

“In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me, there lay an invincible summer.”

~Albert Camus